Chemistry: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by J. P. Nicholas

  Ethan places his phone on the table. “So, how do you two know Lucas?”

  I open my mouth to speak but can’t get the words to come out over the lump in my throat. It’s as if my own body doesn’t want to admit that I’m just one of his student’s moms. Thankfully, Lucas chimes in.

  “Well, Kyle is one of my Chem students this year.”

  Ethan nods with understanding. “Ah, I should’ve guessed.”

  I swallow the lump down my throat. “And how do you two know each other?”

  Ethan jerks his thumb to his right. “Oh, this guy and I go way back. He used to tutor me back when I was in college. He was one of my professor’s teaching assistants. He’s the sole reason I passed English at all. I can’t write worth shit. Probably partly why I got into the contracting business.”

  Ethan’s hazel eyes stare at me as if he’s assessing my reaction. He shrugs his shoulders and arches his brow. “Am I supposed to be censoring myself in front of the kid? ‘Cuz this guy didn’t give me the heads up.”

  Lucas laughs at his friend’s bluntness.

  I shake my head.

  “Trust me; he’s heard much worse from his three uncles. I never could get them to censor themselves around him as a toddler. Kyle’s second word was asshole because of them.”

  Both Lucas and Ethan laugh together.

  “You’re joking, right?” Lucas asks.

  I shake my head. “Afraid not.”

  The waitress comes and takes Kyle and my order—two pancake specials because what else does one order at Bertha’s Cafe—before she scampers off into the back room.

  “Ethan, why do you keep checking your phone?” Kyle inquires. I’ve never been able to quench his curiosity. I used to see it as a bad habit of his that I would try to break. But now, I see it as a sort of blessing. After all, isn’t it the most curious of minds that often invent the things that change the world? Honestly, I’m surprised it took him this long to ask the question I’m sure has been bothering him since we sat down.

  “I’m not really supposed to say, but…” he drags out his sentence to glance at Lucas, who just nods. “If Lucas trusts both of you, then I guess that’s good enough for me. My brother is on the set of the latest Marvel movie. And I’m just impatiently waiting for him to send me a picture of himself in full costume.”

  That catches his attention. In my peripheral vision, I see Kyle’s mouth drop open. It’s official; I’m the biggest loser at this table in my son’s eyes now.

  Kyle leans forward, propping his head up as he rests his head on his chin. “Who’s he playing?”

  “This is a classified secret of the highest level.” Ethan gestures for Kyle to lean in closer so he can whisper it. Instinctively, I lean forward too. “He’s playing Gambit.”

  “That’s so awesome!”

  Ethan and Lucas both nod in agreement, making me feel like an outcast since this is all gibberish to me. Sure, as an only parent, I try to keep up with my son’s interests when I can. But they’ve gotten so complex and intricate now that I can no longer fake my way through it as easily as I could when he was younger.

  Ethan winks at Kyle. “But you didn’t hear that from me.” Then he focuses his attention back on me. Probably because he feels guilty that I can’t contribute much to this conversation he started. “I know it’s childish. But my brother and I grew up watching these superhero cartoons…and now he’s freaking become one. It’s mind-blowing.”

  “I get that,” I admit, hoping nobody picks up on the sad undertone to my words. Seeing all three guys bond over this news makes me sad that Kyle doesn’t have a brother or friend to bond with over this stuff.

  “Chloe, are you o—”

  “Here you go. Two pancake specials,” the waitress interjects, placing two stacks of pancakes in front of Kyle and me.

  I should’ve known Lucas would pick up on it. He’s so damn attentive. Probably cuz he has to be for his job. Regardless, I’m still damn grateful for the waitress’s interruption.

  As Kyle and I drown our pancakes in syrupy goodness, Lucas redirects his attention from me to my son. “How were the problems I gave you to complete yesterday? Not too hard, I hope.”

  “Not that hard at all,” Kyle admits between bites.

  “Oh, really? I guess I’ll just have to hunt down harder ones next time,” Lucas teases, his tone full of fake warning.

  “Please do!”

