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

by J. P. Nicholas

  I fear that Kyle and I will grow too attached to him if I let him into our lives in that kind of capacity. I’ve spent several years spackling these brick walls together to fortify what remains of my family—to protect us from all of life’s hardships, but particularly from those of the penile variety. I’m afraid that if I tear even one of them down—just for a minute—that I would regret it for the rest of my life.

  I’m older now and much, much wiser than I was then. That’s how I know that what I’m starting to feel for Lucas is dangerous. Any man that makes me jump him and kiss him senseless in my own goddamn bedroom is too dangerous. That’s why I can’t let him in. I’m not sure I can handle another heartbreak like that. Not again. Not ever again.

  There’s a constant, annoying rattling sound to my left. I lift my heavy eyelids and roll over onto my side to retrieve my phone. The lock screen is loaded with notifications from YouTube. Comments and likes galore. I tap one of them, and the conversation comes into view.

  @SkippityScones: Okay, who is that fine male specimen?

  @HotBiscuit: Idk, but he can butter my biscuit any day of the week. TAKE OFF THE APRON!!!

  @HolyCanoli: Sooooo ladies…what are we calling him?

  @LedZeppole: Adoughable?

  @GluteusMinimus Oh, I love that!

  @TheSluttyBrownie: No way! He’s a grade-A Stud Muffin if I ever did see one. #StudMuffinThemBrownies

  @CrazyForCrust: LMAO! We could just go with a classic. Mr. Cutie Pie?

  @IKneadedAPoo: I don’t care what we call him as long as he keeps popping up in these bakery tutorials. He can roll my pin anytime. #IKneadMore #StudMuffin

  @GluteusMinimus Alright. With the Divine Powers rested in me (given by the Internet gods), I officially dub him Stud Muffin. #StudMuffinSunday

  I decide to stop before I get sucked into the black hole that is online comments. Scrolling up to the top of the page, I check the view count of the video I uploaded last night and nearly faint at the absurdity of the number. 1.3 Million views! My jaw feels like it’s on the verge of unhinging as my mouth drops to the floor.

  “What the actual fuck?” I mumble to myself. I literally didn’t do a damn thing different this time around. I guess people just respond better when a baking newbie like Lucas assists me?

  I hesitate before I click play to watch back the video. This is not something I normally do since I hate the sound of my own voice. I usually just upload them, unedited and unfiltered. But if over one million people have seen this—that still is blowing my freaking mind—it must be amazing, right? Now, I’m not saying it’s as good as that cat that complains she’s cold in the bath or the little girl who wants to kick the monster’s ass before they kick hers, but a million views have to mean something substantial. Right?

  I click the mute button so that I don’t have to internally cringe when I hear myself speak and continue to watch the video, my eyes analyzing everything. Nothing seems to be awry so far. I spoke way too fucking soon.

  “No, no, no, no, no,” I scream at my phone as I watch Lucas strip his shirt off in front of me. The camera was supposed to be off. I turned it off!

  Luckily, the audio doesn’t pick up the naughty things we were saying to each other, and we keep popping in and out of the frame. But it does catch every second of Lucas in his bare-chested, abs on display glory. And fuck me if I’m not turned on all over again. Seeing it in person was fucking fantastic. But the next best thing is seeing it from an out of body third-person point of view.

  I sigh a breath of relief when he slips on the apron, and we start the baking tutorial. The rest seems to be what I intended to upload, thank the Lord! I should tell Lucas about this, right? He deserves to know.

  However, I have to admit that seeing all the attention he’s garnering for The Nutty Cookie and rereading the comments online gives me a wickedly delicious idea. One that I have no doubt in my mind that I am going to regret.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lucas

  I shouldn’t have kissed her. Although, if we want to get all technical, she started it. But let’s be real, I certainly had no objections. I wanted to kiss her too.

  She felt like heaven on top of me with her lips sliding against mine. The sweet taste of her still lingers on my tongue as I drive home. I’m not sure how long it will last, but one thing’s for damn sure. I want to savor it as long as I possibly can because who knows when I’ll get the opportunity to kiss her again.

