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

by J. P. Nicholas

  When the next verse begins, she starts scooting herself back, shaking her ass as she sweeps in front of her. She continues to scooch closer to me with each lyric sung until her ass grazes my front. My cock takes notice, perking up slightly at the contact—shameless bastard.

  Jolted, she screams and turns around, her hand placed over her heart. “Oh, you scared me.”

  Sliding a remote out of her pocket, she pauses the music. I recognize her once her olive-green eyes meet mine and her cheeks flush a curious shade of pink. She crooks her thumb over her shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry. I think I’ll just go in the back and die of embarrassment now.” When the initial shock wears off, her eyes narrow as if she’s trying to place where she’s seen me before. When her full-lips form a lovely O-shape, I know she’s solved the puzzle. “You’re Mr. McH—the book guy from the repair shop.”

  “Mr. Who?” I ask with a teasing lilt and a lot of curiosity in my tone.

  “What can I do for you?” she asks, quick to change the subject. Normally, I wouldn’t let that go so easily, but since she’s destined to by my cupcake savior, it’s best not to take the chance of pissing her off.

  “I apologize for coming in here so late, but I’m in desperate need of a birthday cupcake. I tried to make one myself, and let’s just say…it didn’t work out.” My words seem to pique her interest because her brows jut up her forehead as a smile curls on her lips.

  “I get the feeling that there’s more to this cupcake story than you’re telling me.”

  I laugh. “Ha—and I will be taking those details with me to my grave. All you need to know is that I figured, how hard can it be?, and those were infamous last words.”

  She shakes her head in disbelief, dismissing my comment. “Oh, c’mon. It can’t be that bad.”

  I grimace, shuddering at the memory of cupcake remnants splattered across my then clean kitchen. I quirk a brow. “Have you ever seen Nailed It?”

  Her irises light up as soon as the show’s name falls from my lips.

  “Of course! That’s my fav—wait, it was Nailed It bad?”

  I lean forward as if to tell her a secret and whisper. “Saying it was a catastrophe would be a massive understatement. It was World War III: Attack of the Frosting.”

  She takes a step back and tucks a loose tendril behind her ear. “One cupcake it is then. It’ll take me about a half-hour to bake them.”

  “Them? I just need the one.” I reach behind and scratch the back of my head anxiously.

  She smiles nervously.

  “I know. But my recipes work best for a baker’s dozen. I haven’t mastered the ratio for the single cupcake yet. Or more like, my thighs don’t want me to figure out the single cupcake recipe ratio.”

  “I completely understand,” I remark on a chuckle.

  “Do you?” She gives me a shameless full-body once-over. My dick takes notice of her heated gaze, kicking against the fly of my jeans. “Cuz I don’t see one ounce of um sweet tooth on that body of yours.”

  I smirk salaciously as I bring my voice lower. “There are things that taste sweeter than desserts. And trust me when I say I prefer that sweet taste on my tongue far greater than any cupcake.”

  “Any flavor preference?” She blurts out, her face turning a shade of crimson red. “For the cupcake, that is.”

  Changing the topic again. That seems to be her MO once I make her blush. Interesting.

  Perhaps I should cool it a bit—for now, at least. I don’t want to come onto her too strong—especially since she’s easily embarrassed and strikes me as very shy. I shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans and bite my lip uneasily.

  “What would you recommend?” I inquire, my flirtatious undertone a little too breezy for my liking as it rolls off my tongue. Why is flirting with her so easy and amusing? I’m not usually this blunt and forthright.

  She releases a shaky breath, probably relieved that we are back to the transactional baker-customer conversation. “That depends.”

  “On…” I trail out, silently urging her to continue.

  She leans forward and brings her mouth to my ear. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as her hot breath tickles the shell of my ear.

  “Is this a get out of the doghouse cupcake?” she whispers.

  I furrow my brow. “What makes you think I need a save my ass kinda cupcake?”

  She glances at the clock on the wall. “Well, it’s nine o’clock at night, and you urgently need a cupcake? Those are all the warning signs if you ask me.”

