Worry scrunches his face as the burden of whatever realization he just had flickers in his eyes. “Does this mean he’s not going to tutor me anymore?”
“I—I don’t know. I’ll go talk to him and let you know what I find out. Okay?” He nods as I use my sleeve to dry under his eyes. “In the meantime, don’t worry about it. Mama will get this all straightened out.”
I raise my brows and smile, rubbing my hand up and down his upper arm. “Have I ever let you down?”
He shakes his head, a slight smile tugging on his lips. “No.”
“And I’m not about to start now,” I reassure him before pulling him in for a hug.
I’m standing outside his house, freezing my tits off as I knock on the door. The lights are on inside, so I know he’s home. My heartbeat starts palpitating as more time passes without him coming to the door. I need to know he’s okay. God, what if he isn’t? What if there was some kind of terrible accident?
My mind fogs with made-up scenarios. All the what-ifs suck my brain into their devastating whirlpool. What if he’s hurt? What if someone he loves died? Is something wrong with his sister? What if he’s decided I’m broken and no longer wants anything to do with me? That train of thought dies the second he opens the door.
He looks like hell. His stubble is a little longer than usual. His hair is a disaster. Rather than his normal messy style, it’s more of an I’ve been pulling my hair out look. He’s wearing gray sweatpants that hang vicariously low on his hips, which my body notices, paired with a navy shirt that reads I tell lame Chemistry jokes cuz all the good ones Argon.
He doesn’t say anything, just forces a smile as he steps to the side. I can tell that he's hurt by the flicker of sadness in his eyes, but his smile doesn't falter. His usually warm, vibrant, inviting eyes are glossed over.
I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows roughly.
“Are you gonna come in? Or just freeze your ass off all night?” he chides as the smell of whiskey carries from his breath. I step inside, allowing him to close the door.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Or do I have to drag it out of you?” I snap, a little annoyed that he’s acting so distant. I haven’t seen this side of him, and I’m not quite sure I care much for it all.
“Whatever do you mean?” he remarks sarcastically, dramatically outstretching his arms like he’s preparing to bow after a play.
“I got this letter from the school saying you’re taking a leave of absence, and I’m worried that—”
“Leave of absence,” he scoffs. “Fuck them.”
I raise my voice, still confused as hell. “Lucas! What is going on here?”
“You wanna know so bad? Well, here it is. I got fired yesterday!” he yells, more out of frustration than at me. His tone is very snarky.
He closes his eyes, and his jaw clenches. I seize the opportunity to get closer to him. Stepping forward, I crowd him, placing both my hands on his shoulders. I swear I can feel every muscle in his body grow rigid under my touch. A stark contrast to how things usually are between us. Typically, his body relaxes, and the only thing that hardens is his cock. But not tonight. This is unprecedented.
“Tell me what happened,” I request, my tone urgent. My touch is soft as I lightly squeeze his shoulders.
There’s hesitation there until there isn’t. Almost like he doesn’t want to tell me why but knows that he has to.
“Stud. Muffin. Sundays,” he clips out, his voice is clogged with emotion. And it shatters my heart into a million tiny pieces.
“I’m so sorry. This is all my fault,” I murmur under my breath. He catches it and flicks open his eyes. They’re full of fiery fury now.
“No, it’s not. This is precisely why I didn’t want to tell you. You’re going to think this is your fault and neglect the fact that I’m a grown-ass man who made a poor decision.”
“Yes, but I’m the reason for your poor decision. I asked you to do it. And you were just being polite. Helping me out.”
I crash my mouth to his. Wanting to make things right. Wanting to kiss his pain away. I tweak his nipples with my fingers, causing him to moan into my mouth. I sweep my tongue over his, desperate to make him forget. There's anger on his tongue and frustration fueling his hands as he grips my hips.
