Текст книги "Lead Him Not Into Temptation"
Автор книги: M. L. Steinbrunn
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 11 страниц)
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 next 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.’
I take a deep breath, attempting to calm my annoyed self, before pulling open the door to the coffee shop. I love these girls. They are my family and I would do anything for any of them. I don’t want my shitty morning to spill into my afternoon girl time.
Cam and Vivian are already at our table when I’ve finally composed myself enough to enter. “Hello, my chicas,” I say, as I plop myself down in my usual chair. Cam has since changed from the photo shoot and looks comfortable in her tattered jeans, sneakers, and Van Morrison T-shirt. Her hair is still wet and piled high in a ponytail. This was her typical attire in college, but now she reserves her cozy clothes for casual days with us. Most other times, she looks like something out of a 1950s pinup magazine. When she sees me, she gives me a slight wave and a tight smile. Yup, she is approaching with caution.
Vivian, on the other hand, is absolute perfection. Two years ago after her husband Will died, I couldn’t say the same thing about her, but now her life is one which most would be jealous of. She married Brooks and moved into his colossal cabin. Their kids have blended together like the fucking Brady Bunch, and now she’s pregnant. I guess that’s what a St. Lucia honeymoon will do for you; I’m glad neither is in my future.
Her smile is big and bright, and her greeting is even warmer. She stands when I reach the table and pulls me into her famous momma bear hug. I pat her back and move to my seat as quickly as possible to order a caramel macchiato. If I were in a better mood, she would have gotten a slap on the ass, like usual.
“Okay, what’s wrong?” Viv asks, noticing my less than enthusiastic greeting. “I never get a pitiful tap on the back from you, girly,” she adds as she sits back down.
I immediately pick up the menu from the center of the table and nonchalantly flip through it. “What?” I ask casually. “I’m good, just a rough morning dealing with immature musicians, in the rain no less.” I slide my eyes over the menu to peer at Campbell across the table. “I don’t know where you find these assholes, but really, Cam, it’s time to swim in a bigger, better pond.”
“Oh whatever, Jen. If that shoot had lasted any longer, you probably would have taken one of them home,” she jokes.
“Bite your tongue, woman!” I sneer. “The only one who even seemed half-way decent was their guitarist and he proved himself to be a grade-A fucktard.”
The waitress makes her way to the table just as my expletive spills out of my mouth. She places Cam’s coffee and Vivian’s tea on the table and looks to me disapprovingly for my order. Yes, ma’am, I’m a potty mouth; we’ve been coming here for months and my language is just as inappropriate on each occasion. I’m not sure why she thinks her scolding expression will change that now.
“Caramel macchiato, please,” I tell her, smiling sweetly which only earns me a headshake as she walks away.
“Ohhhh, tell me more about this guitarist. Details, girls.” Viv moves to the edge of her chair and leans in on the table. “Hot? Muscles? Tattoos…”
“Asshole,” I simply say, cutting off her inquisition.
She looks to Campbell to elaborate, and Cam immediately accommodates, providing a play-by-play of my hideous morning. Vivian listens intently while I sit back and sip the coffee the waitress delivers. When she finally finishes her story, I look to Vivian to begin the musician bashing, but instead I’m met with wide eyes.
“Jen likes a boy, Jen likes a boy!” she shouts, clapping her hands. The outburst causes me to choke on my coffee and burn my tongue. Campbell just nods and smiles.
“I’m sorry, where the fuck did that come from? Did you not hear the story? He was a dick to me.”
“Oh, I heard the story,” she answers, wiggling her eyebrows. “I heard how you bickered with a tall, hot, tatted guitar player all morning. You usually put them in their place and move on, but here you sit, still steaming over your encounter. So, once again, Jen likes a boy, Jen likes a boy,” she sings.
“I’m not fucking twelve, Viv. Get over it.”
“I’m not going to disagree,” Campbell interjects, laughing at my pure mortification. “I have to ask though, what in the hell is gonasyphaherpilaids?”
Both of my friends look to me for the definition of my new favorite word for assholes who can’t keep it in their pants. “Think of the wide spectrum of venereal diseases; now mesh them all together and you have the king hybrid of all the major ones…gona…sypha…herpa…aids. There are just some guys you look at and know, their rotten dicks will give me a buffet of issues which require prescription medication. I like my vajayjay; I try not to anger her.”
