Excerpt 5 Days W/ My Kinda Evil Ex
Chapter 1
File the folders—check.
Confirm tomorrow’s appointments—check.
Successfully dodge flashbacks of the viral video that ruined my life—also check.
I sigh as I step around the back of my office chair and roll it against the desk. I glance across the waiting room, my eyes settling on the title etched into the glass door: DDS Scott Leeman .
Ten days. I can’t believe Doctor Leeman’s new wife convinced him to go on a two-week cruise. Thanks to little Ms. Fun Boat, I’ll go ten full days without work.
Sure, Doctor Leeman gave me enough notice that I could have planned a getaway of my own, but we both knew that wasn’t going to happen. I’m not in that get-out-and-have-fun stage of life although I know some in their mid-twenties are. I’m more responsible than most people my age, which is why I’m living well in the stay-hyper-focused-on-my-work phase. I have bills to pay, after all. Besides, I like my job. I’ve become the master of efficiency, and it feels good to be somewhere I can shine. Sure, it’s not where I pictured myself being, but here in this space, seated behind the front desk of DDS Leeman’s office, I’m content.
“Well, kiddo,” comes the dentist’s voice from behind. “It’s time to lock the place up. Have you got all your things?” He flips the key ring in circles with is finger.
I stare at the office key, wishing I could somehow keep working while he’s gone. “I could always deep-clean, you know,” I say, lifting my gaze until it meets his. “You know, while you’re gone.”
Doctor Leeman’s shoulders drop. He gives me a stern look to remind me I was supposed to plan something too. I haven’t, and now he knows that.
“You’re young, Daisy. Why would you want to come into work instead of taking a break? How many vacation days do you have saved up now—seven, eight…”
“Ten,” I admit. “But I don’t have anywhere to go. And I like it here. I’d rather just hang onto them and?—”
“And what? Let life pass you by?” He puffs out a big breath and strokes the silver scruff on his chin. “Hey, wait, didn’t you say your guy friend, Todd, wants to take you star gazing in Bryce Canyon?”
I cringe. “Yeah, but I think he…” I pause because this is not a topic I want to get into. I’ve had a hard enough time admitting it to myself, but the idea of speaking it aloud feels dangerous. Like I’m unintentionally manifesting it or something. I think of the way he brought over the telescope last week and how, when I was taking a close look at one of the constellations, Todd rested a hand on my lower back. And left it there.
“I’m afraid he wants to be more than a friend,” I blurt.
Leeman shrugs. “Would that be the worst thing in the world?”
My eyes bulge. “ Yes .”
“Hmm. Perhaps the two of you are just too alike.” He leans against the wall, which tells me his little speech is going to take a while. “When I married Chantelle, she helped put things into perspective. If it wasn’t for her, I’d work until I was dead with scarcely a break in between.”
I suddenly sense he’s about to tell me he wants to retire. A spark of fear skitters through my chest. Please don’t.
“Marrying a woman who’s my total opposite,” he continues,” was the best thing I could have done. Chantelle’s free spirit and zest for life make things exciting again. I go to bed looking forward to tomorrow. I wake up excited about today. Heck, I haven’t been able to get out of the office before six o’clock in years. But now…”
Yeah, that’s another thing I’m dealing with. Less time in the office, which means more time in my quiet apartment. And now I don’t even have Todd to hang out with.
Already the extra free time has me grasping for new projects. I reorganized my closet for the season—spring in Denver isn’t exactly toasty but it’s a far cry from winter. After that, I reorganized my pantry, my refrigerator, and every cupboard to perfection. I even got a head start on my flower garden. Not a weed in sight.
“Would you be open to dating Chantelle’s son?”
The question sounds both random and foreign coming from my boss of all people. “Her son?” I squeak. “I don’t think so.”
“But I didn’t tell you about him yet,” Leeman says.
