Wicked Chemistry

by R. L. Kenderson

  Then, he walked through the door, leaving me to stare after him, wondering what the hell had just happened.

  I stalked into the bar in search of Mace. It took me a minute to spot him because he was already sitting down at a booth.

  I took the seat across from him. “What did you mean, ‘Your ass is mine’?”

  Mace smirked. I hadn’t seen that look since the beginning of the year. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  I wasn’t going to even question if he was talking about sex. I wasn’t going there. Nope. No way.

  But I had brought up the subject for another reason.

  “You were kind of … friendly at the beginning of the year. But, all of a sudden, you stopped. Why?”

  Mace’s smile turned to a scowl, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t like to be called a rapist.”

  I gasped and straightened my spine. “Who called you that?”

  The eyebrow went up again, and he nodded once toward me.

  I shook my head. “No, I didn’t.”

  He leaned forward. “You asked Lena if I forced her.”

  I felt my face drain of blood, and I quickly tried to replay my conversation with Lena that night.

  Mace continued, “And then, when she told you no, you suggested that I was using her.”

  I swallowed. “You heard us talking?” And here I had thought, we’d been too far away.

  He snorted. “No. Lena told me.”

  What?

  “Lena told you?”

  “Yeah. That’s what friends do.”

  “Friends?”

  He sighed. “Yes. Friends. Are you going to repeat everything I say?”

  “No. I’m just …”

  “Sorry?”

  I was going to say confused, but sorry felt like a much better thing to say. This explained Mace’s sudden behavior change toward me after the dance, and I felt bad that I had insulted him and his integrity.

  “Yes, I’m sorry. And, to be clear, I believe I asked Lena if you’d forced her to go to the classroom.”

  “And that’s a much better question?”

  “You’re right. It’s not.” I cleared my throat. “I apologize. I admit, I was a little biased in my questioning of Lena that night.”

  “What the hell did I ever do to you?”

  I held up my hands. “No, no, not you.” I sat back in my chair and looked down at my hands. “It’s something that happened to me when I was in high school. I might have projected my own experience onto Lena.”

  I looked up at Mace and was surprised to see his jaw clenched with anger on his face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What happened to you?” he asked, his voice calmer than I would have expected.

  But the anger finally clicked.

  “Oh. No, I wasn’t raped.” Just humiliated.

  Mace narrowed his eyes.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Someday, you’re going to tell me what happened,” he told me just as the server came over to our table.

  “Hey,” the server, a man in his mid-forties, said with a grin. “Mace Wagner. What are you doing here?”

  Mace patted his belly. “Just here for some good eats.”

  “What can I get you?”

  “How about some chicken wings? Eden?”

  There were menus at the table, but I hadn’t even had time to look. I took one from the stack on the side. “Wings are fine.”

  “Wings,” the server said as he wrote it down on his pad. “Spicy?”

  “Definitely,” Mace said with a grin.

  “And what to drink?”

  “Beer. Two. On tap.”

  I’d only been half-paying attention as I perused the menu, but upon the word beer, my head whipped up. I watched the server write it down.

  Isn’t he even going to card Mace? Can’t he tell that Mace isn’t old enough to drink?

  “I saw that play you made at the last game,” the server said as he finished writing. He looked up. “It was a beautiful interception.”

  Mace smiled. “Thank you.”

  And that answered any questions I had about Mace, his age, and drinking.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t win the state championship.”

  “Me, too, man.”

  “I’ll be right back with your drinks, and I’ll get your wing order in.”

  “Thanks, Lou.”

  Once Lou walked away, I leaned in and whispered, “You’re not old enough to drink.”

  “I’m not? Gee, I’m sure glad you told me.”

  I sat up. “You’re not funny.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I’m kind of funny. Besides, they don’t care that I’m underage.” He lifted his arms and spread them, his dark blue shirt stretching across his sculpted pecs. “It’s one of the perks of being a football god.”

  “Ugh.” I rolled my eyes.

  Mace laughed and dropped his arms onto the table. “If it makes you feel better, I’m only going to have one.” He raised his brow. “You, however, should probably have two or three after giving your car an ass-kicking.”

  I gave him a fake smile. “Ha-ha. One is plenty for me. I don’t need to be hungover on the plane tomorrow.”

  Lou brought our drinks over, and Mace picked it up and took a modest sip.

  “Oh. Where are you going?”

  “To my parents’ for Christmas.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “South Dakota.”

  “That’s right. You said something about that on your first day.”

  I was surprised he remembered. “I did.”

  “Are you looking forward to it?”

  “I am. I miss them. But I’m not looking forward to the snow and the cold. I’ve become spoiled since I moved here.”

  Mace smiled, and Lou set the wings down in front of us.

  He took out his pad and pencil again. “You two ready to order?”

  “I’ll have the cheeseburger,” Mace said.

  “And I’ll have the chicken sandwich.”

  Mace turned his eyes to me. “Oh. You made such a stink in the parking lot; I didn’t think you were going to eat.”

  “Put everything on his bill,” I told Lou with a satisfied smile.

  Lou grinned. “Will do, ma’am.”

