Kiss the Sky (Addicted #3)(121)

I wave her off and turn up the volume. But the headline on the bottom of the screen is vitally clear. Yet, I still have to reread it five times just for the letters to sink in.

Sex Tape of Rose Calloway and Connor Cobalt Sold to Porn Site for $25 Million

Porn site.

Sex tape.

I didn’t sell shit. That little scumbag forged our signatures to a porn distributor? The only satisfaction right now is picturing Scott’s head behind bars because if I imagine the other thing—everyone watching Connor f*ck me—a tingling sensation crawls up my arms like thousands of centipedes.

The news doesn’t even bother to explain who we are. Through the reality show and blogs, we’re already famous. Now, I suppose, we’re infamous.

My head buzzes with all the noise from the television, from my friends and sisters. “The producer is none other than Scott Van Wright, Rose’s ex-boyfriend.” I barely catch that line. He’s still my ex-boyfriend? I concentrate on that stupid lie that’s still being aired. When the real shit hits the fan—Scott still manages to keep half his mask on. I hate him.

I have to be stuck in some f*cked up nightmare.

Loren tries to grab the remote out of my hand, and I jerk back and turn the volume up. “I’m watching this,” I snap. And there I am.

They play a clip from the sex tape. I’m lying on my bed in this house, naked. Black bars censor the tape for network television, my breasts and vagina sufficiently covered now.

But somewhere online the unedited version is being circulated. And how can I stop it? Lawyers. Lots of them. But I can’t even bring myself to call my father or to dial the family’s attorney. I am hypnotized by me. On screen. With Connor.

My arms are tied to the bedpost with Connor’s belt, and the expensive diamond collar glints in the dim candlelight. I remember that night. It was right after the Alps. My second foray into sex and it’s public for everyone to see.

I turn the volume higher, my finger stuck on the button as it blares.

“Rose,” Loren complains, his hands on his ears.

“Rose.” Lily stands and tries to touch my arm, but I jerk away again.

“Don’t touch me.” I need to see this. No one tells me to turn it down, probably afraid I will kill them for it. I feel murderous. I feel like I could go kill a coalition of baby cheetahs and not bat an eye.

The news anchor’s voice escalates to an intolerable level. But I don’t lower the television. Not yet. “Scott Van Wright has sold the sex tape to Hot Fire Productions for a multi-million-dollar deal. There’s been no comment yet from either Connor Cobalt or Rose Calloway, but it appears to be a legal transaction between all four parties.”

My mouth drops. That f*cking liar. There is no way in hell this is legal.

“The summary of the film says the hour-long session is rough and for mature audiences only.” Clearly.

I turn the volume to the highest level.

“What the f*ck are you doing?” Ryke asks, putting a hand to his ear to block the noise. Lily is the only one standing up by my side. Her face twists in pain, and I remember she’s been in this position. Sort of. She’s never had her sex life distributed. No one has seen it online.

She was just called a sex addict, and everyone took it as truth. Which it was. But this is clear, physical proof that I’ve had sex. I’m no longer a virgin.

“Maybe she’s like…having a mental break…” Daisy says.

I spin on my heels, taking the remote hostage with me. I carry myself with some morsel of dignity. In the kitchen, I rummage in a cupboard that squirmy Brett loves to hide his booze under. Since we have a “no alcohol in sight” policy in the townhouse, most everything is kept out of reach. I land on my knees and dig around the dishwasher soaps for the bottle of Jack.

“Seriously though, Rose!” Lily says loudly, trying to talk over the blaring TV. “Are you okay?”

I rise to my feet, snagging a wine glass from another cupboard before I return to the living room. Everyone watches as I pour whiskey to the rim, practically overflowing the glass.

“Rose, not to lecture you at this really sensitive time in your life,” Loren says, “but that’s not how you drink whiskey. And as an expert in liquor, it offends me.”

I give him a sharp glare. “You’re not an expert in liquor. You’re an alcoholic.” I set the bottle of Jack on the coffee table and take a large swig. It burns the back of my throat, but I hardly even cringe. The sting is numbed by my anger.

“Which makes me an expert,” Loren argues.

I wave him off. My go-to move at this point. Wave it off. If only I could magically wave away that sex tape.

I take three more gulps from my wine glass. I am so pissed. My body throttles with rage. I am shaking I am so f*cking livid. Yes, it’s embarrassing that the world has seen my breasts and vagina, two parts of me that I was unwilling to show Connor for an entire year.

Yes, I’m slightly nervous the world will view me as a doormat now that they see me gooey and submissive in bed.

No, I will not cry.

I won’t shed a tear for Scott Van Wright. He deserves only my nasty, vile words. Not emotions that I reserve for people I love.

“What’s going on?” Connor asks, his voice coming from the stairs. Perfect. He’s heard my call. The loud, obnoxious television.