Lead Him Not Into Temptation (Redemption Book 2)

by Steinbrunn, M. L.

  “You have got to be kidding me? You’re telling me to leave?” he asks, while roughly putting on his wrinkled clothes. Reason two why I always invite men to my house instead of venturing in their dirty habitats; I will never do a wrinkled walk of shame. No, thank you.

  “Look…” I let the word hang in the air waiting for him to fill me in on his less than memorable name.

  “Cooper.”

  I grimace. “Damn, I was way off,” I say shaking my head, and then lead him into the living room. “The only reason you are still here is because I fell asleep last night before I could show you the door. I’m sure I’ll see you around and if the moment strikes us, maybe we can have round two. We both had a good time, let’s not ruin it by having some awkward morning-after exchange.”

  I’ve left the poor guy speechless. He follows me to the door, which I open for him. He swoops down and picks up his shoes he left in the entry and steps into the hall. He’s still looking at me, which surprises me, usually men get the spiel, are relieved they didn’t have to deliver the lines, and leave with a smile. Cooper, not so much.

  “You’re a bitch, you know that right? Women don’t act like this. Women don’t treat men like me, like this.”

  I won’t lie, his words sting a little, but they are entirely true. I am a bitch, for good reason, and I will never apologize for it. “You’re right. I am a bitch, but you know what? I am a smart bitch who can play a man’s game. The only reason you’re pissed is because I took the words out of your mouth and left you with morning wood. Now, I’ll see ya around, Coop.”

  I slam the door in his face, drop my sheet, and walk to the bathroom for a much-needed shower. Not only do I need to wash that little prick Cooper off me, but I need to gear up for a photo shoot which I have no doubt will test every bit of patience I don’t have. I’ve only met the guys from Absolution once and I’m not too pleased to have any more dealings with them. Their lead singer is the epitome of douche lead singer who is only in the music industry because of the pussy it can land him. Their drummer is a big, teddy bear who sweats like he walks around in a sauna all day, not exactly great material for a photographer. Their bassist, well, I didn’t talk to him, so I can’t criticize…yet. Then there is their lead guitar player, Casen. He’s infuriating with how he tries to be all insightful all the time. Which is code for I think he likes to hear himself talk and I would like nothing more than to gag him with their drummer’s tube sock. I mean that in the least sexual way possible.

  Damn, I need to remember to stop at Starbucks on the way, or I may end up making one of them a tripod Popsicle, or worse, end up in bed with another Cooper.

  Between showering, finding the right outfit, checking emails, and surfing my regular social media sites, I step into a coffee shop with only twenty minutes until ten and am met with the longest line imaginable. FUCK! I have two options and I pull out my phone to let Campbell decide between the two.

  Me: Stuck in an ungodly line at Starbucks. MUST have coffee to survive. Two options…I will be late but caffeine will help me play nice. Or I’m on time and you get me coffee so I play nice.

  Campbell: Damn it, Jen!!

  Me: PLEASE!!!

  Campbell: You’re lucky I love you. I’ll get your coffee. Get your ass here.

  Me: Thank you! See you in twenty!

  I run out of the coffee shop and race downtown to the Civic Center Park. Downtown Denver is always a mess; the one-way streets and meter parking is a nightmare. I finally find a place to park with minutes to spare; of course, the band is already set up and Campbell is standing at the fountain with my coffee in hand, waiting for me.

  “I know, I know. I’m lucky you love me,” I say as I snatch the vanilla latte from her hand and drink the first and best sip of the liquid gold.

  Casen

  “I know, I know. I’m lucky you love me,” I hear her tell Campbell as she takes the coffee from her and guzzles it like it’s a bottle of water and not a cup of hot coffee.

  I’ve only met Jen once, but the girl is hard to forget. Spitfire is how I would describe her…and talented. Photographers are a dime a dozen, but if you want a good photographer who can, with a click of her camera, land your band on the cover of Rolling Stone, well Jen MacLauchlan is who you call. When I found out our publicist/manager, Campbell, was friends with her, of course we asked that she hire Jen.

