Mister Know It All: A Hero Club Novel

by Amélie S. Duncan

  He ignored my snark but rose without hesitation. “Or maybe you haven’t found the right natural combo to change your mind.”

  I laughed. “Perhaps I haven’t, but seriously, you’re just going to stop everything to wait on me?”

  I don’t think Randall bothered to ask if I wanted anything from the kitchen since the first time I cooked. And I still hung in there? I cringed. But I soothed myself with a reminder I worked for him as a teaching assistant too. Not that I was a fifties housewife serving him with slippers and scotch.

  “You’re my guest,” he said and went to the kitchen.

  We both settled into our work, though Ford seemed distracted. He grunted in displeasure when I placed the smoothie he insisted on next to the coaster. But he did offer a refill of my glass when it was half empty. He even went as far as to point out a pillow on the couch when I rubbed my neck. Observant. Attentive. Fussy. He wasn’t as bad as I initially thought, or maybe he wanted to make up for insulting me earlier.

  After a while, he asked, “Are you hungry now?”

  “Yes.” I sprang to my feet and stumbled into Ford.

  He immediately reached out for me and grasped my waist, giving me more time to balance.

  Had he liked the way his touch felt oddly comforting? I was more for a get-to-know attraction than a visceral reaction to a man. For some reason, Ford touching me felt primal. My body leaned in, wanting his hands to linger.

  “Steady now?” he muttered.

  No, keep touching me. “I’m fine now, thanks,” I said, rolling my shoulders back and tilting my head upward for added effect.

  He smiled. “You make me crave my camera to capture your expressions.”

  “Is that something you do often?” I asked.

  “Yes. My hobby has turned into a side profession. I show at one of the local galleries now.”

  “So, the photos you take of me could end up in a gallery?” I half joked.

  “If the images are selected by an art curator, they could be. If you’re really interested, I’ll take a shoot.”

  My face heated under his apt attention as his piercing blue eyes stared intently at my face.

  I glanced away. “Do you do more than people, like landscapes?”

  “Only women. My photos usually encompass the fragments of the worst kind of pain, love.”

  Deep. I wanted to ask more, but he had already opened the door and turned away from me. I understood the pain of love. But what was a little odd was that Ford had already seen that. Did he know I’d been in pieces too?

  How is this the same man I spoke to on the phone this morning?

  How was this man someone I could imagine becoming a dear friend to me?

  JASMINE

  Tipsy confessions

  Saucer Burger was in Midtown Manhattan. My finger pressed the check-in button on social media. I wanted to keep track of everywhere I’d been this summer by making a digital scrapbook.

  “Have you ever been to the top of the Empire State Building?” he asked as we rode past the front.

  “I came close, but my mom didn’t like the long line, so we skipped it. We went to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, though. I wouldn’t mind going back for research.”

  “For your cultural migration paper?” he asked.

  My insides warmed. I had only mentioned that once, and Ford had remembered. “Yeah. But I’m not sure I’ll have time for the extensive research next semester, my last semester in my master’s degree program. I need to prepare for the Ph.D. applications.”

  “Where have you applied?”

  “Everywhere in Boston, though, I’ve considered deferring admission for a year to do a full research project and have more life experience before settling into another program.”

  “A break sounds like a good idea. I have one stop to make. Be right back.”

  He left the car near Bloomingdales.

  I took out my phone and looked over my social media and read about what other people in my class were doing over the summer. Some backpacking through Europe. Others had posts with impressive internships. Basically, no one ever posted anything that wasn’t exciting. Randall’s calendar popped up with an alert about a few conferences he was invited to that I still had on mine. He had the professor’s life I thought I’d dreamed of—lectures, seminars, writing articles, and debates. I lived that with him, but the accolades weren’t mine. Did I still even want his life?

  I glanced out the window and watched Ford walk back toward the car while people gawked at him. He could turn heads. He’d been nice, but then what else could he be when hosting?

  He reached the car and put bags in the trunk.

  “More fancy gadgets?” I teased.