  I slap my own forehead to remind myself just how wrong this train of thought is. There won’t be another kiss, jackass. No kiss should’ve happened in the first place.

  I release a shaky breath as I shift my car into park and step outside into the chilly weather. I can see it wafting through the air, getting whisked away by the breeze. In a lot of ways, I feel like that single breath—being pulled by a force so strong that I have no choice but to submit myself to it wholeheartedly.

  “I really shouldn’t have kissed her,” I sigh.

  As I enter my house, I’m met by the serene quiet of an empty space. Ethan left for Sandy Heights earlier this morning. As much as I’m gonna miss having him around, I think being around his family during this difficult time is what’s best for him. Besides, it means I have the whole house to myself, so nobody is here to judge me for taking matters into my own hands.

  I glance down at the tent pitched in my jeans. That’s right; I’m talking about you.

  I reach under the frames of my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose. “And now I’m talking to my dick. She really has driven me insane, hasn’t she?”

  With nimble and hasty fingers, I start unbuttoning my shirt on my leisurely stroll from the living room toward the master bathroom. Shrugging the shirt off my shoulders, I strategically discard it above the hamper, letting it fall directly into the large basket. Next, I kick off my shoes, leaving them God knows where on the floor as I tug on the buckle of my belt. I yank it open, allowing myself to slip the strap free from each loop with ease. I unfasten the button of my jeans and let the sound of every metal tooth separating vibrate through the air as I slide down the zipper. I slip the fabric over my hips, letting it crash to the floor and pool at my feet.

  Glancing down, I can see the stretchiness of my cotton boxer-briefs being tested as my erection pushes the fabric to its limits. Oh, I definitely have to take care of this—pronto.

  It doesn’t take me long to swiftly slip them off, releasing my boner out into the wild that is my secluded bathroom…. aka, its natural habitat. With a sidestep, I grab the lube from the top drawer and step into the shower. I rotate the shower handle to H and readily step aside. The stream downpours thunderously. I take a seat on the tiled bench, lean back, and close my eyes. I wait patiently, enjoying the sound of the water cascading down as the steam fills the space.

  I spread my legs and set the bottle of lube on the bench space beside me. For the next few minutes, I just breathe, letting the steam fog my mind. I no longer want to be in this reality, but rather a new place altogether. After several deep breaths, my mind begins to paint the pristine picture.

  Chloe’s got her hair up in a bun—something I noticed that she often does. Her gorgeous olive irises are looking directly at me as she dives one hand into her hair and flicks the bun loose. Dark, tremulous blonde locks shimmer down past her shoulders. The light from the ceiling above reflects off them like the sunlight does water—a breathtaking sight.

  “So damn beautiful,” I confess on a guttural groan. She smiles at the compliment, which only makes my cock kick. The shameless fucker is beginning for attention—mine or hers, he doesn’t care. I give him what he wants—a slow, backhanded stroke. Chloe slaps my hand; the vibrations from that one movement vibrate through my hand and travel to my dick, which only enhances the sensation.

  “Allow me,” she appeals.

  “As you wish,” I rasp out.

  Without opening my eyes, I pop open the bottle of lube and squeeze a sizable amount into my hand. I massage it g
ently against my palm, allowing the texture to smooth out to the perfect consistency.

  Chloe falls to her knees. I trail a finger on the underside of my cock to match her tongue, both in direction and speed. She teases the tip, swirling her tongue around the head a few times until she’s ready to take this to the next level. I grip myself tightly the second she parts her lips and engulfs the head with her soft, warm mouth. Her lips are nice and tight, just how I like it. We both moan in unison as I sink further.

  My voice goes harsh as she bobs up and down, taking me to the back of her throat. “Fuuuuuck, you’re good at that.”

  She releases me with a glorious pop. A sound I would very much like to hear a lot more of. “Oh, I’m good at a lot of things, Science Guy. Just wait until you see the type of reactions I can cause.”

  The sexual meaning behind her words echoes in my balls.