They are rolling with laughter by the end of my explanation, provoking the attention of nearby patrons and more nasty looks from our waitress. Her twenty-five percent is slowly finding its way back into my pocket…lighten up, lady.
“I certainly don’t mean to change the subject because I love any opportunity possible to poke fun at Jen’s love life, but has anyone heard from Carly? She should be here by now,” Campbell asks, wiping the tears from her eyes.
We all check our phones to make sure we hadn’t missed a text or call from her, but we all come up empty. I look back to the front door of the coffee shop when I hear the bell, which hangs from the door, chime. There stands Carly, soaked through, swollen red eyes, and no little Olivia tagging along behind like usual.
“She’s here, girls,” I say, directing everyone’s attention to the entrance. Immediately Vivian stands up to rush toward her, also noticing her distraught state. Carly puts a hand in the air and shakes her head to stop her and then slowly makes her way across the coffee shop to our table. Vivian takes the cue, and sits back down, watching her like a hawk until she, too, takes her seat with us.
Carly is our shy, carefree, loveable corner piece to our little friend puzzle. She is fiercely loyal and wants everyone to get along; to see her so upset, something has definitely turned her world upside down. She would never let us see her this way, and absolutely not in public.
“Honey, what happened?” Cam asks, handing her a napkin to dry herself off. “Where is Olivia?”
“She’s with Jack. I told him I was meeting you girls after our doctor’s appointment this morning.” Her answer is barely audible and her eyes are down, burning a hole into the table top.
“This morning? Sweetie, it’s late afternoon. What have you been doing all day if your appointment was this morning?” I ask, as I reach over and place my hand on hers which, are laced in her lap. Vivian takes note and begins to rub her back.
“Walking,” she whispers, still refusing to look up at us.
I glance around the table at the others and we all make eye contact, I can feel the concern radiate from them. She has been walking around Denver all day in the rain, alone. “Are you hurt, what happened?” I ask again. I try to be compassionate and not too gruff with her, but my own worry level is spiking.
She finally looks up at me, tears spilling over her lids and down her frozen cheeks. “We can’t have any more children,” she answers. Her lips tremble from both the cold as well as the pain the words are inflicting on her.
“What do you mean, hun?” Cam asks handing her another napkin. “You had Olivia with no problems, what’s changed?”
Accepting the napkin, Carly dabs her cheeks and eyes before taking a deep breath to gather a reply. “The doctor called it secondary infertility. I guess it’s more common than you would think. Jack and I have been trying for almost a year to get pregnant again, and nothing. There can be lots of reasons for it and we can try lots of things fertility-wise to get pregnant.”
“So there you go,” I say, squeezing her hand. “There are still options, it just might be a little more difficult than the first time.”
She shakes her head and looks down at the table again. “No,” she sighs. “Jack told me after the appointment that he doesn’t want to try anything. He’s done, and wants us to move on with our lives. Content with how things are.”
“What?” I shout. “That is fucked up of him. If he wanted to be ball-less, all he had to do is ask. I’d gladly fuck up his area, one short and curly at a time.” Vivian gives me her best stern mother look to get me to settle down. Cam looks around the coffee shop and begins to quietly apologize for my verbal diarrhea.
“I know, right. That is super fucked up,” Carly finally announces, just as loudly as my outburst. “I love him, but what an asshole!” she adds. Vivian gasps, Cam’s eyes bulge out of her head, and I can’t help but laugh. Carly does not cuss…at all. In fact, she hates when anyone around her uses foul language. She looks around the table at the wide array of reactions to her potty mouth slip-up and she too begins to laugh.
As upset as she is, I think a little of the weight of the situation has been lifted with our laughter. These women truly are my sisters. After walking away from my parents and their money, they are the only family I have, other than Aunt Maggie. It hurts me to see one of them hurt, and this situation only highlights that for me. As much as I like Brooks and Jack, if they ever betrayed my girls, I’d be the first one there with a shovel to help hide the body. If Campbell ever settled down and brought a man into our circle, I would offer her the same service. However, as much as I love them, and I know they love me, I’ve never felt confident enough to tell them the one thing I fear would change everything. Now, after hearing this from Carly, I know I have to bury my secret even further. I can’t risk losing them.
