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

by J. P. Nicholas

  I don’t waste any time replying. My fingers are jumping along the touchscreen keyboard as if they have a court case to win—with rapid speed and determination.

  Chloe: Is that so?

  Lucas: Wait, let me check.

  Staring at my phone, I wait anxiously for his reply. It comes in around two minutes later.

  Lucas: Yup…really hard.

  My mouth falls open. Did he just...? That thought dies when a mental image strikes my mind like a bat—hard and with precision. I picture Lucas. He’s wearing one of those sweaters of his over a button-down shirt. Both are rolled up on his forearms. I imagine him sitting on a Burgundy couch in his living room, slinking his hand down slowly over his abs, flowing over each bit of bumpy terrain. He continues his quest southward, slipping his exploring hand underneath the waistband of his jeans, then his boxer briefs. Lucas lets out a sharp breath as he strokes his hardening length.

  Snapping out of my sinful daydream, I type my loaded question to him.

  Chloe: Did you just do what I think you did?

  Lucas: That depends. What do you think I did?

  Chloe: Did you…oh, how do I put this?

  Lucas: Row my boat?

  Chloe: Well, that’s one beloved nursery rhyme you just ruined for me. Thank you very much.

  Lucas: You’re very welcome ;) And yes…I did.

  Chloe: So…what did you need my help with?

  Lucas: FaceTime?

  I hesitate for a second, not sure which direction this conversation is headed, but ultimately end up sending my reply regardless of my trepidation.

  Chloe: Sure

  Twenty-six seconds. That’s how long it takes for Lucas to FaceTime me. And yes, I freaking counted…with bated breath. My finger smashes the accept button before it even crosses my mind that I probably look like a mess after my crying session of panic only minutes before. Oh, well. It is what it is.

  “There’s that gorgeous face of yours,” Lucas greets. “This is way better than texting you.”

  His hair appears almost black with the glossy sheen over it. It’s matted down, and I bet damp to the touch, possibly from a recent shower. That smile of his is as infectious as ever as it stretches widely across his face, flanked by his adorable dimples. With his forefinger, he slides his glasses higher up his nose. The camera comes out of focus as he repositions his phone. Everything’s a blur until he props me up further back. After the camera refocuses, that’s when I see what he’s wearing. I try to stifle my laugh, but I can’t. If any one item of clothing could define this man’s personality, it’s this one apron that Lucas is wearing. It’s blue with the phrase I make bad chemistry puns periodically written across the front of it. The sound of my laughter catches his attention.

  He cocks his head slightly, bemused. “What’s so funny?”

  “That apron fits you perfectly,” I confess, still laughing.

  Lucas waggles his brows and does a sexy body roll Magic Mike style as he runs his hand over it. This only adds to my hysteria.

  “That’s not what I—stop it—you’re—killing—me.” I clutch my side, massaging it as it starts to cramp up. Slow, deep breaths, Chloe. You can do this.

  When I finally catch my breath, I clarify my earlier statement. “I meant the saying on it, Casanova. Although, I’ve never heard you use a Chemistry pun.”

  He lifts his brows. “Really? I haven’t used one on you yet? I could’ve sworn I—”

  The words die on his tongue as his eyes roll upward in thought. He scratches the stubble on his chin. “I guess I haven’t. We’re going to change that tonight.”

  “Well…I’m waiting. Pun me.”

  His eyes home in at the screen. I watch the muscles in his arms ripple under his own weight as he leans across the kitchen island. He lowers himself, so only his face is in my view when he rasps out, “I bet you’re like calcium bicarbonate.”

  “What does that even mean?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

  “No, I’m not talking to you, dumbass,” Lucas shouts to someone off to the side. When his gaze returns to mine, he jerks his thumb to the right. “Ethan over there thinks I’m flirting with him.”

  Lucas repositions himself to the same spot he was before Ethan interrupted him. He lowers his voice to a smoky rasp. “It means that when I get you wet, the reaction will be explosive.”