  I laugh when Lucas raises both his brows in shock. It’s almost endearing to see his cute face caught off guard like this.

  Ah, there’s my intellectual challenge-welcoming son. He’s back, and I have this handsome man in front of me to thank for it.

  Chapter Ten

  Lucas

  I float aimlessly down the aisle. My eyes roam as they search the stocked shelves for something I’m not sure of yet. I just know that I’ll know when I find it. Disappointment weighs heavy on my shoulders as I cross another aisle off the list before swiveling my cart around to start the process all over again down the next one.

  I know this grocery store like the back of my hand. As I should, considering that I’ve never shopped anywhere else. When you are born and raised in a small town like Sunnyville, there’s really no need to scout around for bargains or deals. I’m here to support the small business because it has always supported me, keeping me well fed through my eat anything I could get my hands on teenage years. Then, even more so when my mother passed away and I had to raise a fifteen-year-old girl all by my lonesome. Mr. and Mrs. Shelldrop, along with half of this town, used to drop off containers of homemade meals, just so Emma didn’t have to deal with my shit cooking twenty-four-seven.

  I shudder at the memory of just how bad my cooking skills used to be. At least I have drastically improved in that department. Now it’s my baking prowess that takes the cake for my worst skillset, pun not intended. This is partly why I don’t know what the hell I’m searching for here. What is an easy dessert that I can’t fuck up, and what ingredients do I need to use to make it?

  “Lucas! You’re the perfect man for the job.”

  I tighten my grip on my shopping cart, my knuckles turning white as her piercing shriek echoes its way down the aisle. I release a sigh of frustration before I turn around to greet my coworker.

  “Hi, Sammie, what can I help you with?” I droll out, not bothering to mask the hint of annoyance in my tone.

  “Can you grab me a box off the top shelf?” She pouts, which has zero effect on me whatsoever, but it doesn’t stop her from trying anyway.

  I bow my head to her shoes and roll my eyes at the floor, hoping to God that she doesn’t think I’m checking out her legs in that miniskirt of hers, cuz I’m definitely not. More like I’m confirming my suspicion…she’s wearing heels. Sammie is five-ten on a good day, but she’s easily my height in those heels of hers. This revelation only further confirms that I’ll have to brace myself for another flirty attempt from her.

  Don’t get me wrong; Sammie is a great coworker and an even better history teacher. But it’s beyond exhausting to have to keep letting her down repeatedly every single time she hits on me. I’ve told her in the past that I’m not interested, but she’s relentless. And I have to admire her persistence, even if I am at the receiving end of it.

  “Sure,” I reply reluctantly.

  When I reach for the box, I can feel her eyes piercing my back. Whether her eyes actually stay looking at my back or travel down to my ass is unclear. What I do know is this: I am so over this shit.

  I hand her the box and force a smile. “Here ya go.”

  She nods a curt thank you before she gets right to it.

  “The gang and I missed you at Hooligan’s on Friday. Ya know, one of these days, we’re going to convince you to come and drink with us. Let off some of that steam.”

  I shrug, giving her my best never gonna happen vibe. “I had papers to grade.”

  She places her hand on my forearm. It takes every fiber of my being not to cringe and yank
it out of her grasp.

  “We all have papers to grade, Lucas. That doesn’t stop us from having any fun. So, why’s it stopping you?”

  I don’t dignify that with a response. I feel like my silence speaks volumes here.

  “Ya know, we almost have the entire seventh-grade faculty there on Friday nights. All we’re missing is our Science Guy.” She twirls one of her light brown curls around her finger as she cocks her head. “So, whaddya say, Science Guy? Be my date next Friday?”

  Two hands slink around my waist from behind. I stiffen until the scent of mango and coriander envelop me, soothing me with their familiar aromas. She squeezes me tightly, possessively, making it damn clear to Sammie that I’m all hers. If only it were actually true.

  My smile stretches across my face uncontrollably as I watch Sammie’s mouth fall agape. Sammie is completely blindsided, and Chloe’s got her arms wrapped around me. I’d say this is officially the greatest grocery store visit ever.