  Without warning, she takes me back into her warm mouth. I have no idea how much time passes after that. All I know is that with each slip and slide, our paces quicken. Faster and faster. Tighter and tighter. Until I’m at the point that my legs are shaking and my breaths grow shallow.

  My balls tighten like little fists as they draw up closer to my body.

  “Gonna come,” I warn, but she doesn’t let up. On the contrary, she sucks harder and takes me deeper until I’m spurting warm streams onto my chest and stomach.

  “Goddamn,” I sigh, trying desperately to catch my breath. “This woman is going to be the death of me.”

  After a few hours and an intense cleanup session in the shower later, I call my sister and ask her to come over. I have a few things I need to sort out, and she’s just the tell it like it is female-perspective that I need to do so.

  When Emma arrives, I wrap her tightly into my arms and place a kiss on the crown of her head. “Thanks for coming. I need your female brain.”

  We walk into the living room and take a seat, me in my armchair and her on the couch adjacent to me. She folds one thigh over the other and crosses her arms over her chest.

  Emma tilts her head slightly, her brown eyes studying me. “Oh, this has got to be good. What’s the problem?”

  Emma doesn’t say a damn word as I explain my predicament with Chloe. I dive into how we both are insanely attracted to one another—that we share this deep connection but are too afraid of the repercussions if we act on it. Emma knows that I don’t get involved with my students’ parents, but I reiterate that important rule anyway, just in case she forgot. It has never even been close to being an issue before. Then again, I’ve never been this tempted to break one of my own rules before. But dammit, I really want to throw this one on the floor, stomp on it, and enjoy the sound of it shattering into a million tiny pieces that I can just sweep under the rug. Wouldn’t that be nice?

  I finish telling my sister everything, all the way up to the brownie batter fiasco. She remains quiet and vigilant. Her brown eyes narrow as they pierce me. Why hasn’t she said anything yet? The silence is killing me.

  “I don’t know, Lucas; she sounds like another one,” Emma finally supplies. Her words sting as if they’re coating me with a toxin that deteriorates my skin.

  “She’s not like that,” I interject immediately. My words are clipped, my tone harsher than I intended, but I don’t apologize. Emma needs to know that this time is different—that Chloe is different.

  She flicks up her brow. “How can you be so sure? They have a way of finding you.”

  I close my eyes, desperately trying to fight back the tears starting to well in them. She doesn’t believe me. And that hurts like fucking hell. I know, based on my track record, Emma has every reason to be skeptical. I know she just wants to protect me—to prevent me from being that heartbroken puppy that tends to find his way to her doorstep when things are over, and she’s out of my life forever. But knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

  Eyes still closed, I bow my head and whisper to the floor.

  “I don’t know if Chloe will be different. I want to hope that she is—that she won’t just pop into my life to wound my soul and leave me to pick up the scattered pieces of myself in her wake. But I do know that I have never felt this strongly for anyone else before.” As I’m saying the words, the realization dawns on me abruptly like a blow to the chest. “She’s worth the risk.”

  Fuck societal rules! Fuck small-town gossip! Fuck it all! I want Chloe, and I’m pretty damn sure she wants me too. As I think the words, I feel lighter. Like a heavy weight has finally been lifted off my shoulders.

  The only thing to work out is how not to hurt Kyle in the process. I like the kid too much to put him through any shit, whether intentional or not. I guess the only way around this is to ask his permission to ask his mom out. Sure, that’s hella strange and will certainly be a first for me, but the kid deserves that much. After all, this decision would affect all our lives, not just Chloe’s and mine. And even if he tells me to go fuck myself and leave his mother alone, I will respect his decision. Although, I’m hoping it won’t necessarily go down like that.

  Emma places her hand on my knee and gives it a squeeze. I open my eyes and look up to meet hers.

  “Lucas, whatever you decide to do…just know that I’ll always be here for you. No matter the outcome.” She moves her hand from my knee to my chest, right over my heart. “You have the biggest heart I’ve ever seen, and you wear it so openly on your sleeve. That’s what worries me. That’s what has caused you so much pain in the past. And I can’t bear to see you in that state again.”

