Promiscuous

by Missy Johnson

  I scrubbed the heavy makeup off my face, and then brushed some lip-gloss onto my lips. I quickly shoved my things back into my bag, eager to get home and relax.

  Everyone else had left. I liked to wait until I knew I was alone, because then I could avoid the mindless chitchat, pretending to be interested in other people’s lives.

  The old Beth used to love talking to people. She was happy, and social. Me? I just wanted to be left alone.

  “I can’t tell you how sexy you looked up there, honey.”

  I froze, my body instantly recoiling at the sound of that voice. Through the mirror, my gaze met his.

  Ivan.

  His dark eyes were almost black as he approached me. Still frozen in shock, I tried to focus on my breathing, and not on the way my skin crawled as he touched my shoulder, memories I’d tried so hard to bury pushing back into my mind. I swallowed heavily, wishing I were anywhere but here, alone with him.

  “Such a pretty girl, Beth. I’m lucky to have you.”

  You don’t have me, I wanted to scream.

  But I couldn’t. I sat there, frozen, as his fingers ran over my neck. My mind flashed back to that night. Him, on top of me . . . so heavy. His breath had reeked of cheap whisky and stale cigarettes, and the overpowering stench of his body odor. I shuddered, remembering his laughter as he ignored my pleas, asserting that I wanted it.

  “I get hard just thinking about you, honey. The number of times I’ve jerked off, imagining everything else I’d like to do to you.”

  His voice shoved me back to reality. I jerked away, pushing the chair into him. He looked up, his mouth falling open as I sprinted for the door, scooping up my bag in the process. He laughed.

  “God, Beth, you’re not still on about this, are you?” He shook his head, as though he were dealing with a child. “You were so drunk, honey. Whatever you think you remember, you’ve got it wrong. You were just as into it as I was.”

  I grabbed the door handle and yanked it open, desperate to get out of there.

  “Stay the fuck away from me, Ivan,” I spat. I was shaking so badly, but I refused to let him see how much he was getting to me.

  He chuckled. “Gladly, honey. But just in case you get any ideas, remember what I told you, okay?”

  I stalked off, holding my bag to my stomach, trying to calm myself down. Only once I was outside of the building did I let the tears fall.

  I never cried, not before the attack. But he had me and he knew it. I was under contract to him for another two years. If I broke that, I’d lose all my money. Worse than that, I’d lose it to him. It would be my word against his, and who was going to believe me?

  Suck it up and deal with it.

  I wouldn’t let him win. I refused to crumble because of him. Or, at the very least, I refused to crumble in front of him.

  ***

  I climbed into the safety of my bed, clinging tightly to the sheets nestled safely up around my neck. I refused to cry again. I wasn’t going to waste my tears on something I couldn’t change.

  So my life sucked. I could either continue to spiral down the hole I was heading, or I could do something about it. If I kept this up, then he’d win. And I’d probably be dead within the year. The reality was, it was up to me what happened from this point onward.

  My phone vibrated next to me. I reached for it and saw it was another message from Coop. A surge of anger rushed through me. Was he ever going to give up? How the fuck could I get over this if he wouldn’t let me forget?

  Beth, I just want you to know I’m here for you. Whatever is going on, you don’t have to do it alone.

  I laughed bitterly. He was here for me? What a load of crap. I tossed the phone down on the floor and rolled over, staring at the wall. He couldn’t help me. The truth was nobody could. I was the only one who could get me through this.

  But it was never that easy, was it?

  Chapter Five

  Beth

  Maybe what I need is a day in bed. A day of nothing.

  I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, hundreds of thoughts racing through my mind like tiny pieces of a puzzle that wouldn’t quite fit together. I was still angry from the shoot the day before. And at Coop for—well, for the sake of being angry at someone.