  To say we didn’t hit it off the first time we met is putting it mildly. She is a man-eating firecracker who has no problem putting men in their place, and she did exactly that with me. I would like nothing more than to repay the favor. Her reputation certainly precedes her, but I didn’t need to hear the rumors or stories to know what kind of woman Jen MacLauchlan is. She is a dainty little thing who can gobble up a man with one small smile, then cut him to the quick with a quip, which stings like a whip. You do not fuck with women like Jen, but I found it pretty damn fun getting her goat and I have no intention of backing off at today’s shoot. Am I a pest? Probably. Immature? Maybe a little, but if I can make this high-strung woman squirm, well, then I would call this shoot a success.

  “Hey guys, you ready to get started?” she asks, bending down to grab her camera from her camera bag. Her ability to squat in the skin-tight jeans and knee-high boots she’s wearing is beyond my imagination, but I’m not going to complain because the view is pretty nice. Her long, blonde, wavy hair freely lands on her bare shoulder which her knit sweater is having trouble covering; also, not a bad view.

  “We’ve been ready for half an hour, sweetheart. Just waitin’ on you,” I tell her as I lean against the fountain. John, our drummer, gives me a nudge hard enough to almost knock me into the water. “Dude, shush,” he whispers harshly at me.

  Jen pushes the strands of hair, which have fallen into her face behind her ear, allowing me to see her honey brown eyes slide to my direction and then narrow in on my face. Oh yeah, I’ve pissed her off. She recovers quickly, trying to remain professional. “Well then, these pictures should be amazing,” she says with a tight smile as she stands to walk toward us. Her eyes are glued on me, almost challenging me to make another smartass comment.

  “Okay, everyone,” Campbell interrupts, clapping her hands. “Let’s get going before the rain moves in. Jen, tell them where you want them, and boys, cooperate and get the pictures we need for the tour.”

  I throw my hands in the air, surrendering to Campbell. After all, the only reason we have the opportunity at this tour is because of her. A major label hasn’t picked us up yet, but this statewide mini-tour is absolutely a step in the right direction. Our band, Absolution, has only been together for two years and the dives we’ve been playing have been, well, sad really. It wasn’t until a few months ago when Campbell came into the picture that doors began to open for us, including this tour.

  “Just tell me where you want me, doll face,” our lead singer Royce announces, snaking his arm around Jen’s tiny waist. “I’m at your disposal,” he whispers suggestively in her ear. I just roll my eyes; leave it to Royce to hit on our photographer. I may want to give her a little shit to make the day interesting and pay her back for the shit she dished out to me the night I first met her, but Royce takes things to a new level. I’m not even sure he enjoys music; his primary interest is in the quantity of ass the microphone can score him.

  Jen takes his arm and moves it off of her with just her index finger and thumb as though she doesn’t want to touch him, her face scrunched in disgust. “I appreciate the offer, Roy, is it?”

  “Royce,” he clarifies smoothly.

  “Yes, well, Roy, I have plenty of whatever you’re offering at my disposal, and I guarantee, none of those options come with a prescription for gonasyphaherpilaids. So, thanks, but for right now, all I need you to do is get your ass away from mine and by the fountain so I can photograph you.”

  Royce looks back and forth between Jen and I, trying to figure out his best saving face move, eventually deciding to quietly take a seat on the edge of the fountain ne
xt to John.

  “Anyone else have anything they want to say, or can I do my job now?” Jen asks, her arms squarely folded across her chest. We all shake our heads and look down like we’ve been scolded by our mothers.

  “We’re sorry for being such pricks, we really are happy you’re here to do this for us,” John the peacemaker pipes up.

  Jen sighs loudly, obviously annoyed with our antics. “It’s fine, let’s just get this moving along. I would imagine none of us want to have to come back for a do-over if the rain fucks with our shoot.”