  He laughs at his words like he only said those naughty things just to amuse himself. I should be laughing too, but I’m not. Instead, I tug at the collar of my T-shirt, trying to cool down my now heated skin. “Now to loosen your jam jar.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask, my voice pitching higher at the end, conveying my surprise at his candor.

  Lucas goes out of frame, and I hear a pop in the background. When he returns, he shakes the strawberry jam jar in front of the camera. “Your jam jar. The one you picked out for me.”

  “Oh, I’m so stupid,” I mutter under my breath. “Jam jar, not jam jar.”

  He looks over his shoulder, raising a skeptical brow. “What was that?”

  I shake my head, grateful that he didn’t catch what I just said. “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking out loud.”

  I watch in admiration as he preps his workspace. Each carved line of muscle in his back seems to tense because of whatever he’s doing at the moment. He claps his hands together; the sound radiates through the space and bounces into his phone’s speaker. “Alright, I have gathered all the ingredients and doohickeys you made me purchase today. What’s the first step, Teach?”

  “Teach?” I repeat jokingly.

  He snaps his fingers. “Oh, right. You’d probably prefer something more divine, like the Bakery Goddess of Sinful Sweetness.”

  I tap my chin playfully. “Now that you mention it, that does have a nice ring to it.”

  He wags his finger at me. “See? Do I know you, or do I know you?”

  I watch his lips flatten together. One brow arches upward as he picks up the tart cutter I placed in his cart earlier this afternoon and immediately puts it back down. Then, he lifts the bag of all-purpose flour, and once again, puts it down. It’s beyond endearing that he’s obviously out of his element here—completely clueless as to where to begin. I sit quietly until finally, he scratches the top of his head.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do here?” Lucas inquires. He tilts his head and smiles a boyish grin that says, please help me out here; I’m begging you. I haven’t seen this charming boy-next-door smile from him yet. He usually exudes such confidence in everything he does. Well, everything…except baking, apparently.

  “Preheat the oven to three-hundred and fifty degrees,” I instruct. His hazel eyes plead a silent thank you as soon as I open my mouth. After hearing the beeps coming from what I assume is the oven, I continue my baking lesson. “Pour eight ounces of the flour, one pinch of salt, and four ounces of cubed butter into a mixing bowl. Now mix away until it looks like a lumpy mess.”

  “Lumpy mess—got it,” he rambles off before he delves his hands into the bowl and begins to knead it. A tingling sensation stirs inside me as I watch his fingers knead the mixture together. I wish like hell that they were kneading something much more sensitive.

  Nobody ever told me that watching a man bake would be this sensual, but it is. It sure is. As I continue to walk him through the process, I have to periodically avert my gaze to keep my lady boner in check. Sure, our back-and-forth flirting is fun and sometimes even comical. But that’s practically harmless. These feelings, however, need to go the fuck away. Feelings only lead to trouble. And that’s what all men are in the end—trouble.

  Don’t get me wrong; I’m sure Lucas would be fantastic for scratching an itch or two on a lonely winter’s night. But he wouldn’t stay. Men never stay.

  For a little while, it was nice to forget that. Almost refreshing even. But that’s not realistic. In reality, any romantic relationship with a man isn’t meant to last.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lucas
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br />   All week long, I couldn’t stop myself from texting Chloe. I tried to keep things casual with her. A how’s your day been text here and there. Good morning, goodnight…the simple stuff. Truly, I did. It’s not my fault that it always morphed into something much more sinister—the kinds of conversations that would usually end up with me rubbing one out during a cold shower.

  In my defense, I can’t help it. Flirting with her is just so damn easy. It rolls off my tongue, or I guess my fingertips in this case before I can even think about any of the ramifications. We just play off each other so well that the flirting spirals out of control.