It feels like sharp knots are rolling through my gut. Causing all sorts of upset and irritation. I don’t like being put on the spot. “If he’s anything like his mother…” I stop there because this is delicate ground and I’m already saying things all wrong. “What I mean to say is, you might like being with someone who’s your opposite. Since you and I are so alike, she happens to be my opposite too. So if her son is like her, I’d rather not get involved.”
“You wouldn’t be getting involved with just one date,” he persists.
I fold my arms and square a “this-isn’t-fair” look at him because it’s not and he knows it. “No thank you,” I say firmly.
Leeman’s gaze holds mine for a beat while he chews on his lip. Slowly then, his focus drifts aimlessly across my neatly organized office space. “You can’t really say whether you’d be a good match if you don’t try it. Opposites attract, you know?”
A vision of Ian Kelly comes to mind which—consequently—causes the viral video I’ve managed to avoid to crash into my mind like a wrecking ball. Yes, opposites do attract, and then they ruin each other’s lives. Doctor Leeman’s honeymoon phase might be lasting longer than mine did—heck, I was working on an annulment the morning after our wedding—but that doesn’t mean disaster won’t strike him too.
“Just think about it,” Leeman finally says. “And you can have two days here while I’m gone,” he adds, tossing the keys my way.
I think fast and lift my hands in time to catch them. “Two days?”
“Pick any two days while Chantelle and I are gone. You can restock the supplies, polish the plants, whatever you’d like.”
I grin. “Thank you.” Before I can say more, he adds to it.
“Just promise me you’ll do something…out of your element during that time, okay?”
I hate making promises, but it won’t be too hard to find something out of my element; I have a shallow threshold. Using new facial cream would fall in that category. Maybe I’ll take the plunge and try the cleanser Lilly and Rose like so much. “Okay,” I promise. “I will. “Have fun on your cruise.”
“I plan to,” he assures, then tilts his head toward the door. “Now, let’s blow this joint.”
Since I’m the one with the keys, I lock up behind us and give Leeman one last wave. He whistles his way toward his new, plum colored corvette. I can’t help but be torn at the sight. It’s the same war that started when he and Chantelle took their vows six months ago. A tentative part of me is happy for him, and excited too. He’s a man in love, and it suits him. But the bigger part of me—I’m talking a good eighty percent—is bracing for the crash. If it does come, it won’t be pretty. But even still, I can picture the devastated dentist saying he was lucky to have tasted a love like that, even if it didn’t last.
“Poor guy,” I mutter to myself.
The Colorado air is cool on my skin as I hurry to my silver Civic. It’s carwash day, and if I hurry, I’ll beat the rush from the Air Force Base. I love springtime in Denver. The cold weather is gradually giving way to warmer temperatures. This time, I appreciate those temperatures more than ever. The snowfall this year was brutal. Which is why I was forced to fork out six-hundred dollars on new tires, I remind myself with a groan.
I never had a big savings to begin with. My parents—aka the worst money managers this side of the pacific—didn’t save a dime for my college education the way my friends’ parents did. Granted, the divorce didn’t help any of us, but despite that, I managed to put myself through school and earn an associate degree. Since I’m not willing to go into debt like my parents, I have to save up before I go back for the teaching degree I want. Or maybe wanted —past tense—is more accurate. I’m not dying to wander through the college campus again and have random d-bags holler things like, “Hey, it’s Cake Girl!”
My chest goes tight.
Nope. Dodge it, Daisy. Don’t get caught up in the past.
Refocus.
I take a moment to do just that with a vision of my younger twin sisters in their current university pursuits. I grin, knowing I’ve helped them get through hard times. Knowing I’ve helped them get where they are.
I picture them years down the road. Happy as ever. Successful. Starting families. Living their best lives.
There . Better.
I’m quick to plug my phone into the car’s port so it’ll play my music during the drive. I tap on my favorite after work vibe playlist and crank up the volume as the happy melody of Maroon 5’s song, Sugar, fills the cab. I barely get the buckle strapped over my shoulder when a call comes in, replacing the song with my standard ring.
