How to Get Over Your Ex in Ninety Days Read online

  He hurried alongside me. “I wish I could forget, that we both could. I’ve regretted it every day since.”

  “Like I said before, it was for the best.” We had reached his truck and I reached for the passenger side door handle.

  He placed his hand over mine.

  A massive dose of oxytocin flooded my system. I felt his touch from the inside out. I jerked my hand away.

  He positioned the umbrella so we couldn’t be seen. He used his free hand to tilt my chin up. Our eyes met and it was as if I was looking into my own soul. That’s how connected I still felt to him. Forget any hormone, it had nothing on the emotional connection that had existed between us. I thought I knew him on every level. “That’s almost as big a lie as the one I told when I said you were a distraction.”

  Those words burned. I turned away from him. If not, I was going to fall for those soft brown eyes and the invitation on his lips, asking for mine to meet his.

  “I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t fix this.”

  “We’re going to be late.”

  He backed away and opened my door for me, but not before breathing out a heavy sigh.

  I climbed in and buckled my seatbelt, wishing to be almost anywhere but with him. He clouded my judgement. He made me feel things I didn’t want to anymore.

  I was glad when he got in and decided to get down to business, or so I thought. “The first person we’re meeting with is Carla Rodan. She’s a local author, but has had some national recognition. I mentioned to her that you had written some screenplays in college. She’s looking forward to discussing those with you.”

  I looked out his window. “You didn’t need to do that.”

  “Why? You should be proud of them. I know I am. I thought maybe you would have written the one act. I loved your idea about what if Marilyn Monroe had stayed Norma Jean.”

  I loved that idea, too. I was fascinated with her life. I had thought about finally putting my research and notes to good use, but I had been too wrapped up in him all summer. And I didn’t want to overstep my bounds with Mr. Crandall. Then there was the whole fear factor of sharing your work. Mr. Montgomery was one of the few people I had ever let read my work. “Maybe someday.”

  “You should. You’ve got a real talent.”

  That was a matter of opinion. I had some professors that loved me and some that thought middle school kids could write better than me. Art in any form was so subjective. “Thanks.”

  We drove to downtown Huntsville where Ms. Rodan had an office. Though downtown Huntsville was small compared to large cities like Denver or Atlanta, it made up for it with its charm. Mr. Montgomery and I had spent our fair share of time exploring the cute shops and older homes. During Christmas, the downtown district homes opened for tours. Lovely doesn’t even begin to describe how fantastic they were. Not only that, but there was a huge park called Big Spring where they decorated all the trees for Christmas. It was Southern charm at its finest and I was going to miss sharing it all with the man sitting in the driver’s seat. He made the festive experiences better by holding my hand and telling me stories of the history of the place he grew up in. From harrowing tales of jail breaks to the scientific breakthroughs that were discovered right here. He made the city come alive to me.

  I looked through the window out into the water soaked landscape and wiped the moisture out of my eyes before my emotions were exposed.

  Mr. Montgomery pulled into a metered space outside of Ms. Rodan’s office. “Sit tight. I’ll pay the meter and then come around and get you.”

  “You don’t have to open my door.”

  “But I want to, and I know you don’t want to get wet.” He gave me a sexy know-it-all grin.

  “Fine.” He played to my vanity and won. Good hair days were hard to come by here with the humidity. The rain only made it worse.

  He paid the meter and hustled over to my door with his umbrella out. He opened my door and his eyes fell to my bare heeled legs.

  “Definitely unprofessional.”

  He chuckled. “I’m just admiring your shoes.”

  “Right.” I stepped out onto the pavement, flattered that he still liked my legs.

  He reached for my hand.

  “What are you doing?”

  He dropped my hand. “Sorry. Habit.”

  I didn’t say anything more because I totally understood it. I’d had the urge to fall back into old patterns when I was around him. Like holding his hand when he was driving or kicking my legs up on his dash so he could admire them. Or flatten the cowlick that always stuck up in the back of his hair.