  “Something I reserved for my sister, Emma. A reward for a good first year in college,” he explained as he settled behind the wheel.

  “That’s nice. I always wanted a sister, but I have an older brother, who’s perfect, by the way, if you listen to my parents.”

  “I’ve got a perfect brother too, Aldric. He’s a medical resident in New Jersey. Any other ideas for your visit?” he asked.

  “Broadway show, shopping, eating out somewhere exotic…” I rattled off a list from the notepad on my phone. “Just seeking out something new and refreshing.”

  “I can send you suggestions if you give me your email or number.”

  “Sure. You can find all the nerdy stuff to do,” I teased with a grin.

  “I have other interests too,” he said, and I turned my head to look at the smile on his lips. And what did that mean?

  Saucer Burger looked like an amusement park of plastic craters, painted planet walls, and spaceship-shaped tables and seats. It had a tiny child handprint on a moon, which I pointed at, and Ford joined me in laughing. “Trust me, they have delicious food, and you didn’t want to go to a ‘stuffy’ place.”

  “I’m highly amused,” I said as I settled into the spaceship-shaped booth across from him. “It’s like returning to childhood. Not the one I had, though. If I came to a place like this, my parents would give me an astronomy assignment afterward. What about you?”

  “My childhood?” he asked.

  “Not solely,” I said. “Though I’m fascinated by modern-day childhood construction.”

  “Psychology course? I thought you said you were studying sociology.”

  “Double major, Mr. Lingren. What’s your answer?”

  He went quiet and seemed lost in thought. Then he said, “I have nothing to share. I went to boarding prep for part of my life. I finished early and went to work to help my sister and brother.”

  I wanted to ask him why he had the help them, but I didn’t want to pry.

  He ordered us food and agreed to my chocolate and Irish whiskey float.

  “Not too strong,” he instructed the server.

  “Just make it the way you usually make it,” I spoke up and narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re bossy.”

  “Is that bothering you?” he asked and leaned in to focus on my answer.

  “Yeah, actually it is. What’s your issue with alcohol?”

  He hesitated but then said, “You only just met me. Even if you have friends saying I’m fine, you shouldn’t get intoxicated with someone you don’t know. I’ve seen the nasty side of alcohol enough not to want to be around it.”

  My brows raised. “I see. I didn’t consider being taken advantage of here. I mean, you seem like an okay guy, and my cousin vouched for you for overnight, and no one in my family would release me to a creepy roofie guy—”

  “I’m not a creepy roofie guy,” he said, smiling at me. “Let’s change the subject. How about telling me your answer about your childhood?”

  “I was the kid who aced everything, and everyone hated,” I said, eating a steak fry. “But I had no choice but to work to those standards. My parents had high expectations of us and achieved them with my brother. My dad’s anal-retentive about everything. He made me do my coloring again if I went out of the lines.�
�� I made it a joke, but Ford frowned.

  “That’s overkill,” he said.

  “My parents mellowed on the farm. We both made it out unscathed,” I said with a lift to my voice and tapped our glasses together.

  Ford grinned and shook his head. “Childhood down. What topic do you want to try now?”

  I shrugged. “Work?”

  “We’re a laugh a minute,” he deadpanned.

  I talked about school, and Ford told me about his career as an associate art director of software engineering and design. He spoke about using computer-aided design for software programs to create prototypes. I nodded along because he sounded confident and knowledgeable. But to be honest, this conversation gave me a chance to stare without gaping at him. I’d never been in the orbit of a man so hot up close: no pores, starry eyes, all cheekbones, and kiss-me-please lips. God, please don’t let me drool. And I swear if that man licks his sexy lips again, my sex will spasm.

  “Are you listening?” I heard Ford say, and from the lower arch to his perfect brow, I realize he must have asked more than once.

  My mouth twitched, and my grin turned goofy when I lied. So, to avoid embarrassment, I covered my mouth, pretended to cough, and dreamed up a half-truth so I wouldn’t sound rude.