I check the dash— Unknown Caller.
“No thanks,” I say, and put the car in drive. I’m the type who backs into a stall so she doesn’t have to back out later. It’s just one of those satisfying touches that put a smile on my face. They say advance thinking like that is healthy. That it demonstrates sympathy for one’s future self. I’m all about it.
Ian’s not. He’s just the opposite.
My eyes bulge as I recognize the invasion that barged into my brain— Ian Kelly. Curse Doctor Leeman and his optimistic opposites attract speech. It made me think of Ian then, and it made me think of him just now too. And if there’s anyone I do not want to think about, it’s Ian. Selfish, immature, flying by the seat of his baggy pants Ian with his perfect messy hair and scruffy jaw and…and a dimple that sinks daggers into my heart each time I picture it.
My phone lets out a voicemail chime just as the song picks up. I ignore it all the way to the carwash so I can sing every word to the feel-good song.
The sun is trying its darndest to peek through the clouds, bless it. Come on, spring, I urge as I turn into the lot. Just three cars wait in the lineup. I pull behind a crowded looking minivan and catch a look from the attendant. I can’t be the only person who takes advantage of their monthly wash pass by coming three times a week, but the expectant looks, paired with something that strongly resembles eye rolls, make me think otherwise.
Once the cars in front of me move forward, I catch eyes with the attendant and point at the sticker pass on my windshield. He waves me ahead like he can’t wait to get rid of me. I turn down the music, double check to make sure all my windows are sealed, and reach for the dash’s screen that’s linked to my phone. One quick tap prompts the voicemail to play.
“Hi there, Daisy,” comes a female voice. “This is Marsha Langston from reality TV show Time Warp. I’m pleased to tell you that you and an ex-boyfriend of yours have been selected to star in our next season of Time Warp, High School Reunion Style. I’m sure you’ll agree that our debut series, featuring Nikki and Kai from Tucson High, was a major success. So much so, that we’re flying the couple to Denver to introduce our next houseguests. Should you accept this offer, you’ll receive generous compensation, of course, but even more, you’ll have a second chance at romance with an old flame of yours. One who many of your fellow alumni believe is your perfect match. I hope you’ll consider being a part of it.”
A sudden series of knocks snaps me back into the present. I remind myself that I’m at the carwash since the shock of that phone call gave me an out-of-body experience I didn’t want.
“Pull forward, Lady,” the kid with the washing wand says.
My face scrunches. “Lady?”
He’s already run the wand over my tires, it seems, so I do as he says, stretching my neck to see the railing that guides me to the right spot.
There’s no way Marsha Langston just called me.
“Put your car in neutral,” the kid hollers next.
“Okay,” I say so he knows I heard him. I might be sitting in my car at the Turbo Wash on Main, but inwardly, I am lost in a thick cloud. Neutral. Neutral. What the crap is neutral?
As soon as the word registers, I reach down, press the lever with my thumb, and shift into neutral. “There,” I say, knowing it sounds weird. I’m not normal right now. How can I be? The queen of reality TV just called me and asked if I would go on Time Warp. I binged the week-long series with Nikki and Kai from Tucson High like everyone else. I rooted for them all the way till the end. But never did I ever imagine being nominated to appear on the show myself.
My car is dragged forward toward streams of foamy white suds at either side. The strong scent of citrus hits the vents. I pull in a breath, grip hold of the wheel, and reach for the panel where it gives three voicemail options. Replay, reply, or delete. I trail a shaky finger past the delete button, past the reply button too.
“Replay,” I say as I give it a firm tap. Holy crap!
I shouldn’t be surprised when the very same message pours through the speakers once more, but I genuinely am. A part of me wondered if I simply imagined the whole thing. But here it is—a voice that sounds just like the famous woman herself, offering the same invitation.
I’m so blown away that I relinquish the wheel and inadvertently bonk the armrest with my elbow…right on the window lever. A lukewarm blast of foam hits my head with laser beam precision.