  With my thumb, I dry her eyes. “I know you’re only looking out for me, Em. But Chloe is a risk I’m more than willing to take.”

  I press my forehead against hers. “Em, I need to do this.”

  She smiles. “Then what are you waiting for? Go for it.”

  And that’s precisely what I plan on doing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chloe

  My finger hovers over the send button on my phone. I’ve reread the message close to around seventeen times, and yet, here I am, looking it over once more. I’ve overanalyzed the hell out of it and brainstormed every possible reply he could send back. Some of them are normal, even fewer sexual, but most of them are just downright flirty. Just freaking do it, Chloe. It’s not the Nuclear Codes, for fuck’s sake. Before I could hesitate any longer, I press the button, cringing as the swoosh sound lets me know that it’s sent out into the world.

  Chloe: Swing by later tonight? I have a proposal for you.

  He’s in class now, so I don’t expect an immediate response. That’s probably best, as I’ve got a decent number of customers to tend to in the meantime. Besides, I don’t want to be that woman who glares daggers at her phone waiting for a man to reply to her text…even though that’s exactly what I’m doing right now. God, I’m such a loser.

  The man in line clears his throat to get my attention. I flash him my best I’m sorry smile before sliding my phone into my back pocket and giving him my full attention. “Sorry about that. What can I get ya?”

  “Coffee, black as night. Plus, one of those delicious brownies.”

  My nipples perk at the word, or more so, the memory now attached to that word. Brownies. I swear, I will never be able to look at a brownie again and not get all hot and bothered thinking about Lucas shirtless in my kitchen.

  “Coming right up,” I gleefully chirp as I start pouring his fresh cup of coffee. I place it on the counter and use the tongs beside me to grab his brownie and place it in the singular box. I’m just finishing ringing him up when my left ass cheek vibrates, alerting me that I have a new message.

  Once I finish helping the next three customers, I check my messages. When I read his response, I can’t help but smile from ear-to-ear like a gleeful idiot. Why does he always seem to have this happy effect on me?

  Lucas: Any chance this means I’ll get to see you on one knee?

  I fire back my reply, surprised when he replies almost instantly after I click send.r />
  Chloe: Sorry, Prince Charming…not that kind of proposal.

  Lucas: Damn, I guess it’s too much to ask to be swept off my feet on white horseback by a drop-dead gorgeous blonde that I know. Way to crush that dream, Chloe.

  I’m literally laughing out loud like a crazy woman in my own bakery. The mental image of me riding on a white horse and sweeping Lucas off his feet is too much for my own good. It’s so outrageous and cliche that my side begins to cramp from all my uproarious laughter. My phone vibrates again with another notification.

  Lucas: Level with me. Anything I should wear or not wear tonight ;)

  Chloe: Doesn’t matter, Casanova. It’s a business proposal.

  Lucas: Business proposal? Color me intrigued.

  Chloe: I’ll tell you more tonight.

  Lucas: See you then. I’ll be the guy in the sleek black frames wearing nothing but my feelings. Oh…and boots! It is chilly out, after all.

  Chloe: Looking forward to it ;)

  For my own sanity, I try not to dwell on the mental image Lucas just placed in my mind. I’m feeling crazy enough as it is already without trying to imagine him naked. Besides, moms shouldn’t picture their son’s teacher naked. Especially when he’s got a mouth that can kiss you breathless in seconds and a wicked tongue that knows exactly how to make you, cue the classic Shania Twain anthem, feel like a woman. Yeah, I draw the line there. It’s bad enough I know what the outline of his hard and longing cock feels like grinding against me. And if my memory serves correctly, long is definitely the proper word to describe it. Anyway, I shouldn’t be picturing it in all its impressive glory—or at all! Christ, I need to get a grip.

  Several hours later, I’m sweeping the floors, preparing the bakery for closing. Since cleaning up every night is boring as hell, I have a Little Mix tune playing through the loudspeakers to help me dance my way through my own boredom. Sweeping the floors and wiping the tables is tedious, but it’s a necessary evil that I have to face every single night.