Promiscuous by Missy Johnson Read Free Book Online

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