I gasp and reach for the window lever with both hands. When I’m smacked with a second stream of foam inches below the first, I realized I’ve gone the wrong way.
“ Up!” I curse and push two fingers hard against the upper part of the lever. “Go up, jeez!”
When the window obeys my command, I’m left with citrus suds in my left ear and a puddle running down the neck of my blouse. I wipe at the wetness dripping past my brow before it hits my eyes. My pulse races as I frantically look about my car to inspect the damage. Once I’m convinced I took the brunt of it, I tilt the rearview to catch a look at myself.
A laugh sneaks up my throat. It’s like I went in and asked to get a second part in my hair. I have one on each side now, and I look certifiably nuts. My scalp is red and raw where the stream hit. Suds seep into my hair, their foamy white bubbles dissipating before my eyes.
I force myself to tune back into the final part of Marsha Langston’s voicemail. “I hope you’ll consider being a part of it,” she says. The blue, floppy beaters slam into my car from every whirling angle. I usually feel relaxed while going through the carwash. Watching as my car gets scrubbed to a sparkly shine is a happy, peaceful thing. But after the suds assault, I feel like a coin in a piggy bank some child got its hands on. I just want this thing to end.
The show, Daisy.
My mind darts to Ian first, but I realize that’s only because I was thinking about him earlier. There’s no way my high school alumni would vote for me and Ian to get a second chance because we aren’t your typical high school sweethearts. In fact, Ian and I are divorced, not that you call it that when an annulment takes place, but the result is the same—we were once married, and now we’re not.
What about junior prom? Yes, with Jameson Brown . We were Prom Queen and King. We’re in the yearbook and everything—an entire page to ourselves.
“I bet that’s who it is,” I say while reaching for a Kleenex to dab my face. Marsha said something about this guy being my perfect match. It’s so obvious that a laugh escapes me. No one in their right mind would call Ian Kelly my perfect match. My worst nightmare, maybe. My arch nemesis, yes. But the long-lost love of my life, definitely not.
I’m so stuck in thought that I almost miss the fact that the dryers are hovered over the hood of my car, tilting back and forth as long drops trickle off my windshield in fast motion. The car lugs forward, and soon the get ready prompt glows in bright orange.
Am I really considering going on the show? I’ve always wondered what happened to Jameson. He was so cute, and my heart nearly broke when he moved away. Sure, we’d only dated for a few months, but people loved us together. They voted us as the queen and king after all. Maybe this is why none of my other relationships have worked out. Perhaps I’m meant to reunite with Jameson Brown.
But that’s not the only potential plus. Not only would I get the second chance at love, but I’d also get a shot at redemption. My first five minutes of fame was nothing but shame—a viral video exploiting an embarrassing moment made downright humiliating by a pair of adolescents. This is my big chance to get the two things I want most—love and redemption.
The next prompt glows in bright yellow as the car inches forward some more. Get set…
I cradle the lever and press the button with my thumb. Inwardly, I’m preparing my heart for a mission I feel I should not refuse. This is how I’m finally going to connect with Mr. Right. I just know it.
The final prompt glows a glorious green. Go!
An inner storm crashes through my chest, all chaos and heat, forcing me to pause and rethink. Part of me is in full revolt. It’s the dominant side. The side that successfully justified my dropping out of school once my funds were gone. The side that pulled me off every dating site because there was too much potential for pain.
But something inside me refuses to let her dominate any longer. I take a moment to reconnect with the younger part of me. The side that used to take chances and pursue dreams. She’s in there, I can feel it.
Yes, she is.
I pull in a deep, encouraging breath and put the car in drive, determined to move into the new adventure that has come my way. As soon as I get home, I’ll call Marsha Langston and tell her yes, I’ll do it. DDS Leeman wants me to step out of my shell, does he? How’s going on a reality TV show?
This ends the sample chapter.