  I can’t help the giant ten-watt smile from stretching across my face as I shake my head. “No, it’s a birthday cupcake. But out of curiosity, what is the universal get out of the doghouse cupcake flavor anyway?”

  “Red velvet is the go-to apology cupcake. Hands down.”

  I lean against the nearby wall and fold my arms across my chest. “Do you sell a lot of apology cupcakes?”

  She laughs. “Do I sell a lot of apology cupcakes? Of course, I do! They’re my number one bestsellers. A male’s tendency to screw up their relationships is what’s going to keep me in business.”

  “Chocolate. Emma prefers chocolate,” I admit.

  “Chocolate it is then. You’re welcome to take a seat while you wait.” She turns around and begins walking to the kitchen door behind the counter. “Emma is one lucky woman.”

  “One lucky sister,” I clarify a little too harshly, wishing I could see her face to gauge whether or not my single relationship status interests her as much as I want it to. But she’s already vanished behind the kitchen door.

  There’s no denying I like her. That much is obvious. She’s funny and quick-witted—both traits that I find extremely alluring.

  Around half an hour later, she emerges from the back with a single box. “Here you go, one chocolate birthday cupcake.”

  Reaching in my back pocket, I take out my wallet and open it. “How much do I owe you?”

  She waves her hand, dismissing me. “No, it’s on the house.”

  “Not gonna happen. If you won’t let me pay you for your cupcake, at least let me pay you for the ingredients?” She shakes her head again, so I keep naming other things. “Your time? Your labor? Your company? Your utilities for staying open past nine?”

  She continues to shake her head, refusing my money. I waft a hand through my hair and sigh. “C’mon. You’re really saving my ass here.”

  “I’ve seen your ass; it needs worshipping, not saving.” Her eyes bug out as soon as she realizes that she said her thoughts aloud. She closes her eyes as her blush takes over again. “Apparently, there is no limit to how many times I’m going to embarrass myself in front of you today. Just consider this cupcake a massive thank you for the heads up you gave me this morning.”

  I shrug.

  “Don’t mention it. Us bookworms gotta stick together.” I swipe the cupcake box off the counter, deciding that she probably wants me to leave as soon as possible now that she’s embarrassed herself yet again, even if that’s the last thing I want to do right now—leave her. “Just wait until you reach Chapter Twenty-One. Total game-changer.”

  I check my watch, pretending that I’m running late for something. “Shit, I’m gonna be late. Thank you, and have a good night, Chloe.”

  “How do you know my name?” she asks all innocently.

  I point at the badge fastened to her apron. “Nametag.”

  Without hesitation, she spins around and darts back into the back room. The poor thing just can’t seem to stop embarrassing herself in front of me. It’s kinda adorable if I’m being honest. I fight the urge to go in there after her and assure her that it’s fine, but I don’t. That’s not my place, and I’m pretty sure that’s the last thing she would want me to do right now. So instead, I drop a twenty on the counter and head out the door, knowing that nothing in the world will stop me from coming back here tomorrow and asking her out.

  Chapter Three

  Lucas

  I take
my time heading over to my sister’s house, opting for the scenic route as I stride around town. Sunnyville is pleasant this time of year. The leaves are changing, welcoming Fall with open arms—or I guess branches since trees don’t have arms. More people leave their vehicles at home, opting for leisurely walks with the cool breeze rushing against their backs—similar to what I’m doing right now.

  As a Chemistry teacher, I’ve learned to appreciate even the most minuscule chemical reactions in everyday life—how both plants and humans need our carbon-dioxide and oxygen interactions to survive. The combustion reaction of a lit candle. The way the flame dances as it thrives, burning the surrounding oxygen in the air. Even the chemical reactions behind each of our emotions. This is precisely what I teach my students. Chemistry is very important because it’s all around us. Without it, we wouldn’t be living in this world at all.