  Now, it’s Friday, and I’m counting down the hours until I get to tutor Kyle again. Tutoring Kyle means that I will get to see Chloe. And seeing Chloe is something I want to do a lot more of. Sure, we’ve run into each other around town. That’s inevitable. Hell, that’s how small towns are supposed to work. But it never turned into the magic that our grocery store visit did. It was usually just passing each other on opposite ends of the streets and waving hello. Not anything to get excited about. Ha, tell that to my dick.

  The bell chimes loudly, snapping me out of my thoughts as it marks the end of my planning period. Any second now, twenty or so pre-teens will be stampeding through that door and scurrying their way onto their stools at their assigned lab tables, patiently waiting for the third period to begin. Better start getting everything ready.

  I feel like I’m buzzing with electricity. Like bolts of lightning are surging through my veins as I stand up, turn around, and start writing on the dry erase board. Everyone who knows me knows that I’m a very organized person. And organization means color coordination. You can’t have one without the other. They’re an inseparable package deal. Like Ben and Jerry’s, peanut butter and jelly, Oreos and milk, and a cock and balls. They all complement each other so well that they are almost completely codependent of one another.

  I can hear the sounds of shuffling backpacks, sliding zippers, and shuffling pencils occurring behind me, but I continue writing. This is one of my all-time favorite chapters to teach, and I am beyond ecstatic that we are going to be spending the next few weeks diving into this material.

  When the tardy bell rings at exactly five after ten, I turn around and address my students.

  “Good morning, class. So, what we’re about to do today and for the next few weeks is really dive into some deep, deep Chemistry. Not that we haven’t been there before. But up until now, as you know, we’ve studied states of matter, energy, how temperature affects the static of molecules…blah, blah, blah. So now that we did all of that, hopefully, in your minds, you now have a deep-seated understanding of molecules through interaction energy. With that understanding, we can now move further into understanding a little bit more about them.”

  All their eyes focus on me, eager to learn, but it’s Kyle’s that weigh heaviest on me because I know he doesn’t have that full grasp of the previous material that my other students do. Sure, he’s been making a ton of progress lately. I’ve been emailing him additional assignments to complete to help him better understand the core concepts that I know he will need for this upcoming chapter. Hopefully, he doesn’t fall too far behind today. And if he does, at least our second tutoring session is tomorrow morning. I point at the giant poster of the Periodic Table of Elements plastered against the wall beside me to my left. “So, what we’re going to do is get to know these guys pretty well. We’ve mentioned a little bit about them briefly a couple of weeks back when we discussed what an atom even is. If you remember right, the atom is a very strange thing. Inside of the atom is the big thing that we talked about last week called the…”

  I pause and look to my class for the answer. I watch almost every hand go up, giving me a false sense of pride until I see that Kyle’s hands remain by his sides. It shouldn’t pain me…but that’s exactly what it does. It feels like a knife was just plunged into my left side. A sharp, indistinguishable pain that would bring any man to his knees. For the first time in my academic career, I feel like I’m failing one of my students. And that is beyond unacceptable! I should discuss with Chloe the possibility of changing our arrangement to two sessions per week. Do I have the time for that? Probably not. But I will find a way somehow. Even if that means I have to grade slower, cut down on homework assignments, go to bed at three a.m. instead of eleven p.m.—I will do it. Whatever it takes. No student has ever not succeeded in my class…and I will not allow Kyle to be the first student to break that record. Note to self: mention the idea to Chloe tonight and see how she feels about it.

  I point to one of my students in the front row. “Jenny.”

  “The nucleus,” she replies with pride.

  I snap my fingers and point at her again. “Exactly right. The nucleus.”

  Turning around, I grab the blue Expo marker (the color I assigned to my third-period class) and start drawing a small circle on the board and label it the nucleus. I go more in-depth over the review of last week’s material, drawing the rest of the cell structure. When the review is over, I quickly erase the board and draw a square with the letter C boxed inside it off to the board's left-hand side.

  “Inside every cute little box on the periodic table, you will find a number above the letter and a number below the name of the element. These two numbers are very important. I’ll explain why in a minute.” Above the C, I write the number six. Below it, I write 12.011. I point at the six on the top. “This guy is called the atomic number. Every element on the periodic table has one. Great, six is the atomic number of Carbon, now what? What does that mean?”