  Ever since Mia had come into his life, it had been one broken promise after another. She didn’t like me, and I understood that. If I were in her position I’d probably feel the same way. But that night at the bar and the day after were the last straw. I’d needed him, and he hadn’t been there for me. That hurt me more than anything else in my life had. Now, as much as I missed him, I couldn’t put myself out there to be hurt again. That was why I drank.

  Anything to block out the memories of that night. I knew I blamed Coop because I needed someone to blame. I had to let the anger out on someone. If I didn’t, I’d go crazy.

  Right now, he was the focus of my anger. I couldn’t take that out on Ivan, and if I let it build up inside me I’d go crazy. It wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t control how I felt.

  It wasn’t his fault Ivan had raped me. I just needed someone to blame.

  It had been more than two months since the attack, and I wasn’t coping. The one thing about me was, I’d always been good at masking my feelings. To those who didn’t know me, I was just the same as I always was: the party girl who never stopped.

  Only people who knew me well—not that there were many of them—weren’t fooled so easily. Like Coop.

  The thing that scared me most about people finding out was what they’d think of me. I stayed off the internet as much as I could, but sometimes I’d Google my name and read the comments about me. I was a slut. A whore—which was funny, because last time I’d checked, I’d never been paid for sex. I could only imagine what they’d say about me being raped.

  There is no right or wrong way to deal with that kind of assault. In my head, I knew I shouldn’t have to feel embarrassed about how I felt, and how I’d responded. This was my way of coping. If I didn’t have that, then I had nothing. I wasn’t going to let anyone tell me that my way of coping was wrong, but at the same time, I feared that response. Fuck anyone who thinks everyone should react the same way.

  The night after the rape was the last time I’d seen Coop. I’d been invited over for dinner, and let’s just say things got a little out of hand. Not that I remembered much. A few days in the hospital and I’d still told nobody, though the nurse had asked me if I’d been assaulted: there was bruising around my thighs that was consistent with an assault. I’d just laughed and told her I liked it rough. Not convinced, she had persuaded me to be tested for STD’s and pregnancy. Thankfully, all came back negative.

  That was the last time I’d ever touch coke. The first and last. I knew it was messed up, but at that point all I wanted to do was forget. But coke . . . I’d seen what that shit could do to people.

  ***

  Kicking back the covers, I got out of bed. It was after twelve—a respectable time to get up on one of my very few days off. I had a big day planned involving me, the sofa, and a handful of old movies. The freezer was well stocked with Ben & Jerry’s, in case of an emergency.

  As I poured the filtered coffee that had been brewing since my housekeeper, Noni, had left, into a cup, the doorbell rang. I tightened my blue silk robe around my waist and walked across the tiled floor to the door. Peering through the peephole, I jumped in shock.

  “You,” I said, opening the door, my eyes widening as I took in the familiar, sexy man leaning against my doorframe. His dark hair looked windblown, and those deliciously rich brown eyes leveled against my own, almost brooding.

  A blush crept to my cheeks as I remembered the other night, and then the fact that under my robe I was completely bare-ass naked. But it wasn’t embarrassment I was feeling; it was excitement. I was happy he was on my doorstep. I’d been sure I’d never see him again after the other night.

  “Hello. Sorry to drop by unannounced, but I wanted to check that you were oka
y, and I didn’t have your number . . .” His voice trailed off apologetically, his gaze wandering over my bare legs and my short robe.

  “Do you want a coffee?” I asked, standing aside.

  “Only if I’m not interrupting anything.”

  I blushed again, wondering what the hell he thought he would be interrupting.

  “It’s my one day off. I’m spending it watching movies and eating ice cream,” I confessed.

  “Then I’ll take you up on that coffee.” He walked inside, and I shut the door behind him. My eyes traveled down to his ass. God, he looked good. Dressed in a pressed white shirt and black slacks, he was positively hot.

  His dark hair fell onto his forehead, and looked out of control in comparison to the rest of him. Stubble lined his jaw, and I had to resist the urge to touch it. There was nothing hotter than stubble, especially on an older guy. Coop had it, and I used to pick on him for it, but secretly it drove me insane.