I press into him, shamelessly grinding myself against his erection. His hard body feels so good pressed against mine. His hands roam up my sides, making me melt under his touch. When they find their way to my shoulders, he shoves me lightly, just enough to break the kiss and get some distance between us. His hands are still on my shoulders when he glares at me and growls, “I don’t want a pity fuck. You should just go. I need to be alone right now.”
Floored, my mouth drops open. I turn around and start to walk away.
“Chloe, I’m sorry.” He sighs heavily. I don’t turn around. I don’t want to see him right now. Not after the way he snapped at me. Not after what he said. I wasn’t offering a pity fuck…was I? I don’t even know. I just haven’t been in a situation like this in a very long time. I don’t know how to comfort a grown-ass man. To make him feel better. The only person I know I can always cheer up is my son.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
I nod and get the hell outta there.
When I’m in bed later that night, an idea strikes me. It’s brilliant and just might help rewrite this wrong. A man like Lucas, who’s dedicated to the education of each of his students, deserves to be in a classroom, shaping young minds. And I’m going to prove it: one way or another.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lucas
I’m beside myself. This is the first time in a long time that I don’t have somewhere to be on a Thursday morning at eight o’clock. My head is pounding as this slight hangover kicks my ass. One thing’s for sure; I’m certainly not in my twenties anymore. My bounce back isn’t what it used to be.
I scrub a hand over my face, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
I owe Chloe a phone call. I was a complete jackass to her last night, and she didn’t deserve any of that. I was just frustrated at my situation and angry that she continued to blame herself for it. It’s not her fault, but I know I could try to convince her of that for the rest of my life and still wouldn’t be able to succeed.
Unsure whether she’s available or even has her cell on her, I shoot Chloe a text.
Lucas: Good morning, Gorgeous. Can I call you? I don’t like how we left off last night.
Lucas: More specifically, I’m sorry for being such a jackass. You were just trying to help. I know that. Please, call me.
I stare at the bright glare of the screen for what feels like an hour but was probably only around ten minutes. There’s still no reply, which doesn’t do anything to help the nervous pit I feel in my churning in my stomach.
Out of pure habit, I press the mail application on my screen's rights side and fire up my work email. I’m surprised to find it flooded with emails from parents. The majority of them are the same—people wishing me well and saying that their child is really going to miss me.
“Not as much as I’m going to miss them, I assure you,” I say aloud to the empty room.
But it’s the last two emails that get my attention—one from McAdams and the other from Chloe. Not wanting to deal with whatever bullshit is coming from the former, I open the latter. There’s only one line and then a YouTube link. It reads: This is Kyle…I miss you. My heart swoops at those few words. I miss you. It’s only been two days since I lost my job, but that doesn’t make Kyle’s admittance any less special to me.
I hesitate for a second before I click on the link. As expected, it takes me to The Nutty Cookie’s YouTube channel. What isn’t expected is the title: PLEASE, I NEED YOUR HELP!
I press play, shocked to find Chloe is wearing the exact same outfit she was when she left my house last night when I brushed her off.
She looks distraught, her eyes puffy. I pray to God that I’m not the reason she w
as crying—that it was the circumstance of my firing that made her break down. But I’m not so sure. Regardless, I feel responsible.
“Hi, my Nutters. I’m going to make this brief. Stud Muffin was fired from his job because of my videos.” She takes a beat to clear her throat and fight back the tears. “He’s a teacher here at a local middle school. I feel entirely responsible and wish I could take this blow for him. But I can’t.”
She stops fighting, letting the tears openly stream down her face. “I’ve already reached out to all the parents of his students. We have all contacted the district, demanding that they reinstate him. We each explained in our calls just how he has touched the lives of our children.”
Warmth fills my chest, except this time, it isn’t caused by the consumption of alcohol, but by this remarkable, selfless woman—the one that I know I’m falling so damn hard for.
She didn’t have to do any of this. But that’s what makes this so special. She’s doing this for me because she knows how important teaching is to me—how it has shaped me into the man I am today.