  I turn back to my students. All of them stare at me with the look that I crave. Each of them has a blank expression, curiosity swirling in their hungry irises. This is what makes teaching so fulfilling—being able to take each of these young minds into my hands and shape them with knowledge. Each student will leave here today knowing something that they didn’t know coming in. And that’s what makes this all worthwhile.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chloe

  In a desperate attempt to increase my online presence, I created The Nutty Cookie YouTube channel earlier this week. I’ve been busting my ass off all week, filming and uploading bakery tutorials for beginners…and it’s not working.

  I’m currently on the phone venting my frustrations to Layla. “I mean, how am I supposed to increase my online presence if nobody watches my damn videos? I promise I’m cute in them and everything.”

  “Chloe, you’re always cute. I think you just need to give it more time. On the bright side, our Instagram and Twitter are taking off,” Layla reminds me enthusiastically, like the glass-half-full kind of person she is.

  “Yeah. That’s only because I put you in charge of them,” I scoff. “Thank you for doing that for me, by the way. It means the world to me.”

  “Chloe, you mean the world to me. You’re the only one who helped me when I was at my lowest point. I would do anything for you, Babe. Isn’t that right, Mateo?” I can hear Mateo’s cute giggle in the background.

  With the phone lodged between my ear and my shoulder, I place a giant mixing bowl on the island. “Aw, how is the little munchkin?”

  “He’s great,” she pauses for a brief second. “Scratch that. He’s making his fussy face. He’s gonna go nuclear any—oh, shit! I have to go. Mateo just had a blowout.”

  I gasp. “Oh, good luck with that. Talk to you later.”

  “Bye,” Layla blurts out. The beeping sound rings in my ear, alerting me that she has hung up.

  Placing down the phone, I begin prepping the homemade brownie batter for mixing. I turn on the camera and start narrating each step of the process aloud.

  “First, I melt the chocolate chips and butter sitting in the bowl with the blowtorch typically used for crème brûlée. You can easily microwave them as well if you don’t have a fancy blowtorch like me.” When I’m done, I show the bowl to the camera. “Once melted, I add sugar, making sure to take my time beating the
sugar into the chocolate-butter mixture. It takes about two to three minutes until the batter is smooth and creamy. When that’s finished, simply pour some heavy cream over the mixture until it’s the consistency you prefer. After adding a few more key ingredients like flour and cocoa powder, your batter is ready for mixing.”

  Once again, I show the bowl to the camera. “Okay, I’m going to step away and get a wooden spoon for mixing. I recommend using a wooden spoon rather than an electric mixer because it’s easier to keep an eye on the texture and consistency while mixing with the wooden spoon. Remember, we want the batter thick enough to keep the fudge taste when making brownies, but not too thick to the point you’re making fudge bars.”

  I kick off my heels—I’m not crazy; I don’t usually wear heels when I’m baking. They just make me appear taller on camera. My bare feet are cold as I walk across the cool tile floor to the other side of the room, where I keep my cooking utensils. I analyze the bowl from across the room and then fling open the drawer searching for a proportionate wooden spoon for that size bowl.

  “Chloe, I’m going to step out for a second. I promised Kyle that if he got a certain problem right, I’d buy him a root beer float from down the street. Do you want any—”

  CRASH!

  The loud noise vibrates through every bone in my body. I cease what I’m doing and turn my head with trepidation surging down my spine. I involuntarily gasp when I find Lucas on the floor, covered in brownie batter. Pacing behind him, I see one of my heels has been strewn to the other side of the room. Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck! He tripped over one of my heels. And now he’s covered from head-to-toe in brownie batter.

  I rush over toward him. “Oh, my God! I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

  Lucas is laughing. He’s freaking laughing! I guess I should be grateful that he finds this whole fiasco amusing and not as infuriating as I would.