  Ah, Coop. I still struggled to go an hour without thinking about him. Even with this insanely attractive man standing in front of me, my mind always went back to him.

  Why? Because it was easier to tell myself that I was over him than to actually believe it.

  I led the man into the kitchen, and poured him a coffee. He took it, glancing around the room, his eyes glistening with approval.

  “Nice place,” he commented.

  I loved my home. Way too big for just one person, my home felt like the only place I could really be me. Everyone saw me as they wanted to: party girl, homewrecker . . . slut. I was none of those things. I acted like I didn’t care what people thought about me, but I did. I was human, and I had feelings. Words hurt me just like they did everyone else.

  After the incident with Coop, and it coming out that I’d used his services, my reputation had gotten worse—if that were even possible. Nobody cared about the truth, or me. All they cared about was getting a good story or a compromising photo. The reality was, I cried myself to sleep most nights. I hadn’t spoken to my family in years, and I had no friends. Yeah, sure, I was living the life.

  At least here I could be me. I could lie around on my black suede sofa that backed up against the window overlooking the city. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d curled up in the darkness, taking in the city.

  “Thanks,” I replied. I felt awkward. The other night, kissing him. Why was he here?

  We stood in the kitchen, me leaning against the kitchen counter, and him . . . well, he was staring at me, a little smile on his lips. It was the kind of look that made me feel flustered, like he knew something about me. And considering how little I remembered of the other night, it was entirely possible.

  “So, let me guess, you were just in the area?” I smirked, taking a sip of my coffee.

  “Actually, I was nowhere near the area. I just wanted to see you again.” Well, he got points for honesty. The sight of me fucking a girl had obviously left an impression on him.

  I was beginning to realize what this was: he wanted more of the party girl. He was here to see the Beth who stayed out all night drinking, and kissing random girls and making out with handsome men.

  Not me. Well, not the real me, anyway.

  I slipped a finger through the tie of my robe, letting it fall open. I arched my shoulders, letting the material float down my shoulders. Goosebumps hit my arms as I stood there confidently. Inside, I was a screaming mess.

  What the hell am I doing? What if he touched me? What if I freaked out?

  Sure, I’d had plenty of sex since the rape, but none sober. I hadn’t let anyone touch me without being completely smashed first.

  He stared at me for a moment, his eyes wandering over my curves as time seemed to freeze. I couldn’t read his expression, but the longer he stood there, watching me, the more I began to panic. Without saying a thing, he bent down and retrieved the robe, threading my arms back into it.

  “I’m not here to fuck you, Beth.” He spoke softly, his hands running over the soft silk of my robe, down my arms to my fingers. I jumped back, both relieved and confused.

  Well, this is embarrassing.

  I turned away so he couldn’t see the violent red burning across my cheeks. How had I read that so wrong? What could he possibly want from me if it wasn’t that?

  “Why are you here, then?” I muttered, rubbing my fingers along my forehead. This was quickly turning into another experience I wanted to forget. But erasing him from my mind wouldn’t be that easy.

  “I told you,” he said simply. “I wanted to see you again. I wanted to check that you were okay.”

  “You’ve met me once. I don’t even know your name. And somehow, I doubt the impression could’ve left you wanting more,” I said dryly, trying to shrug off the humiliation I was feeling.

  He chuckled. “You’d be surprised.”

  Would I? Now I was even more confused.

  “Roman. My name’s Roman.”

  “Roman,” I repeated, liking the way it rolled off my tongue. It suited him. “So you don’t want to fuck me, then why are you here?” I repeated. Just get to the point, then go, so I can die cringing.

  His eyes sparkled. He was amused. Great, I’m glad one of us is. Was he playing with me? Flirting? If this was his idea of chatting up a girl, then he needed some serious lessons.

  “I never said I didn’t want to fuck you, Beth,” he drawled, walking over to the sofa and sinking down in it. He cocked his head and studied me. “Trust me, quite the opposite, really. I’d love nothing more than to drag you down to your bedroom and fuck you senseless all day.” His abrasiveness caught me by surprise.

