Simply Mad (Girls of Wonder Lane Book 1) Read online

  Simply Mad

  a novel

  Christina Coryell

  Books by Christina Coryell:

  The Camdyn Series

  A Reason to Run

  A Reason to Be Alone

  A Reason to Forget

  For No Reason

  Girls of Wonder Lane

  Simply Mad

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorChristinaCoryell

  Twitter: @c_tinacoryell

  www.christinacoryell.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. To contact the publisher, submit a request at www.christinacoryell.com.

  Text copyright © 2015 by Christina Coryell

  Cover images copyright © 2015 by Kassi Hillhouse Photography

  Simply Mad

  To Karri,

  for loving great chick-lit as much as me…

  Chapter One

  “What do you think of pink? Practically perfect, or pampered princess predictably prowling for a prince like a perfectly-prepared predator?”

  Silence meets me on the other end of the phone, and I stare at myself in the full-length mirror with a clothes hanger held precariously close to my face.

  “Well?”

  “I don’t even know how to answer that question,” Jess announces. “What’s with all the P’s, or do I even want to know?”

  “Practicing my linguistic gymnastics.” Squeezing my neck through the hole between the salmon-hued dress in question and the hanger, I gaze at my reflection carefully in the mirror. “Benjamin is an English teacher, and at night he gives courses in Spanish. He’s bound to be well-versed in both languages, so I figure I should warm up my phonological skills, no?”

  “Sí. And just in case you think I meant ‘yes,’ I actually meant, ‘See Benjamin run back to his mother like a frightened puppy.’ What happened to Fester?”

  “Simmer,” I correct, as though it really matters. “He couldn’t really bring things to a boil, as it turned out. By the time our second date was finished, I knew I couldn’t make it through another.”

  “You needed a second date to convince you not to be with someone named ‘Simmer?’”

  “He’s a DJ, okay? That’s not his real name. Anyway, I’m not snobby enough to judge someone for their name.”

  “So what was it then?”

  Giving myself a guilty grimace in the mirror, I hesitate for a second. “He laughs through his nose.”

  “And the guy before that? What was his name again?”

  Pausing to loop a multicolored scarf around my neck atop the hanger, I place a hand on my hip and pose to the mirror. “Vic? He was weirded out about Josh, so we got in a fight about it. Honestly, though, I was about to cut him loose. One of his ears was higher than the other, and he liked to drink warm milk. So gross. You still haven’t answered me about the pink, by the way.”

  “I’d go with a darker color, and definitely not a dress. You’ll look like you’re trying too hard. And don’t eat that! I saw the dog lick it.”

  “Excuse me?!”

  “Sorry, Maddie, I was talking to Isaiah, not you.” Jess has a habit of blurting weird things to her son in the middle of our conversations, so commenting about the dog licking something is actually not that strange. “What about Josh, though? Why would Josh weird him out?”

  “It’s a long story,” I reply simply, prying the hanger away from my neck.

  “I’m currently standing in my bedroom wearing my pajama bottoms and my son smells like a toxic waste dump. Please regale me with your tale of woe and allow me to live vicariously through you for a moment. Consider it a courtesy.”

  Laughing at Jess, I pull a fitted navy T-shirt from the closet. “Okay, so the other day I was Skyping with Josh, no big deal, and I lost track of time. Vic showed up, but instead of knocking, he just opened the door.”

  “And Vic got mad?”

  “Vic? No, Vic didn’t care. Josh is the one who got mad. ‘Why do you have a guy in my house, Maddie? Specifically, the only thing I asked you not to do was have a guy in my house.’”

  “You broke his rules,” Jess interrupts in her most motherly scolding voice.

  “No, I did not.” Pulling out a yellow blazer, I toss it onto the bed next to the T-shirt. “There is a huge difference between a guy walking into the house to pick me up and ‘having a guy in the house.’ That’s what I told Josh, too.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Don’t stick up for him, because I’m obeying his ridiculous rule. It’s not my fault Vic walked in unannounced.” Plucking out a pair of dark-wash jeans, I throw them on top of the blazer. “Josh hasn’t talked to me since. It’s been six days.”

  “And what about Vic?”

  “He told me that I should tell Josh to stick it, and that he has no say over what I do. I defended him, and we got into an argument. Like I said, though, he was toast anyway. The ears…”

  “Of course, the ears.” Jess laughs, a tinkling sound that always brightens my spirits. “Don’t worry about it. Josh will come around. You’re the incessant soft spot in his life, you know.”

  “As though I care what Josh thinks,” I blurt, regretting the words instantly. I do care what Josh thinks. Way too much, if I’m being honest.

  “Never touch your doody. Never, never, never.” Jess lets out a gasp, and I hear her voice rise a whole octave. “Don’t touch me! Bathroom, Isaiah, now!”

  Giggling, I tell her I’ll talk to her later. Before I hang up the phone, I can hear Jess continue.

  …ew…don’t you dare… if your dad knew what I deal with every day...

  With a slight shudder, I toss the phone onto the bed. My life hasn’t been the same since Jess moved to San Diego when her husband Levi got transferred to Naval Base Coronado, although I suppose it began well before that fateful parting.