  “I’m listening. I understand computer-generated design. It sounds interesting, but maybe it’s one of those careers you need to see in action.” Yeah. That sounds good.

  He pushed his hand back through his hair and grinned. “I bored you.”

  “Not at all.”

  His blue eyes stared in a penetrating way that I feared meant he knew what I was thinking. My face went hot, and I became very interested in the napkin on my lap to hide the weird tremor in my hands. “Not bored at all. The food is excellent.”

  Picking up my float, I took a deep suck on the straw. Did that look sexy?

  I glanced at him and had to hide a smile when I saw him watching me. Oh, yeah.

  “It’s all right if I did bore you. Work is for work.” His phone went off. “And it never ends. Excuse me.” He stood and walked a few steps away from our table.

  I polished off my float, and I sang along with “Perfect Illusion” by Lady Gaga. My voice was a little loud. To be honest, it didn’t take much. But here I was with a buzz going, a hot guy across from me, and an exciting break from my school. I was in NYC!

  Ford wasn’t keen on my newfound enthusiasm.

  He frowned disapprovingly. “You’re drunk. Time to go.”

  “Nope. I’m buzzed. I’ll laugh too much and talk your ear off, but I’m not sloppy, hold-my-hair-back drunk.”

  Ford called for the check and ignored my money. The waitress brought the bill promptly as many more tourists were waiting to eat in space.

  I danced out of my seat, snapping my fingers and shaking my body from side to side as I sang the next song playing in the restaurant, Katy Perry’s “California Dream.”

  Ford looked at me like I’d grown another head. “This isn’t a nightclub.”

  “So?” I shrugged.

  “You want to end up online?” he warned.

  I stopped and glanced around at the tourist with phones. Hell no.

  He wrapped his arms around me from behind.

  “Better keep you close in case you fall.”

  I guffawed. “Or you’re trying to stop my dancing. You don’t need to hold me. I don’t want to end up a badly captioned meme.”

  My heartbeat sped up like I’d ran for miles. His cologne smelled like citrus.

  He let me go, and I ran ahead of him onto the sidewalk and yelled into the wind, “Wow! I’m in New York City!” I glanced over at Ford, who had an expression I couldn’t read.

  I raised a brow. “What’s up now?”

  “You’re too much,” he replied.

  “You’re too uptight. Relax with me. We’re buddies now,” I mused.

  “I’m not your buddy, Jasmine.” His tone switched to serious.

  My brows rose. Was Ford upset, or had I just friend-zoned him? “What I meant was I don’t hate you. I hate men. They cheat.”

  Ford’s gaze flicked upward. “Women cheat too.”

  I pushed my hair back from my face and sighed in exasperation. “Fine, I’m done trying to have a relationship. I’m only going for no-strings-attached sex. But my friend Tam said I shouldn’t speak to him, or he’d be shit in bed. I mean, talking would only lead to me thinking about what we said during sex.”

  Ford laughed. “Is that what you do when you have sex? Sounds like a tragic sex life. I’ve never had a woman not pleased by me.”

  “Every guy thinks they are a god in bed. They promise fireworks, but when you get there, it’s not even as good as a sparkler.”

  “A sorry sex life. Tell me more,” he mused.

  I zipped my lips and threw away the key.

  “You’d tell me if I gave you another mug of whiskey ice cream, Jasmine. Too bad you’re cut off from alcohol the rest of the evening.”

  Noooo. He’s too pretty to be so mean to me.

  “You’re wrong. Although, you’re pretty hot for a suit.”

  JASMINE

  Positively easy

  “You’re pretty hot for a suit.” God, I said that out loud.

  But to be truthful, it was an understatement. But I said it out loud. Oh well. Ford had it all, a thick mane of wavy curls that framed his beautifully sculpted face a company could use to sell wood to a forest. And they’d run out. I could barely breathe or stop my pulse from racing when he looked directly at me, like now. He stood close and dropped to his knees, his hand pulling the strings on my boots.

  “Pretty hot for a suit? Hang on to me.”

