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

by J. P. Nicholas

  “I could watch you dance for me all night long,” Lucas drawls from behind me. I turn around and find him leaning against the wall, his foot acting as a kickstand as it keeps him from falling back too far and hitting his head against the brick. My heart flips at the sight of him, an action I’d very much like to scold it for later. We’re not supposed to feel anything for this man—this handsome, humorous, care-free man.

  Lucas’s hair is styled in that purposeful messy style of his that I’m growing accustomed to. On the other hand, his outfit is good enough to be featured on the cover of GQ Magazine. He’s wearing a plain long-sleeved heather gray shirt. He looks too damn delicious in a good old-fashioned sans buttons shirt. Don’t get me wrong; he is fucking fantastic in a button-down too. But there’s just something about a man in a plain, well-fitted shirt that I find oh-so-sexy. He’s paired the shirt with matching gray and black plaid slacks. They’re rolled up at the ankle, an eloquent style choice, and complimented by the cleanest all-white sneakers I have ever seen. The man is just utter temptation in sleek, brown frames—the full package. And someone I should stay far away from.

  But I won’t. Instead, I’m going to propose a business arrangement that will mean spending more time with him. In close quarters. With his shirt off. I must be a glutton for punishment because this idea is completely illogical—not from a business perspective, I remind myself. If Lucas agrees to it, this would actually be an exceptionally smart business deal. Since Browniegate, business has actually started to pick up. It’s slight but unquestionably noticeable. I’ve already received a call from a local news station a town over for an interview. The catch is that they wanted both the now internet famous Stud Muffin and me. Since said Stud Muffin isn’t even aware of his current internet fame—there’s already a fan account on Instagram with the handle StudMuffinsDimples—I told them that I would have to get back to them.

  Even though this all makes sense from a business standpoint, I know it assuredly doesn’t from a personal one. How am I not supposed to give in to my desire for him if I’m going to be seeing him shirtless and baking—two things that I wouldn’t normally recommend together, but he pulls it off oh so well…too fucking well.

  I lift the first chair and place it on the table. Without missing a beat, Lucas glides over and helps me.

  “You don’t have to help. I can actually handle this solo,” I reassure him, feeling guilty that he’s helping me with such a mundane task.

  He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I don’t mind.”

  As he lifts the next chair, the hem of his shirt rides up, giving me a one-way ticket to Absville, population eight. Okay, in all fairness, I can only see two of them before he tugs his shirt back down. Still, I want to run my tongue over both of those lower ridges. Fuck me. I’m not supposed to be thinking about him like that anymore.

  Lucas places his hand on my shoulder. My skin warms from underneath his touch. He gives it a slight squeeze, and I let out a short whimper that I pray to God he didn’t hear.

  “I know you’re more than capable of doing this solo. But that doesn’t mean that you have to, Chloe. Remember that,” he ensures so lightheartedly. “If you need help with anything, anything at all, just know that I’m just a phone call or text away.”

  Now’s my chance, the perfect segue. I can feel bundles of nerves tighten inside me as the tension in my shoulders and neck intensifies. Like I usually do when I’m nervous, I grab a loose strand of hair, coil it tightly around my finger, and begin to fidget with it.

  “It’s funny that you should mention that,” I say roughly, even though I was trying for a cool, nonchalant tone. Safe to say, it didn’t work.

  Lucas lifts a brow in question. He leans his body against the upside-down chair he just placed on the table—his biceps bulge in his shirt from the strain of holding up his weight.

  “Oh? How so?”

  “I need you to promise me that you’ll keep an open mind,” I babble, sounding a little too rushed. I blame the freaking nerves for that one.

  Something flickers in his whiskey eyes that I can’t quite place—something I’ve never seen in there before. He rakes his teeth against his bottom lip. “Have I given you the impression that I have a closed mind?”

  “No, you haven’t. It’s just—”

  “Then why would you think I’m closed-minded?”

  Lucas stares me down, waiting patiently for an explanation that I’m not sure I can even give him. He’s not closed-minded, far from it. He’s an open book—an intellectual who’s always willing to listen to someone else’s ideas, opinions, or what have you. And I’m an idiot who let her nerves just hurt his feelings. Crap on a cracker!

  I reach out and place my hand on his shoulder. I brush my thumb against the cotton fabric under my touch a few times before I attempt to dig myself out of this hole.

  “Lucas,” I sigh. “I didn’t mean to imply, or even flat out say that you’re closed-minded. I’m just letting my nerves get the better of me. I know that’s a crappy excuse, but it’s the truth.”

  I take a step forward, closing the space between us that much more. I can smell the citrusy scent of him. He smells like a Mediterranean paradise with hints of orange, lemon, lime, and jasmine. If I close my eyes right now, I could easily get lost, swept away to some coastal town in Italy. But that’s not where I need to be. Where he needs me to be. The truth is, I have to make this right, and I can’t just run away when things get rocky.