  Josh met Levi when they were together at Recruit Training Command in Great Lakes, Illinois. Jessica Mason and I were enjoying our freshman year of college at the University of Kentucky when Jess went with her parents to graduation at Great Lakes. By the time she came back, it was with her entire future planned out thanks to her instant devotion to the dashing southern boy from Georgia. She married Levi two years later, and subsequently followed him wherever life dictated. Currently, that means the warm days and cool ocean breeze nights of San Diego.

  Me? I stayed at the University of Kentucky until I had my degree in marketing and communications, and then planted myself permanently in Louisville when I found a job at the prestigious Cooper Corporate Financial. My adult life officially began without the presence of my lifelong best friend.

  Rousing myself from my reminiscing, I glance again at the clothes on the bed. One hour until my date with Benjamin, so I might as well prepare myself.

  It’s hard to mentally plan for my date while thinking about Josh, though. Truth be told, I don’t like the idea of him being angry with me. We became fairly close after Jess walked out of my life. I suppose our relationship began selfishly on my part, connecting with my best friend’s brother, but we developed a deep friendship that sustained me through many empty nights. Skyping with Josh became a ritual that I employ about as often as shaving my legs, and I wear a lot of skirts, so that means it’s a pretty constant occurre
nce.

  With a year left in his military service, Josh decided to purchase a house in our hometown in the suburbs of Louisville. “The quaintest little home on Wonder Lane,” his mother likes to call it. Since he is currently deployed to Camp Patriot on Kuwait Naval Base, the house was sitting empty. That is, until he asked me to move in. He simply wanted someone to keep the place from being unused, he insisted, and he would feel a lot better knowing I was there. “Consider the house yours while I’m gone,” he assured. “Use whatever you like, and make yourself at home.” He only had one rule: No guys allowed.

  It’s a pretty straightforward rule, isn’t it? I thought so, too, but I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman trying to find someone to spend a happily ever after with, and I can’t even allow any of my male friends in to use the toilet.

  Dressing myself in the jeans and T-shirt, I slip into the blazer and check my appearance in the bathroom mirror. Wrestling with my thick, wavy auburn hair takes quite a bit of time, but eventually I’m satisfied. A bit of mascara and a touch of lip gloss and I’m ready to go. Smoothing my hair over my shoulders once more, I glance at my watch. Thirty minutes until Benjamin is supposed to pick me up, from the porch, while not stepping one foot inside the actual premises.

  So, 6:30 in Louisville—that is 2:30 in Kuwait, I think?

  Is it polite to wake Josh in the middle of the night? Maybe not, but six days is a long time.

  Leave him alone, Maddie. After the date.

  For a split second, I wonder if it’s a bad sign that I’m already making plans for after the date. Benjamin is an educated, well-mannered guy. After the date, we could be making arrangements for an elopement.

  Unless he likes warm milk. If so, then adios.

  “How was the tiramisu?”

  Benjamin holds his coffee mug near his lips, gently cupping it between his hands, staring over it with his dark eyes. His tan skin gives him a slightly exotic look, and I feel rather elegant sitting across from him at that small table.

  “Oh, delicious,” I lie, pushing my fork around on my plate.

  I secretly hate coffee. So many people seem to think it’s a symbol of sophistication, though, that I force it down and pretend that I’m high society. After struggling to choke down Benjamin’s tiramisu, I can’t wait to get home and use some serious mouthwash. Bleh.

  “I knew you’d enjoy it,” he states with a smile. “It’s one of my favorites. What’s your favorite?”

  “My favorite what?”

  “Dessert.”

  Placing his coffee on the table, he offers up an easy smile. His mother is Hispanic, which describes his perpetual tan. It also explains why being bilingual is second nature for him. So much for the linguistic gymnastics. He isn’t a great lover of languages–he just grew up learning and understanding two from the beginning.

  “I like sugar cookies,” I tell him. “The big, soft, fat ones with the icing piled on top.”

  “The kind that give you a sugar coma?”

  Biting my lip slightly, I look down at my plate. “Yes, but only on very special occasions.” Don’t want him thinking I sit around stuffing cookies in my mouth, after all. “So, if you’re not all about grammar, then why did you go into teaching English?”

  “Because I love the written word, and I enjoy sharing literature with those kids. Most of them don’t think they’re interested in it at first—it’s a challenge.”

  Totally boring first date answer, and I don’t buy it any more than I believe my own lie about the tiramisu.

  “If you love literature, you must have an extensive reading list. Who are your favorite authors?” I take a second to check the placement of his ears, and they seem to be in the correct position.

  “Hemingway. Faulkner. Huxley. How about you? Do you read?”

  “Sometimes, sure,” I reply with a shrug, trying desperately to think of a book I have read and coming up blank. Then, a name suddenly pops into my head. “Camdyn Taylor. I like her books.”

  Why is that name so familiar?

  “Camdyn Taylor? The one who threw up on television?”

  Oh, that’s it. I saw her on late night TV. Drat.

  “Yeah,” I add with a laugh. “Funny, isn’t it?”