  While we waited for our food, I looked around the restaurant.

  “Relax. You’re not going to recognize anyone here. And, even if you did, we’re just eating. It’s not like I’m fucking you on the table.” He sank his teeth into a chicken wing, casually, as if what he’d just said wasn’t scandalous.

  Of course, my stupid brain immediately pictured doing just as he’d said. I needed a fan.

  “Still, people might get the wrong idea.”

  “You worry too much.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  At least it was casual Friday, and I was wearing jeans. If no one knew who we were, we looked like two people having dinner. If I had been dressed up, I might have looked suspicious. But I could be worrying too much, like Mace had said.

  When the rest of our food arrived, he asked, “So, you want to talk about it?”

  I paused as I raised my sandwich to my mouth. “Talk about what?”

  “What had you so pissed off earlier that you were kicking your car?”

  “I thought that was obvious. My flat tire,” I answered and took a bite of my delicious sandwich. Mace was right about the food.

  He shook his head. “Nah. It was more than that. I’ve seen you keep your calm when kids are acting out in class. Something else is bothering you.”

  As I slowly chewed my bite, I actually considered telling him what was eating away at me, but it was too personal. And I didn’t think Mace would really understand where I was coming from. Men saw things so differently than women. Plus, he would never understand what it was like to be the overweight loser.

  I picked up my napkin and wiped my mouth. “I’d really rather not talk about it.
” As I said this, I realized that it was not just with Mace. I didn’t want to talk about it with anyone. Not yet at least.

  Mace shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  I was relieved he hadn’t pressed me about it. He wasn’t nosy. I liked that. It was nice to be able to sit and eat in peace.

  We finished our food and beer, and I looked down at Mace’s arms.

  “What do your tattoos say?”

  He put his fists together so I could read his forearms from left to right.

  “There is only one way to succeed in anything … and that is to give it everything,” I read out loud. I looked up at him. “That’s kind of deep. Who said that?”

  He smiled. “Me.”

  My eyebrows arched. “Really?”

  He laughed. “No. Vince Lombardi said it.”

  “Oh.” I felt silly for believing him. Thank heavens, I knew that Vince Lombardi was a football guy, so I didn’t embarrass myself further.

  Lou came over, right then, and took the dishes from our table.

  “You ready to go home?” Mace asked. “I promised I’d take you as soon as we finished our food.”

  My phone buzzed. “Hold that thought.”

  Becca: Hey, I just saw that you called twice and that you called Connor, too. Everything okay?

  I looked up at Mace, who was pulling money from his wallet.

  Me: Yeah. Everything’s okay. Sorry to worry you.

  Becca: Did you change your mind about hanging out with us tonight?

  Becca: You’re more than welcome.

  I looked at Mace again.

  Me: Nah. I’m fine. You two have fun. I’ll see you in the morning.

  Becca: In the morning?

  Not this again.

  Becca: Just kidding! I’ll see you at 9!

  Me: Turd. I’ll see you at 9.

  I turned off my screen and put my phone away. I looked around the bar. There was a small dance floor and two dartboards in the back.

  “Let’s go play darts.”

  Mace hesitantly looked at me.

  I just realized it was a Friday night, and winter break had officially started. He probably had something way more important to do. This was possibly the first Friday night he’d had off in a long time since he was usually playing on Fridays.

  I waved off my suggestion. “I’m sure you have other plans.” I started scooting out of the booth. “If you can still give me a ride home, I’d be grateful.”

  Mace slowly grinned. “No plans. Let me kick your ass in darts.”

  I laughed. “That’s what you think.”

  He stood up and pointed to his chest. “Uh … world-class athlete.”

  “Uh … cocky much?”

  Mace laughed and led me over to the dartboard. “Tell you what. Because I’m such a nice guy, I’m going to let you go first.”

  “You think you’re going to beat me, don’t you?”

  He grinned. “Oh, I know I am.”

  I bit my bottom lip and smiled. “Care to make it interesting?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  I tapped my chin with a dart. “If I win, you have to change my tire while I’m away.”

  He laughed. “Is that it?”

  “Yeah.” I thought it was a pretty good thing to win.

  “Okay then.” His smile turned devilish. “If I win, you have to dance with me.”

  I opened my mouth.

  “Slow dance.”

  That wasn’t too bad of a request. Plus, I knew that I was going to win.

  I held out my hand. “You’re on.”

  Mace shook it, his grip warm and firm. “Prepare to lose.”

  “Oh, to be young and cocky.”

  “You’re not that much older than me.”

  I placed my feet right where I needed them and prepared to throw my first dart, but he was too close for my liking. I turned to Mace. “Can you please back up?”

  He held up his hands in surrender and took a large step back.

  I lined up my first shot and threw the dart. I quickly put the second dart in my right hand and did the same thing and then again with the third. I played best when I let them all go in rapid succession.

  I walked up to the board, feeling triumphant. I’d gotten two double bull’s-eyes and one single bull’s-eye. “Fifty, fifty, and twenty-five.” I pulled the darts out and brought them to Mace. “Beat that, star athlete.”