  We dashed to the cover of the awning in front of the office building. Mr. Montgomery promptly opened the door for me. I walked in while he shook out his umbrella before joining me in the small entrance area that smelled like mint. We both looked at each other wondering where the pleasant smell came from. The closer we got to Ms. Rodan’s suite, the stronger the smell became. We opened the door to suite 104 and walked in to find an eccentrically dressed woman in a Mumu with lots of bangles draping her arms. Her red hair was curly and big. I would say she was in her fifties and had seen some sun in her day.

  “Right on time.” Ms. Rodan clapped her hands and her bangles and bracelets chimed.

  Mr. Montgomery held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Jackson Montgomery and this is Presley Benson.”

  She didn’t take his hand, but she smiled between the two of us. “Intriguing.”

  Mr. Montgomery and I both looked at each other with raised eyebrows. I had a feeling this was going to be more interesting than I thought.

  “Well, sit down, sit down. I made tea.” She dispensed with any usual pleasantries. I guess she figured we knew her name. She pointed to a small couch and chair. There sat a tea pot with cups on a coffee table. The mint smell now made sense.

  She took the chair, which forced me to sit next to Mr. Montgomery. He grinned as he waited for me to be seated first, like the gentleman he was. He needed to get over that, at least for the next month. I was still roaring.

  Once we were situated, she served us tea and cookies. It wasn’t a bad way to spend an afternoon away from school. Except for the whole being next to your ex-boyfriend whom you were still in love with thing.

  Jackson started us off. “The reason we asked to meet with you was to—”

  “I know why. You stated that clearly on the phone,” she cut him off. “And I’m happy to come and share my knowledge with your students. Name the time and date.”

  I looked around her walls, which were filled with accolades from the New York Times bestseller list to local awards. I was impressed.

  She eyed me in a discerning manner. “I want to know more about you.”

  I tucked my hair behind my ear. “Me?”

  “There is something about you. Like a character from a book come to life. Tell me about yourself.”

  I set my tea down, perplexed by her interest in me. “There’s not much to tell. I teach beginning and intermediate drama.”

  She pointed to Mr. Montgomery. “He already told me that. The question is, why did they choose you for this project?”

  I wasn’t sure why that mattered to her. I shrugged my shoulders and looked at Mr. Montgomery to reply.

  “I know the answer he’ll give. I have no doubt you’re capable and insightful. But I don’t think assignments like these are usually given to the drama department, if I’m correct.”

  “I suppose not. But Mr. Montgomery and I worked together with the community before he became vice principal, so I assume—”

  “Never assume anything.” She was obviously pushy. “Like, I don’t assume that you’ve always called your vice principal here Mr. Montgomery. It sounds stilted coming out of your mouth. Something you’re uncomfortable saying.”

  “Uh . . . Well.” I reached for my tea again and took a sip. I hadn’t bargained for this.

  She gazed at me. I swore she was reading me like an open book. “So, tell me, why th
e formality?” She whipped her head to leer at Mr. Montgomery. “Please tell me in this day in age she’s not required to call you that at school.”

  He cleared his throat. “Of course not. I prefer Jackson.”

  She turned back toward me. “Don’t worry, I note the underlying sexual tension you two have going on. I write about this stuff all the time. You two have all the classic signs. Except I can tell you’re torn about it, Presley. Which only adds to the deliciousness of the story.”

  I choked on my tea.

  Mr. Montgomery patted my back. “Are you okay?”

  No, I wasn’t okay. Who did this lady think she was?

  She handed me a napkin. “I’m making you uncomfortable.” It wasn’t a question. She knew she was, and dare I say she was doing it on purpose.

  I took the napkin and dabbed the spot of tea on my blouse I had spluttered out. “Should we email you the times we have available?” I set my tea down. I was ready to move on.

  She grinned. “I like your spunk. Jackson, why don’t you move on to your next appointment and I’ll keep Presley here with me.”

  Oh, no, no.