  I arrive at my sister’s front door a few minutes before midnight. I anxiously watch the seconds tick by on my watch, determined not to knock until it’s officially her birthday. This has become an odd tradition in our family. I started it when she turned fifteen. It was her first birthday since our mother passed. I just wanted to make it special—to reassure her that it’s not only okay to celebrate it, but that we had something to celebrate. So that year, I woke her up at midnight to scream Happy Birthday at the top of my lungs and give her a delicious birthday treat—which nine times out of ten is a cupcake. One year, she decided to diet and wanted a bowl of fruit instead, but I vowed never again, diet be damned! Now, I can’t imagine her birthday passing without me knocking on her door at midnight on the dot.

  Once the clock strikes twelve, I rap my knuckles against the door. It takes her thirty-three seconds to open it—not that I’m counting or anything. As soon as the door swings open and her brown eyes come into view, I shout Happy Birthday as loud as I can muster and thrust the cupcake box toward her. She takes it and smiles.

  “You know, I’m not a little girl anymore, Lucas. I don’t need a birthday cupcake the very second it becomes my birthday.” She steps aside, ushering me inside.

  “I know you don’t. But I’ve been doing this since you turned fifteen. It would feel too weird for your birthday to pass and not do it. Besides, I don’t plan on breaking my twelve-year streak now.” I point at myself and make the dumb face that I know always makes her laugh. It was my get out of jail free card for whenever I pissed her off. It always worked like a charm. And I bet anything that it still does. “Do I look like a quitter to you?”

  As expected, she laughs so hard that she isn’t making any noises at all. She clutches her side as she bends forward.

  “St-st—stop it!” She reaches out and slaps me, which is my cue to return my face back to normal. “You know that face kills me.”

  I waggle my brows and brush my knuckles over my chest. “Oh, I know.”

  “Seriously, though, Lucas, you know you can’t do this forever, right?”

  I bow my head to the floor, knowing she’s right. “I know. But at least give me until you’re thirty? Three more years—that’s all I’m asking for here, Em. That should give me enough time to prepare myself mentally.”

  She sighs reluctantly.

  “Fine, but no singing this year. You’ll wake the dogs, and then they’ll be barking until four in the morning.”

  I raise my head back up and smile.

  “Deal.”

  “Besides, you’re always out of tune anyway,” she teases, smacking my chest playfully.

  I point an accusatory finger at her. “You take that back. I happen to have an excellent singing voice.”

  I don’t; that’s a lie. But challenging her is half the fun.

  “Ha—in what world? Not many things can make Buster and ChiCha bark relentlessly like the sound of you crooning.”

  We both laugh as she walks into the kitchen. I follow her and take a seat on one of the stools flanking her kitchen island. Emma must’ve been expecting me not to break this odd tradition this year because she slides me an already brewed cup of coffee in her World’s Best Sister mug that she ironically saves for me to use when I visit.

  “Babe, who was at the door?” Giovanni, her husband, asks as he walks into the room, rubbing his eyes. I wave at him with a sorry expression etched on my face since I clearly woke him. Well, after being married to her for two years, he should’ve known this was coming. So, I can’t take all the blame, right?

  “Just Lucas with my birthday cupcake,” she replies, humming as she takes the first bite.

  “Ah, that’s right. That weird birthday tradition of yours.”

  “It’s not weird,” Emma and I say in unison.

  “And on that note, I’m going back to bed.” He plants a kiss on Emma’s cheek. “Happy Birthday, darling. I’ll celebrate with you properly in the morning.”

  “Looking forward to it,” Emma says, a smile on her face. On that note, Giovani takes his leave, vanishing up the staircase.

  I flash my sister an all-knowing smile.

  “What?”

  “That’s code for sex,” I blurt out. Bringing the mug to my lips, I take a swig, letting the hot coffee dance on my tongue.

  “It is not,” she harrumphs, a blush swirling in her cheeks. As usual, I’m the king of making women blush. It’s a talent, really. You’re either born with it, or you’re not.

  “You’re lying,” I mock as I drum my fingertips against the granite countertop.

  She shakes her head. “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re doing that weird hair twirl thing you do when you lie.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lies, nervously twirling a lock of her hair around her forefinger.