  I should have said I liked Hemingway, too. Would have been way simpler.

  “I actually have read a couple of her books, when kids in my class chose to do book reports on them. One was about Martha Washington.”

  “Uh huh,” I agree awkwardly, pulling that dreadful coffee up to my lips.

  Note to self: Buy Camdyn Taylor book so I can study up in case Benjamin decides to pursue this conversation at a later date.

  “Well, school day tomorrow, so do you think we should go?” He shoves his chair back and stands, so I follow his lead when he pulls my chair away from the table. He is easily a couple inches taller than me in my four-inch heels, which is very appealing. Plus, I’ve convinced myself that he looks a little like Mario Lopez. Not really, since he doesn’t have the dimples and his face is thinner, and I don’t really imagine there’s much muscle definition hiding under his shirt…

  Okay, so he looks nothing like Mario Lopez, but so far I haven’t noticed anything perceptibly wrong with him.

  He places his hand at the small of my back as we walk to his Ford Mustang, and he reaches down to open the door for me to step inside. Attempting to grin up at him, I stop as I notice the coffee taste clinging to my lips like the kiss of death.

  The ride home is pleasant, and he behaves as a perfect gentleman, walking me to the door and asking if he can see me again sometime. He bends to place a kiss on my cheek, and then he is on his way. It’s not the way I envisioned a first date with the love of my life, but I’m not exactly disappointed as the scent of his citrus-based cologne slowly follows him away from the porch.

  Inserting my key into the lock, I push my way inside. The instant the door closes behind me, I can’t resist glancing at my watch.

  9:30, so that makes it 5:30 in Kuwait, right?

  I shouldn’t allow myself to call him. He was in the wrong, after all. He’s not my dad, and he’s not my brother, even if he has grown to act that way over the years. Sure, I’m staying in his house for free, so I acquiesce to following his silly rule, but that’s the end of it.

  Besides, I just had a lovely date with…

  What was his name again?

  Oh, yeah, Benjamin. He was wonderful. Maybe he’s the one.

  Chapter Two

  “How are the graphs coming, Maddie?”

  Kyle Porter, my boss. He’s 6’1”, but he still manages to sneak up on me when I least expect it.

  “Almost done. I just have to look up a few more numbers.”

  “Don’t forget, we have a deadline of 1:00.”

  “I know, same as last month.” Or should I say every month for the last three years. The Kyles of the world may come and go, but the wheel never stops turning as long as there are hard-working, dedicated employees like myself who do the majority of the work and receive zero credit when the praise rolls in. Not that I’m bitter or anything—it’s just an observation.

  I glance up to see that Kyle is gone, evidently slipped away as quietly as he arrived. Maybe I shouldn’t be too hard on him. It’s only his third month here, and he can’t have had very many jobs before this one. He’s twenty-four-years-old, just one year younger than me, but he’s got to be overwhelmed with his job responsibilities. I’m sure I would feel that way if I was suddenly put in a position of authority straight out of a Master’s program, with no idea how to manage personnel and only a vague indication of what I was actually expected to do with my time.

  On the other hand, I’m sure his salary dwarfs mine, so it’s hard to feel too sorry for him.

  “You should have that job,” Katie whispers from behind me. Katie Green, my confidant. Her transfer to this department two years ago made the workday a lot more bearable. “Maybe next time they’ll open it instead of appointing someone.”

  “S
ounds like you don’t think Kyle will be around long.”

  “Poor kid won’t know what hit him. Although I do prefer Kyle to you-know-who.”

  Ah, yes. Bill Davies, or rather “he of whom we no longer speak.” Katie and I decided the moment he left that we would never utter his name again, and I haven’t said it aloud to this day. Kyle may be a little clueless, but Bill was just plain mean. In fact, I specifically recall one particularly horrible moment from the past…

  I was sitting at my desk one afternoon, diligently working on my computer, when I sensed a presence above my shoulder. I turned to see Bill standing above me, face red and straining beneath his white mustache. He was a rather large figure, and with him blocking my view of the office, I felt slightly like a trapped mouse.

  “Yes, sir?” I questioned. He exhaled loudly as a sheet of paper slipped from his fingers and floated onto my desk. I leaned forward to view the item just as he brought his fist down like a sledgehammer on the corner of the document. I shuddered and managed to push my chair farther away from him.

  “Do you have some problem, Heard, with taking a simple phone message?” His voice was raspy and his neck almost purple above his collar. I hated it when people called me Heard—it reminded me of taunting from grade school.

  “No, sir.”

  “Apparently you do, so let me explain it for you very carefully. First, you take the caller’s name and number.” He stabbed his index finger in the air as if to punctuate his sentence. “Second, you legibly write that information on a sheet of paper.” Stab. “Third, you give this piece of paper to the appropriate party.” He crumpled the document in his hand and held it in the air. “Now, is that process painfully clear to you?”

  “Perhaps if you just tell me what’s wrong with the message—”

  “What’s wrong?” His voice seemed even louder than before. “I can barely read your scribble. You used the wrong colored paper. You put the message on the wrong corner of my desk!”