  “This is a team effort.” He was trying to save me. Praise heaven.

  “Oh, I’m not going to bite. I promise you, she’ll be in good hands. I think she may even enjoy it, so go on now.” She shooed him.

  Mr. Montgomery and I turned to each other. His eyes said he would do whatever I wanted him to. Before I could answer, he reached into my bag and took my cell phone out. “I’m putting my new number in.”

  I knew he didn’t have a new number, but I knew what he was doing. If I stayed, he wanted to be able to check on me.

  Carla was no dummy. “Look at that. He knows the password to your phone. I take it you blocked him.” She stood up. “I’ll see you out, Jackson.”

  I swallowed hard, not sure I should stay. I was afraid this might be a Hansel and Gretel scenario and I was going to be her dinner.

  “Come, come. Your precious Presley is safe with me. We’re going to have some girl time.”

  He handed my phone back to me. “I’ll be back in an hour.” It was a warning to our odd hostess.

  I nodded.

  “It’s like a scene out of a book. You two are fantastic. Now off with you.”

  Mr. Montgomery reluctantly left my side and I fought off begging him to stay, or just following after him. I would have, except I was curious and I figured if this chick was completely off her rocker like I was guessing she was, then we should know that before we let her near our students. And I had noticed that Mr. Montgomery made sure I had my pepper spray in my bag. So he was a decent human being who worried about me.

  Mr. Montgomery narrowed his eyes at Carla and made slow deliberate steps toward the door.

  The Cheshire cat grin she directed toward him was somewhere between amusing and frightening.

  Mr. Montgomery gave me one more glance before the door was shut on him.

  “Now that he’s gone, we can finally have some fun.” She sashayed over to me and sat down next to me. She tossed her hair back. “Sorry about all the theatrics. I don’t get a lot of visitors, and I just couldn’t help myself. You two are too cute for words. His adoration and your rebuffs make this author’s heart sing. Tell me how long ago you two broke up.”

  I arched my eyebrow at her.

  She took my hands. “Oh, come on now. We’re all friends here. And you aren’t fooling anyone.”

  I took a deep breath. “Fifty-eight days ago.”

  She cringed. “It’s bad when you know down to the day.”

  I laughed. “Yeah.”

  She squeezed my hands. “Let’s not talk about him yet. Tell me about these screen plays you’ve written and your fascination with Marilyn Monroe.”

  I leaned away, surprised.

  “He likes to talk about you.”

  ~*~

  “She’s fantastic and the kids are going to love her,” I gushed to Mr. Montgomery on our way back to the school.

  “I’m just glad I didn’t have to avenge your death.”

  I laughed. “She’s definitely different, but she’s lived an amazing life. When she lived in Canada she met her husband, who’s from Iran, and then they moved to Kenya where he worked for the UN. Her mysteries are based on her time there. She gave me some of them to read and I can’t wait. And after telling her my ideas for my Marilyn play, she was so intrigued she agreed to read it. And if she loves it, she’ll pass it along to her agent.”

  He grinned at me. “Wow. I haven’t seen you this happy since Baskin Robbins brought back pink bubble gum ice cream for the summer.”

  I rolled my eyes. “This is better than ice cream. I’m going to go home and get my outline out and polish it before I start writing.”

  He reached over and rested his hand on my thigh. “Will you let me read it?”

  “Mr. Montgomery . . .”

  “It’s past four. Please call me Jackson.”

  I pushed his hand away. “I can’t.”

  He stopped at a stop light and turned my way. “Whether or not you take me back, don’t you miss our friendship? I miss talking to you the way we just were. Hell, I’ve picked up the phone to call you a million times. Can’t we at least start with that?”

  I thought for a moment. I realized how light I felt sharing my thoughts and day with him.

  “Let’s go to dinner. I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself. I just want to talk to you.”

  I wanted that more than anything, but . . .

  His phone rang. “Hold that thought.” He answered his phone.