  Immediately she starts directly everyone where to stand and what to do. Royce is eating up every bit of the attention, while John tries to hide behind his drum set; he hates being the center of attention. Our shy bassist, Seiger, yeah, his name is Seiger, he’s one of six in his family and they all have unusual names. The best part? His mom and dad are named Rob and Sue. I don’t really have much of a family, so his family usually takes us in around the holidays and his little brother, Wolfgang, tags along with us to most of our shows. Anyways, he acts clueless most of the time, I’m surprised he realizes we are even at the park taking pictures. Don’t get me wrong, he’s the nicest guy, but man is he in his own world. Me? I feel so uncomfortable with the whole thing. I completely understand the nature of the beast and how publicity, photo shoots, and fans all get rolled into the ball of wax, which is the music machine. Really though, I would like nothing more than to write and play music without all the rest of it. I don’t need the famous status, like Royce; I don’t care about my name being splashed everywhere and all the girls it can get me. All I want is enough money to keep doing what I love. And in terms of girls, of course I’m a guy who likes a little play now and then, but I’d be happy with one awesome girl and a family of my own.

  “I think we have it, boys,” Jen announces after what feels like hours of posing and pretending to play my guitar. Thank God. As we start to put our instruments away, the clouds open up and the rain begins to pound down on us. I quickly scramble to put my guitar in its case. I might kill someone if it gets ruined. For a long time it was the only thing of value I owned. When I turned eighteen and left my grandmother’s it was the only thing I had with me. I don’t care if I have a million dollars, it will always be the guitar, which means the most to me.

  I catch Jen continuing to take pictures of us, ignoring the rain pelting her delicate skin. Her hair is beginning to stick to her head, all waves now turning into a dripping mess. Her mascara she obviously spent an immense amount of time applying to perfection is now running down her face. I take a look around at the images she is attempting to freeze in time, and I’m impressed. The guys have secured their instruments and are drenched, splashing in the fountain. The pictures she’s taking now will no doubt be the ones, which will end up on our publicity flyers. After all the shit I attempted to throw at her throughout the shoot, now I feel like a bit of a dick for making the day rough on her. Here she is sticking it out in the rain to make our dumbasses look like rock gods. I should be thanking her, not giving her grief.

  I try to hang back and enjoy the moment until Jen officially finishes by putting her camera in her camera bag. Then I lunge for her, lifting her into the air, and throwing her into the fountain. John follows my lead and grabs Campbell to do the same.

  Campbell comes up laughing, wiping her ebony hair from her face. “Jen is going to give you a lobotomy with her tripod, Casen. You are aware of that, right?” she giggles. Well, shit. So much for lightening the mood and having some fun after a tense day.

  “You asshole!” Jen gargles as she shoots to the water’s surface. “Do you have any idea how much these boots cost? They are ruined!” Queen bitch on wheels has returned and I’m back on the radar.

  Great, just when I think I could maybe play around with princess sparkplug, I step into a massive pile of flaming dog shit. “Sorry, Jen, really. I just thought we could have a little fun. I don’t think we got off on the right foot and I was trying to remove some of the tension. My bad,” I tell her, holding out my hand to help her out of the fountain. Apparently, my schmuck status has now reached an all-time high.

  “And throwing my ass in a cold fountain seemed like the right course of action?” she huffs. “Most civilized people just buy someone a drink.” She takes my hand and throws her soaked boot onto the side of the fountain to hoist herself up. I move to pull her up, but instead I’m met with resistance. “It’s a good thing I’m not always civilized either,” she says with a sly smile as she yanks on my arm. I lose my balance and feel myself being pulled into the frigid water.

  She and Campbell are laughing hysterically when I come back up for air. “I’m glad you ladies can have some fun at my expense,” I say, wiping the water out of my eyes and trudging to the side of the fountain to climb out. “I thought civilized people were above such nonsense.”

  “I never have a problem stooping a little lower in order for a little payback,” Jen laughs as she and Campbell help each other out of the water. They both are beginning to shiver, but are still laughing at the entire situation, which if I must admit, is somewhat comical. My bandmates are certainly finding the scene entertaining.

  “I would think for a politician’s daughter, you would never venture below your rank,” I joke as I peel off my button-down shirt and wring out the T-shirt underneath. “How about we both act civilized and we all go for drinks?”

