“Exactly. It’s early, Campbell. Why are you calling me? We have a shoot today and I need my beauty sleep to make the magic happen.”

“You definitely can make magic happen,” rasps the smooth, baritone voice from the other side of my bed. Shit! My eyes widen at the realization he is still here and I turn quickly to cover his mouth with my hand to silence him. I use the word he, well, because I’m sure he has a name, yet it escapes me at the moment. I hear Campbell speaking on the other end, but my attention is focused on the groping hands and warm body moving closer to me.

“Hello? Jen? Did you flipping fall asleep? Wake up, Jen!” Campbell shouts, forcing me to pull the phone away from my ear.

“Yes, sorry. You got me. I fell asleep. What was that again?” I ask. Campbell doesn’t need to know my lack of attention is because the model from yesterday’s photo shoot didn’t get the memo that I don’t do sleepovers. Sex, yes. On my terms, absolutely, but never snuggly sleepovers.

“Jesus, Jen, it’s like seven in the morning. The waking world is in fact moving around at this hour. Anyways, we had to change the time of the photo shoot. They’re calling for rain this afternoon, so we’re moving everything up to this morning. I’m calling you to get your ass up and moving so we can meet up with the band at ten.”

“All right, then, got it. See you there. Thanks, Cam.” I hang up on her before she utters another word and I jump out of bed, swatting grabby hands away, and covering myself with the sheets.

“Thanks for the sex and all, but my schedule has changed and I need to get going for the day,” I tell Brad, Bryan, Braxton…I’m almost positive it’s a ‘B’ name.

“Well, let me get your day off on the right start, baby,” he coos, grabbing ahold of my sheet and pulling me closer to him.

I rip the sheets from his hands and walk toward his clothes piled up on the floor near the doorway. “Um, thanks but I’m good,” I say, gathering up his clothes and throwing them at him. “If I need your assistance in the future, I’ll be sure to save your number.”

The stunned look on his face is almost priceless. He is absolutely gorgeous and surprisingly not bad in bed either. I’m sure this is the first time he’s been kicked out of a woman’s bed. In fact, I would bet I’m stealing lines out of his dating playbook. However, repeat sexual encounters are not my thing. I always assume control of a situation and never a let a man too close. If anyone is going to walk away hurt, it’s going to be him. They always say it’s a man’s world, and in regards to my sex life, I have no problem wearing the pants and playing the dickhead role.

“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.