  I stood there, my eyes wide, not sure how to respond. Guys usually weren’t this hard to figure out. I slowly walked toward him and sat down with enough distance between us that I felt I could relax. Slowly, the embarrassment was giving way to the need for me to know what he found so interesting about me.

  I thought back to the club. My memory was foggy, but what I could remember was him sitting there and just watching. No participation, no self-action. Nothing, just his eyes on mine as another chick fingered me.

  “Okay. So you want to fuck me. But you’re not here to fuck me,” I said, running a hand through my long hair. God, I was so embarrassed.

  He chuckled, his eyes narrowing in on me as he processed whatever it was he found so fucking amusing. His enjoyment of this was irritating the hell out of me.

  “Roman, you seem like a decent guy, but I don’t have time for games, okay? Tell me what you want, or get out of my house,” I said tersely.

  He raised his eyebrows, a wide grin invading his mouth, which only served to annoy me even more. “Do you always get what you want, Beth?”

  “No,” I answered truthfully. If that were the case, I wouldn’t be sitting here with him right now. I’d be sitting here with Coop.

  He didn’t look convinced. “You strike me as the type of girl who goes after what she wants.”

  “I do. That doesn’t mean it always works out how I want it to.”

  He nodded slowly, as if he hadn’t considered that a girl like me might not actually get everything she wanted. Why was everyone so quick to conclude that my life was like this perfect little world where everything Beth wanted, she got?

  My entire life had been one struggle after another, and yet I’d gotten through that. I’d made something of my life where many people would’ve failed.

  It would have been so easy for me to go the other way. I could’ve ended up like my mother—hooked on crack, and selling my body for next to nothing to get my next hit. But I didn’t. I’d worked hard to make something of myself.

  “You think you know me, Roman, but the truth is, you don’t. You see me like everyone else does. This spoiled little brat who gets whatever she wants.” I laughed bitterly. “If you knew what I’d been through over the past . . . over my entire life, you’d know that I deserve what I have just as much as anyone else, and I’ve worked fucking hard to get where I am.”


  Roman sat forward. He reached out, his hand grasping my thigh as his eyes bored into mine. I sat there, frozen, confused by the conflicting emotions pouring through me. How the hell could him touching me have me feeling terror and desire?

  “Beth, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest that. I’m an idiot. I had no business assuming anything about you, because you’re right, I don’t know you.” He cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But I’d like to change that.”

  “Why?” I asked, throwing my hands up in frustration.

  “Why what?” His brow furrowed in confusion.

  “Why are you so intent on getting to know me, Roman?”

  “Because I see a scared, lost girl in need of someone. I’m not asking you to be with me, or sleep with me. All I’m asking is you let me be your friend. Let me help you.”

  I slouched back in my chair, feeling defeated. I still didn’t know what his game was. And right now, I didn’t have the energy to argue with him. Besides, he was right—I was alone, and I so desperately needed someone on my side.

  “I don’t need your help, Roman. You want to be my friend? Fine, but don’t think you’re going to be my shoulder to cry on.”

  “The thought never entered my mind,” he promised dryly. “So, as newly-acquainted friends, can I take you out for lunch?”

  I glanced down at my robe and slippers. “I’m not dressed.”

  “I’ll let you change.” He chuckled.

  I gave him a dirty look, but stood up. “Fine,” I muttered, marching down to my room, “but you’re paying.”

  ***

  So the guy had taste.

  We sat down at a table, tucked in the corner overlooking the water in one of the most exclusive restaurants in Manhattan. I eyed him suspiciously. Even I would struggle to get a table here, especially at such short notice.

  “What?” he asked, pouring me a glass of water.

  “Nothing,” I mumbled. “What is it you do, exactly? This is a pretty exclusive restaurant. I’m just wondering how you managed to get us a table.”