“Now, I’m asking you all to do the same. So, please, call the number on the bottom of the screen and demand that they reinstate Mr. Ashford. Thank you for your help,” she says, right before the video ends.
The email from McAdams explains that the district has reconsidered their decision and that I can come back to my classroom on Monday. I’m ecstatic. Over the moon. And now, I need to go thank the woman who made this all possible. She did this. She took action while I tipped back whiskey, trying to numb my own self-pity.
Once I’m showered and dressed, I jog to The Nutty Cookie. Since it’s getting colder out, I don’t work up more than a light sheen of sweat on my forehead that I brush off with the back of my hand when I’m standing outside the entrance. Sure, driving would’ve been faster, but I wanted the extra time to clear my head and gather my thoughts.
When I enter the building, my eyes scan the room for Chloe. She’s nowhere in sight. As proud and happy as I am to see all these people lurking around the bakery, chowing down on treats and sipping their beverages, it doesn’t necessarily make my task of finding her any easier.
A hand rests on my side. The abrupt contact causes my muscles to clench and my jaw to tick. The tension eases when I spot the hand’s owner, Layla. She nods to the back-kitchen door. “She’s back there. Go get her.”
I raise a questioning brow. “If you’re helping me, that means I haven’t completely fucked this up. Right?”
She laughs and swats my arm.
“Oh, honey, you haven’t fucked anything up.” She leans in closer and whispers. “Just between you and me, I like you for her. And I think you’re exactly what she needs. Now, what are the odds you have a younger brother?”
I shake my head slowly and shrug. “Sorry. Younger sister. And she’s taken.”
Layla snaps. “Shoot. Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
And with that, Layla walks around the room to assist her customers.
The hair on my neck stands up as my nerves kick into overdrive. Sure, Layla’s words were encouraging, but they’re not the ones I need to hear. I need to gaze into Chloe’s magnificent olive eyes, apologize profusely and hope that everything Layla said is true. I hope that there’s still room in her life for me.
I open the door carefully to ensure that she won't get hit if she’s standing on the other side. The second I walk through and see her, my breath is swept away. All the oxygen in my lungs vanishes in one exhale. “Wow.”
It’s not even that she’s doing anything sexy. She’s just in her element, doing what she loves. And that might just be the sexiest thing of all.
Watching her strut around the kitchen so confidently, so sure of every step she takes, every ingredient she grabs, all of it. It’s captivating. Mesmerizing. I can’t take my eyes off her. I love watching her poke her tongue out a bit when she’s frosting. It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
Doing what I do best, I act on instinct. If I wasted my time thinking about every single moment in my life, I wouldn’t have the balls to do half the shit I do or say half the shit I say. Sometimes, it gets me into trouble. But most of the time, I can charm my way out of it. I guess we shall see if this is one of those times.
I step behind her, slink my arms around her waist, and pull her into me. She’s startled at first, but then she loosens under my arms. Dipping down, I press my lips against her neck and mumble. “Mmmm, so damn sweet.”
I hear her breath hitch, and the sound urges me to keep going. I kiss my way up her neck to where it meets her jawline. “I’m so sorry I snapped at you yesterday. You didn’t deserve that at all.”
Her hand finds the back of my head, cupping it, holding me right where she wants me. She’s silent other than the small noises falling from her lips when I suck on the spot I know drivers her positively wild.
“And I know I don’t deserve you,” I grumble into her neck. I inhale deeply. She smells like vanilla cupcakes today. Or maybe that’s the actual cupcakes she’s baking. Regardless, I love it.
“You’re so considerate.” Kiss. “Wonderful.” Kiss. “And drop-dead gorgeous. I can’t stop myself from kissing you.”
“Then shut up and kiss me,” she remarks, her voice airy.
I do as I’m told. With my hands still resting on her waist, I spin her around and bring my mouth to hers. I groan when she sucks my bottom lip into her mouth and presses against me.