  “It’s world-class athlete, and I don’t mind if I do.” He situated himself behind the piece of tape on the floor but paused and looked at me. “Can you please back up?” he said in a teasing tone.

  I laughed and moved a step away from him.

  Mace threw the first dart. Then, the second and third. He wasn’t as fast as me, but he was pretty quick.

  He walked up to the board and pointed to the first dart. “Double bull’s-eye. Fifty points.”

  Then, he put his hand over his mouth in fake shock.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “And what’s this?” he said, pointing to his second dart. “Another double bull’s-eye. Looks like we’re tied, Fijalkowski.”

  I was impressed he’d pronounced my last name correctly, but I crossed my arms over my chest. He was my opponent after all.

  “And where’s that last dart?” He looked over his shoulder at me. “You’re screwed because it looks like I got a whole sixty points.”

  I dropped my arms. “No, you didn’t.”

  I stalked over to the board, ready to prove him wrong. But right there on twenty, he’d made the triple-ring shot. He was right.

  I looked up into his eyes.

  “Looks like you owe me a dance, Eden.”

  Mace came over after approaching the DJ—who was just a guy sitting in a corner booth, drinking beer—and he led me to the dance floor. When our feet hit the wooden slats, “True” by Ryan Cabrera came over the speakers, and Mace pulled me into his arms.

  As always, he smelled wonderful, and it felt way too good to be in his arms.

  “Relax,” he said next to my ear. “You’re so stiff.”

  Relax?

  He had to be joking. He was my student. And, putting that aside, he was better-looking than any guy I’d ever dated in my life.

  With that thought, I was reminded of Adam and his letter. Of his revelation and my devastation.

  Maybe I deserved a little gratification. If dancing and being held in Mace’s arms made me feel better, then I should give myself a break and just enjoy it for the time being.

  I let my muscles loosen. I even went so far as resting my head against his chin.

  I’d never danced with a man this tall, and I liked that I couldn’t quite see over his shoulder.

  Mace started singing along with the lyrics. He wasn’t the best singer, which was a surprise and a relief because it wouldn’t be fair if he was good at everything.

  I knew he was just repeating the words to the song, but he asked if I wanted him, too, and sang that he would do anything to be with me. At least, it felt like he was singing the words to me as we swayed around the dance floor.

  By the time the song ended, my head on the top of his chest, his arms had tightened around me. I was completely under his spell. He made me want things I shouldn’t want and feel things I shouldn’t feel.

  When I stepped back, he smiled down and kissed me. Or rather, lifted my hand to his lips. But I wanted it to be more.

  A couple bumped into me, knocking me a few steps to the side, and Mace and I lost eye contact.

  Spell broken.

  I needed to get out of there.

  I smiled politely, pulled my hand from his grasp, and headed back to the table. I picked up my now-warm beer and drank what was left.

  “Hey, you okay?” Mace asked as he came up behind me. “I thought we were going to play a few more rounds.”

  I turned around and wiped the corner of my mouth where some beer had escaped. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s probably time for me to go home though.”

  �
��Okay.”

  I grabbed my purse from my side of the booth, and the two of us headed outside. We got in the truck, and I gave Mace the address.

  We drove to Becca’s house in silence as I watched the scenery pass. I looked into people’s homes and wondered what it was like there.

  What are they decorated like? What are the people inside doing? Are they happy? Are they loved?

  Before I knew it, I was home.

  Fun night over. Back to reality.

  I opened the door and slid out. “Thanks for the ride, dinner, everything,” I told him honestly.

  Mace turned off his truck and got out of his vehicle.

  “What are you doing?”

  He came around to my side and opened the back door. “Bringing your bag in.”

  I’d almost forgotten about it. I smiled. “I can bring it in myself, you know. I do it every day.”

  Instead of handing it over, he pulled the strap up and over his shoulder. “Nonsense. Here in Texas, we’re gentlemen, and I’m going to carry your bag in for you.”

  I laughed, and we walked toward the front door.

  “Hate to break it to you. But this is also America, and us women can do things for ourselves.”

  I took my keys out and unlocked the door, letting us in.

  Mace set my bag against the wall. “See, that’s where some women get confused. We don’t do gentlemanly things, like carry your bag, because we think you can’t do it on your own. We do it because we want to be nice and help you. Would you object if Becca offered to carry your bag in?”

  He had a point.

  “No,” I admitted.

  He grinned.

  I shook my head and laughed. I held out my hand. “Thank you for bringing my bag in.”

  He clasped my palm against his and shook. “You’re welcome. Is there anything else you need me to do? Kill a spider, hang a picture, fix your faucet?”

  I laughed and let go of his hand. “Go on. Get out of here. Go have fun with your friends.”

  Mace’s smile became a little warmer, and he looked as if he was about to say something, but he just nodded and turned toward the open door.

  He really was a nice guy, and I desperately wished he were older or I were younger.

  “Mason?”

  He spun around to look at me again. “Yeah?”

  I took a step closer to him. “I really am sorry about the homecoming dance. It was wrong of me to accuse you of anything other than sneaking off, and I’m sorry.”