  I point a finger at her. “There it is again.”

  “Dammit. Sometimes I forget that you know me so well. The nerve of you,” she teases before diving in for another delicious chocolatey bite.

  “Yeah, it’s like I raised you or something. Oh, wait…” I scratch the stubble on my chin. “I did.”

  I can tell something is weighing heavy on her mind. Usually, she volleys jokes with me a little bit, giving as much as she takes. But tonight, something is off about her, and I can’t quite place what it is.

  I wait for a moment, contemplating whether to let my curiosity get the better of me and ask the question I’m not entirely sure I wanna know the answer to. “You’ve never been the birthday sex kind of gal anyway. So, what gives?”

  “Gio and I are trying to have a baby.” The content is happy, but it’s the way she says it that fills me with worry. It’s almost as if she’s afraid, which doesn’t make any sense. Emma’s entire life, she’s wanted to be a mother. So, I thought when this moment finally came, she’d be much happier than she is.

  The moment of silence in combination with the sorrowful look laden in her brown irises lets me know that she’s thinking of the darker times. That’s when it hits me. I know what she’s worried about. And it is my big brotherly duty to put an end to this shit right the fuck now. Sliding the stool over, I reach out and grip her arm, lightly brushing my thumb against her shoulder. Bringing my voice lower, I whisper softly. “Hey, Em, it’s okay. You’re not going to be anything like her. Neither one of us is.”

  My words seem to bring her comfort. She still doesn’t say anything, but I can see the tension leaving her shoulders as the fog in her eyes starts to clear.

  “For what it’s worth, I think you and Gio are going to make great parents,” I reassure her before I take another sip of coffee.

  Reaching out, Emma grabs my hand in hers. “Thank you, Lucas. For everything. But enough about me. What’s been going on with you? Meet anyone interesting lately?”

  “No,” I lie.

  Her mouth falls open almost instantaneously. “Oh, my God, you have! Tell me everything.”

  I lean forward against the island, trying to avert my eyes from that sisterly, all-knowing gaze of hers that pierces my soul and uses black magic to make me sp
ill all my secrets. “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “Spare me this bullshit facade of yours, and let’s skip to the part where I get the details.” I flash her an I can’t believe you just said that look. “What? This sibling knowledge is a two-way street, Bro.”

  I shudder. “Please don’t ever call me Bro again.”

  She nods in agreement. “Yeah, it didn’t feel right when I said it. My point is that I know you just as well as you know me. That means I can smell when you’re piling up bullshit.”

  With an exasperated sigh, I reluctantly decide to tell her everything about Chloe. From the audiobook mishap at the repair shop all the way to leaving her shop a few hours ago.

  Emma watches intently, her female brain retaining all this information and committing it to memory. She points to the empty cupcake wrapper on the counter. “Wait, she made this cupcake?”

  I nod.

  “Oh, you have to marry her then. Cuz this is the most delicious and moist chocolate cupcake I’ve ever had in my life.”

  “Okay. I’ll just go over there and propose to her right now,” I mock.

  “Good. Can you pick up a few more cupcakes for me while you’re there and drop them off tomorrow afternoon?”

  I nod. “Absolutely.”

  We both laugh for a bit before Emma stares at me, a deadpan expression etched in her features. “In all seriousness, Lucas. I haven’t seen you this giddy about a woman in a very long time. And that’s great. But you know I worry about—”

  “I know. This won’t be like that,” I reassure her, unsure if my words are even true myself. Regardless, the last thing I want Emma to do is to worry about me. I’m a big boy. I can handle myself.

  Chapter Four

  Chloe

  I stay downstairs at the bakery much later than usual tonight, nursing my now cold coffee as I comb over the numbers and try not to pull my hair out from all this stress. They don’t look good—they’re not bad either, but certainly not what I expected to make this first quarter. I check the time on my phone. Damn, it’s late. I guess I’ll have to wait and call Cynthia first thing in the morning. Certainly, a business expert like her can help me figure a way out of this beginner’s rut.