  The cessation of laughter draws my attention away from my shirt and when I look up I’m met with two serious expressions. Jen looks as though she is both stunned and pissed beyond belief. I wouldn’t think such a look would be possible, yet Jen is pulling it off like a pro. I look to Campbell for a little assistance on what I did or said which was so wrong, but she only offers a look of disappointment.

  “What? What did I say?” I ask confused. I thought we were having a good time, messing around, but I guess I fucked the moment up.

  “Nothing, it’s fine. Cam and I have a get-together with the girls, so I’ll pass on the drink,” she quickly says, turning her back to me to start gathering her bags of equipment. Fuck. She’s not pissed, I’ve hurt her feelings. I step toward her to offer an apology, but Campbell stops me.

  “Leave it,” she whispers when Jen is out of earshot.

  I can feel the lines between my brows deepen. I may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but I know when to offer an apology and apparently this moment calls for one; I’ve offended Jen in some way. While I meant to serve up a decent ration, it was never my intention for her to leave hurt today.

  “What do you mean, ‘leave it,’ Cam? I obviously said something wrong. I should apologize,” I explain as I move past her.

  Jen has her back to me, hastily throwing her bags over her shoulders. The poor thing looks like a pack mule; I’m honestly surprised she doesn’t hire an assistant to lug around all of her equipment. Having her back to me actually makes this uncomfortable task of groveling much more bearable.

  “I’m not sure what I said to upset you, but…”

  “Don’t fucking worry about it. I don’t need an apology from someone beneath my rank, remember?” she seethes as she twirls around to face me. Her bags nail me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me, barreling me over to attempt to catch my breath. Before I can say anything, defend myself, offer up a fuck you right back…anything, she storms off in the direction in which she arrived, bags and all.

  “I warned you to stay away, Casen,” Cam says when she strides up next to me and nudges my shoulder.

  “Seriously, Cam, I didn’t have a chance to even slightly backtrack. I was dead in the water,” I add. “You would have thought I called her a C-you-next-Tuesday, the way she reacted. What in the hell?”

  “Case, in Jen world, that’s exactly what you called her. Give her a little time to cool down, she’ll get over it,” she reassures me, taking my button-down from me and giving it a better wringing, like it will make a difference with the constant rain which is pouring on us.


  “Face it, dude, you have the worst luck possible,” Royce interrupts.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask, feeling myself getting angry about the overall situation.

  “Oh, come on, dude. When it comes to women, you have the worst luck ever. It could be raining pussy right now and you would get smacked in the head with a dick.”

  John and Seiger have joined the group and are bursting into laughter, while Campbell tries to contain her amusement; at least she’s polite. It all heightens my irritation.

  “Fuck you guys, I’m going home to get dry,” I spout off before turning my calmer attention to Campbell. “Cam, let me know when the pictures are ready, please.” She agrees and I take off toward my truck. I hope the walk in the rain will wash this horrible fucking day and my tainted mood off. There is no chance it will take away replaying thoughts of Jen soaked through with her camera, before I fucked it all up.

  Jen

  The photo shoot for Absolution took longer than I wanted it to, but I still had plenty of time to run home and change into some dry clothes before meeting the girls for our weekly coffee outing. Since Vivian moved back to Denver, the four of us always make sure to carve out time each week to get together at A Scone’s Throw, our favorite little mom and pop coffee shop.

  I should have offered Campbell a ride from the shoot, but Casen Thompson put me in such a tizzy the only thing I could think of was getting the hell out of there. He did nothing the entire day except attempt to piss me off; it was like he wanted to see me angry. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women, with his shaggy, sandy brown hair, grey eyes, tall, toned body, and three-quarter sleeve tattoos. He’s gorgeous, I’ll admit that, but he knows it, and that’s worse. I hate guys like him, they are only good for one thing, and I already had a Cooper for the week. I tried to be professional, but I wanted nothing more than to rip off his balls and make earrings out of them. I’m positive the fashion trend would take off once I plastered flyers of them all over Denver with a huge headline, which read, ‘Casen Thompson is a ball-less prick.’