I pull back, ending the kiss. “Fuuuuck. Does this mean you forgive me?”
The moment she slips her hand into mine, all feels right with the world again. She stares up at me, smiling. “How can I not when you kiss me like that?”
I take a minute or two just to stare at her—to bask in her beauty. She’s got a bit of pink frosting on her cheek, but I’m not gonna tell her. It’s too cute. Besides, I might want to lick it off later.
“Goddamn, you’re so sexy when you bake. And when you don’t. You’re just always so fucking sexy,” I growl, our pelvises still pressing together. My hard-on throbs between us. “You know what?”
This piques her interest.
“What?” she asks with a crooked grin.
“According to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, you’re supposed to share your hotness with me.”
Her brow lifts. “Is that so?”
I lean in to kiss her again.
“Mmhmmm,” I hum against her lips. “It’s purely scientific.”
“Well, who am I to argue with science?” She nibbles my lip. “Wanna take this upstairs and finish this experiment?”
I take a step back and grin wickedly. “You don’t even have to ask.”
It’s not long after I shut the door behind us that Chloe pins my shoulders and shoves me against it. Reaching behind my head, I grab the collar of my sweater and yank it off in one fluid motion. It isn’t long before her roaming hands are one me, tracing over each exposed muscle.
“I love it when you touch me,” I rasp, my voice strung tight. “Feels so damn good, babe.”
“Yeah? Then this is going to feel amazing,” she warns, a mischievous glint in her eyes and a cockiness to her smile. Falling to her knees, her nimble fingers frantically work on the button of my jeans. When it gives way, she yanks my pants down, taking my boxer briefs with them—the heavy fabric pools at my ankles.
My dick hardens further simply because she looks at me the way she does—like I’m her favorite piece of chocolate that she’s just unwrapped. Her hot breath fans against my cock, teasing it. She’s looking but not touching. And that’s driving me absolutely insane. Lust surges down my spine and straight to my aching cock. He’s throbbing so painfully that I open my mouth to beg but think better of it. In due time.
Her hands start at my waist and skim over my thighs. I get more and more excited the closer she moves to the place where I want her the most. She glances up at me for a brief moment and licks her lips. And fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing ever!
“Babe, I can’t take—” I stop mid-sentence as she palms my cock. I moan in response. Her moves are deliberate, perfectly calculated to make my legs tremble at each twist, slide, and jerk of her wrist.
A deep sound comes from the back of my throat as she strokes me faster. It’s the mixture of both conviction and friction in her movements. As abruptly as she started, she stops, releasing my dick from her grasp.
“You’re killing me,” I growl.
Her eyes meet mine as she stands up. There’s a carnal desire shining in them now, letting me know that she wants me just as badly as I want her. Standing on her tiptoes, she drags a hand through my hair, nails scraping the scalp. Tingles run down my entire body. I love it when a woman plays with my hair. It’s such a major turn-on.
“Aw, poor Stud Muffin. I haven’t even begun starting to torture you yet.” I bite my lip to prevent from frowning at her admission. “Put your hands behind your head, and don’t move.”
I chuckle. “I won’t be able to keep that promise long.”
She smiles an all-knowing smile. “I know. But I think you can keep it just long enough.”
I arch my brow. “Is that a challenge?”
She shrugs. “If you say so.”
My curiosity gets the better of me. Which is the only reason I’m doing as she requested. With my back still parallel against the door, my feet rooted firmly in the ground, and my hands clasped together behind my head, I watch her, waiting for her next move.
“Check,” I jest, just like we’re playing a game of chess, and I made an aggressive move on her King. But just like in chess, the Queen is the most powerful piece—the one who captures all attention with each of her movements. Your move, Chloe.
I watch her, holding my breath as she reaches behind her. The sound of a zipper sliding is music to my ears as it pierces the room, cutting through the silence with its reverberated echoes. Her dress falls to the floor, leaving her exposed to my hungry gaze.
Chemistry: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World) Page 15