  “Hey, Spectacles. I found that all-purpose flour you were—” Chloe cuts her sentence short and extends a hand to Sammie. “Hi, I’m Chloe.”

  Sammie takes it, shaking it briefly before she lets go.

  “Sammie,” she chokes out. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Lucas.”

  She wastes no time turning around and bolting away like a dog with its tail between its legs. I turn around and pull Chloe into my embrace, not caring what professional boundaries we’re crossing with this one action.

  “I could kiss you right now,” I admit, not giving a damn how she could misinterpret my words.

  She laughs, the pure sound lifting a weight off my chest. I breathe a sigh of relief. Thankfully, she understands that my words were just coming from a place of pure gratitude and not of a sexual nature. Would I love to kiss her? Hell fucking yeah, I would. But I wouldn’t want to do anything that would make Chloe feel even remotely as uncomfortable as I just did with Sammie.

  “Don’t mention it. I could tell you didn’t want that conversation to go on much longer.”

  I shove my hands in both my pockets and bite my lip. “You have no idea.”

  “You’re actually the perfect woman to help me on my quest,” I admit, as I nervously reach up and scratch the back of my head.

  She flicks up a curious brow. “Is that so?”

  I nod.

  “Yup. What ingredients do I need to buy to make an easy but impressive dessert?”

  She ponders my words for a moment. I enjoy watching her gnaw on her bottom lip as she searches through the Rolodex of tasty recipes that I have no doubt she keeps in her mind.

  She looks so goddamn cute when she’s thinking. The way her eyes flick up to the side in combination with the whole biting her bottom lip combo is fucking devastating to any dick within a ten-mile radius. And mine is fucking perky as hell right about now. I swallow down the flirtatious thoughts, fearful that they might slip through my loose lips.

  I watch as the idea dawns on her, a shine glossing over her green eyes.

  “Two words. Jam tarts. They’re simple to make and taste so fruity and delicious.” Chloe’s practically jumping up and down with enthusiasm, but I think they sound way too complicated for a guy whose cupcake exploded. I meet her gaze with a perplexed stare. My arms cross over my chest. “What, you don’t like it?”

  “No, it sounds amazing. But it sounds way beyond my baking expertise.”

  She waves off my comment. “Oh, c’mon. It’s a piece of cake.”

  “But wait, I thought it was a tart. Are you telling me I have to bake a cake now?” I tease, which causes her to do exactly what I wanted it to. She touches me. At first, it’s a swat to my chest, but it turns into so much more. Once her hand collides against the right side of my chest, it lingers there. Neither one of us move. We’re stuck in this moment. I swear I hear her breath hitch, but that could just be wishful thinking on my part.

  What I do know to be true is this: her touch ignites a spark inside me. And I’m aching to make it last as long as possible. So, if that means I have to make myself seem like a clueless idiot. Guess what…I’ll gladly play the part.

  “Stop it. I refuse to believe you’re that challenged at baking,” she quips, her lips pursed ever so slightly.

  I raise my brow. “Ummm…hello? Need I remind you that we first officially met when I barged into your bakery right before closing and practically begged you to bake me a cupcake?” Her hand is still touching me.

  She taps her chin with her forefinger and smiles.

  “Now that you mention it, I do remember some groveling. And you looked so good on your knees,” she jests. I watch with glee as she recognizes the innuendo laced behind her words, giving them a naughtier meaning. I pause for a few seconds, giving her the chance to recant them or clarify what she meant even though she doesn’t have to. I know what she means. To my surprise, she doesn’t do either.

  Update: her hand is still touching me, and she’s pictured me on my knees. Holy shit! Was it always this hot in here?

  “Oh? And what exactly was I doing on my knees?” I smirk salaciously. What? I can’t help myself. I may be a gentleman, but even the best of gentlemen have their moments of giving in to temptation. And that’s what Chloe is to me. All five-foot-something of pure, unadulterated temptation.

  “Begging me to put you out of your misery,” she muses, a playful grin of her own curling at her lip.