  Sure, I could remove my shoes, but then I’d miss out on Ford’s weird obsession with orderliness and hands-on management.

  I giggled and gripped his broad shoulders, kneading them with my hands. “You work out, huh? Whoa. Nice and strong.”

  He shook his head. “Glad I meet your approval.”

  “Honestly, suits just aren’t in my orbit or even hot men for that matter. The guys around me are more tweeds and Dockers.”

  “Your ex was a tweed guy. Did he have a curve pipe too?” he mocked as he finished unlacing them. He pulled out a hidden towel to clean the bottom and put them on the shelf.

  “He did but didn’t use it much,” I admitted.

  “Christmas trees on your feet,” he mused.

  I peered down at my Christmas tree socks. “Yeah, I like them.”

  At least I did when I bought them. I hadn’t worn them since Randall came over and spent an hour with me on Christmas after I’d cooked him a roast dinner. Then with a quick fuck, he had to leave to FaceTime with his seventeen-year-old son.

  Ford stood, and he lifted my chin to look at him in his deep blue eyes. “You stopped smiling. Are you all right?”

  I forced a smile. “I am.”

  He frowned. “I’m a good listener if you want to talk.”

  I sighed. “Just ex drama. Reminders of ways I’d been a fool for love. But I’m okay.”

  “Or you don’t want to talk about it. How about something light for you to drink so you won’t have a hangover?” His tone said I was getting it anyway.

  I grinned at him. “I feel like it’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

  “You can, but I’d be disappointed,” he said, tickling his fingers under my chin and making me laugh like a silly schoolgirl. “You can go to the aqua massage afterward.”

  “I swear you’re spoiling me.”

  “I haven’t even started,” he murmured and removed his shoes and soft leather coat, leaving him in his dark dress slacks and black shirt. I was definitely in danger of salivating; he was yummy. He smiled at me when he caught me ogling again, then gestured for me to follow him down the hallway. “Come with me.”

  “You sure I can walk? Or do you want to carry me?” I joked, following him into his sleek, modern kitchen. Leaning against the marble island while he opened his refrige
rator, I peeked inside and found everything lined up, including the already-made drink he was going to give me.

  “Your maid must love to clean your place,” I said. “There’s nothing dirty.”

  “No maid. I’m much too picky, and I find cleaning… therapeutic.”

  “I’d hate to see what you’d do in my place. I think you’d go insane with the clutter. I mean, why are you alone? Besides your OCD, you’re gorgeous, and you know the difference between Star Trek and Star Wars—”

  “Such glowing endorsements,” he said in a monotone voice, placing the glass before me. “I sound like a boring nerd. Drink.”

  “Be proud of it,” I said, drinking his remedy made from kale, ginger, and something sour that was gross. I gagged, and he laughed.

  “What happened with Cecile?” I asked.

  His humor evaporated, and he visibly tensed. “That question came out of nowhere.”

  “Oh. Never mind. I just wondered where she is and why her photo is in a drawer,” I said, staring at my glass.

  “No, if I want answers, I should expect you to want the same.” His expression turned slack. “She asked for time and space.” His tone was light, but his eyes turned vacant.

  I went to him and placed my hands around his waist. The man was so intense, and I was too wobbly to even consider digging deeper into what she asked for time and space meant. “You need a hug.”

  He opened his arms and held me close. He had strong, solid muscles, and I could feel the rock-hard indentations beneath his shirt.

  “I believe I did need a hug,” he murmured against my hair. “The shake wasn’t too bad, was it?”

  The drink tasted like spicy lettuce, but being in his arms felt good. He smelled incredible.

  I nodded my head against his chest. “It was all right.”

  And perhaps the hug was not just for me. Ford was slow to let me go.

  When he did, I quickly picked up my glass and rinsed it.

  “Thank you.” He smiled and opened the door of the dishwasher.

  “I’m feeling lazy,” I replied and followed him out to the living room.

  There, I clasped my hands together and turned around toward him. “Hey, how about putting on some music?”