  He knew I was possibly going to say yes. I had a major internal debate going on. My brain was saying to roar, but my heart was purring like a kitten. Going to dinner with him went against the number one rule in the plan. The rule I could never keep under the circumstances, but I had tried distancing myself. But the inner dialogue was for nothing.

  “I’ll be right there. I need to drop Presley off at the school first. Don’t start in on her.”

  I didn’t have to ask who it was. His dad was a good reminder to listen to my brain.

  Mr. Montgomery threw his phone down in his console. “Can I get a rain check?”

  “No.” I watched the cars speed by. I looked at anything but him.

  “If only you understood.”

  I whipped my head toward him. “You’re right. I don’t understand. So tell me why. Please.”

  He reached out to touch me, but pulled back and flexed his fingers. “I can’t right now.”

  That’s what I thought. Thirty-two more days to go.

  Day Sixty

  Friday, September 24

  Hallelujah, it was Friday and tomorrow was my birthday. My mom and dad had already sent me their gift and I couldn’t wait to use it. They got me a spa package. I wasn’t supposed to mention it to my sisters, but I was thinking about it, since the brats sent me a whole box full of stuffed animal cats. They called it the “spinster litter.” They redeemed themselves with the layer of chocolates and chick-flicks beneath the furry creatures. Not to say I wouldn’t be cuddling up to them on the couch. Who else did I have?

  I got to school to find that several of my students had decorated my door with birthday cards. I loved my job. I peeked inside the sweet notes, but left them up so I could admire them all day. Even though it wasn’t technically my birthday, it sure felt like it.

  I walked toward my desk to put my satchel up and there I found a single pink rose lying on top of a sealed silver envelope. I knew instantly who it was from. Jackson, I mean Mr. Montgomery, believed one rose was more romantic than a full bouquet. I had to agree. There was something sexy about a man handing you a single flower, like he picked that one especially for you.

  I was torn on what to do. Open the card? Throw the card and the rose in the trash? I couldn’t do it. I sat at my desk and picked the rose up and smelled it. I loved that fragrance. I set it down to open the envelope. My hands were shaking. I pulled out the beaut
ifully scripted card that wished me a happy birthday. I opened it and out fell a piece of paper. An expensive piece of paper—a ticket to my favorite band ever. I felt like Charlie from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory when he opened his chocolate bar and revealed the golden ticket. Except, I couldn’t accept the ticket—in the pit no less. It was worth at least two-hundred dollars. What was he playing at? You don’t buy your ex an expensive gift like that. You don’t buy them gifts at all.

  His message made it worse.

  Presley,

  Happy birthday, beautiful. May all your wishes come true. I know you made all mine. I love you.

  Jackson

  My eyes welled up with tears. I placed the ticket back into the card. I couldn’t accept such an extravagant gift. I hated him even more for breaking up with me in the first place. Just when I thought I was over that extreme sadness phase it smacked me in the face again.

  I picked up the card and decidedly walked myself upstairs. I mean, what was he thinking anyway? You don’t go to concerts by yourself and you don’t spend money on your exes like that. I didn’t even like him to spend that kind of money on me when we were together. Though it would have been fantastic if we were still a couple and could have gone together. But I couldn’t think like that.

  I walked out the front school doors to the car line. He was still hanging out there every morning, according to Coach. I think he wanted to keep an eye on Brad, who was now trying to keep a low profile and wouldn’t make eye contact with me. I wasn’t complaining.

  Both Coach and Mr. Montgomery grinned at me like they knew they would be seeing me.

  I stopped a few feet from the men. “Can I speak to you?”

  “Anytime.” Mr. Montgomery joined me.

  “Happy birthday,” Coach yelled.

  I smiled at him before facing Jackson and pressing my lips together. He was looking too sweet and handsome to lambast. I handed him the card. “Thank you, but I can’t accept this.”

  He didn’t even flinch. He knew I wasn’t going to take it. But he wasn’t taking it back either. “If you don’t go, it will be a waste.”