  My skin beneath her touch feels like a blazing inferno as all my blood rushes toward my cock. The shameless bastard pulsates against the fly of my jeans, wanting to make himself and his intentions well known. Not the right time, Fucker.

  “Will you?” I ask, well aware that I am pushing my luck here. I don’t know how much longer she can keep this flirty banter going, but I can go all fucking night. It’s best that she learns that now. I won’t be the one backing down. She’s in full control here.

  “Will I what?”

  “Put me out of my misery.”

  We stare at each other for what feels like forever, both in utter silence. It could’ve been measly seconds or several minutes. I’m not sure which. Abruptly, she brings her hand back by her side, leaving a cold spot on my chest in its wake.

  “I’d recommend using a grape or strawberry jam.”

  “For…” I drag out, confused as fuck.

  “The tart,” she clarifies.

  I drag a hand through my hair and chuckle. “Right, the tart.”

  “No cherry?” I question.

  “No. I’m allergic to cherries.” She turns around and starts scanning the shelves.

  “Who said my delicious tarts are for you?” I mock, my words lewd because once again, I just can’t help myself. They’re actually for my next-door neighbor, who is turning eighty this week, but I find it beyond adorable that she thinks I want to impress her.

  When Chloe doesn’t reply, I decide to poke even further…even though I know I probably shouldn’t. But I’m having way too much fun. Certainly, the most fun I’ve ever had at a grocery store. “Chloe, if you want to taste my tart, all you have to do is ask.”

  I smirk, knowing damn well that one of the Dimple Twins just made a spectacular grand entrance. She turns around, tossing some essentials into my cart. I can see the rosy hue spreading on her cheeks—time to go in for the kill.

  I reach forward. Our arms brush past one another as I grab the jam jar she just placed in my cart. Pretending to scrutinize the label on the strawberry jam jar, I lower my voice to a tone louder than a whisper, but still just one that she alone can hear. “It’s cute when you get all flustered on me.”

  “Alright. I stocked you up on all the ingredients you need. You’ll have to preheat the oven to three-hundred and fifty degrees. Lightly grease the tart mold with a little bit of butter. Mix the flour and salt in a bowl. Then add cubed butter. Mix them by hand and then add one tablespoon of—”

  I raise my hands in the air. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. Not everyone down this aisle is a baking sous ch
ef.”

  “Right. Where did I lose you?”

  “Um…there was something about preheating the oven to four-hundred degrees?”

  She slaps my shoulder, the sound echoing down the aisle as she corrects me. “Three-hundred and fifty!”

  I smile a crooked smile that says, see, I’m a lost cause here. “I told you I was no good at this baking shit. The last thing I baked exploded in my face. Literally.”

  She shakes her head. “I still don’t believe that.”

  With my finger, I cross an X over my chest and raise it toward the ceiling. “Cross my heart.”

  “Okay. Pay very close attention.”

  I try, God’s honest truth, I try. But as she rattles off the necessary steps to make what is supposedly a very easy recipe for baking dummies like me, I get lost again. I shake my head repeatedly.

  “I’m losing you again, aren’t I?” she asks through a frustrated sigh.

  “Ya know, this would be a lot easier if I had your number. Then I can call you later when I’m inevitably on the verge of fucking this whole thing up.”

  She hesitates for a second but ultimately agrees and holds her hand out to me. “Give me your phone.”

  Yeah, definitely the greatest grocery store visit ever.

  Chapter Eleven

  Chloe

  As I pull up on the driveway, I nearly leap out of my seat with excitement as my eyes single in on the forest green F150 parked along the side of the house. That can only mean one thing…Dylan’s here. This will be the first Hayden Sunday dinner in a very long time that I won’t have to deal with our mom’s love bites alone.

  I love my Mom. Truly, it’s the God’s honest truth. But she’s much like a viper. She’s sly and calculated in her movements, waiting for the most inopportune moment to strike. That’s when she will sink her venomous fangs into you. Or maybe she’s a python that likes to strangle you until she gets the information she wants? I don’t know. The point is, you don’t want to be left alone to defend yourself against her at any given place or time.