  “I’m so sorry that I implied that you were closed-minded. I didn’t mean to, truly. You’re the most genuine, kind-hearted soul I have ever met. And I—I,” I stumble on my words, but luckily, Lucas dives in to save me.

  “It’s alright. I forgive you.” Lucas draws his brows tighter on his forehead and crosses his arms over his chest. “So, tell me about this business proposal of yours.”

  It’s amazing the rate at which I ramble out everything. From the camera mishap to the comments online, to the response I’ve been getting, and then finally to my proposal. The entire time, I try to decipher his thoughts, but Lucas makes it damn near impossible to do so. His body language must be speaking some foreign language I don’t understand because it isn’t giving me any inclination as to what he might be thinking. Then there’s his actual language—or lack thereof in this case. Lucas hasn’t said a damn thing. He hasn’t cracked a smile, wiggled a brow, moved a finger, scratched an itch, popped a boner—nada, zip, nothing! Not a damn thing!

  “So, what do you say?” I ask, drumming my fingers against my thigh impatiently as I wait for his response on bated breath. Say something! Anything. Please! I’m begging you. Put me out of my misery.

  I take a step forward and mime knocking on his forehead. “Hello? Is anyone in there? Earth to Lucas. Come in, Lucas.”

  My theatrics seem to do the trick. His lips twitch into a half-smirk, and I swear I heard some sound grumble deep in his throat. A scoff, perhaps?

  “Look, Chloe, I’m not very comfortable with the idea of being, let alone partaking in Stud Muffin Sundays,” Lucas admits.

  “But…” I drag out, urging him to continue.

  This earns me a full-fledged smile, complete with the adorable dimple twins that I love seeing so much. Dimples just make the world a happier place.

  “But I’ll do anything for you. However, I do have one request.”

  “Name it, and it’s yours,” I claim, knowing damn well that no matter what he says, I will make it happen. I’m only comfortable stating that because he’s Lucas. I know the kind of man he is. I have seen it firsthand. He’s not going to have an if you have sex with me stipulation as other scumbags would. Lucas is a true gentleman through and through. And that’s one of the things I admire about him.

  “Let me make you dinner?” Lucas must see the utter surprise on my face because he adds. “I promise I’m a much better cook than I am a baker.”

  Is Lucas asking me out? Sure, let me make you dinner doesn’t necessarily imply a date. Friends can make di
nner for other friends. That doesn’t mean that we’d be crossing some sort of line…right? The millions of questions run through my mind, bouncing and spinning as they ricochet off my brain. I can’t take the uncertainty. I need to know. There’s only one way I’m going to get my answer, and that’s from the man himself.

  I raise both my eyebrows. “Lucas, are you asking me out?”

  He raises himself back up to his full height, takes a step forward, and glares down at me. He’s all commanding as he brings his lips to the shell of my ear and growls. “Is that what you want?”

  YES! YES! A thousand percent YES! But I can’t voice that because that will only complicate things. Instead, I just lick my dry lips and speak a half-truth. “I’m looking forward to dinner.”

  The uptempo song changes to a much slower ballad, ironically named Secret Love Song, Part II. Lucas takes a step back, reaches out his hand to me, and bows. “May I have this dance?”

  I don’t answer verbally, but rather, I slip my hand in his and let him usher me toward a more open space by the front bay window. As the Ladies belt out that they wish their love didn’t have to be a secret, Lucas pulls me in closer, mere inches apart. He rests his other hand on the small of my back; the simple yet intimate touch sends a jolt of electricity running down my spine.

  We sway back and forth, synchronized to the piano playing in the background. When the song ends, Lucas is still holding me. I don’t let go either. It would seem that neither one of us wanted that short but sweet moment to end.

  When we finally do separate, Lucas lifts a strong brow, biting his lip to stop himself from saying what’s on his mind. Without thinking clearly, I reach up and tug his bottom lip free with my thumb.

  “Just say it,” I persuade.

  He steps back, pinning me with those intense, mesmerizing hazel eyes. “I would really like to kiss you goodnight. May I?”

  I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. But how can I turn down this sweet, handsome man who just asked me if he could kiss me goodnight? You can’t, my brain and heart say in unison. For once, it would seem that they are on the same page. A nice, little goodnight kiss never hurt anyone.

  I nod, giving Lucas the permission he so desperately seeks. He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine as he closes his eyes.

  “Words, Chloe. Always words,” he whispers, his lips hovering about an inch over mine.

  “Please, kiss me,” I command, my voice breathy.

  Satisfied, Lucas brushes his lips against mine. The second our mouths touch, I kiss him back slowly, savoring every delicious moment until it’s over. Staying true to his word, it was a chaste goodnight kiss.

  “Goodnight, Chloe. Sweet dreams,” Lucas mutters against my lips before he pulls back, breaking away and ending our kiss. Before I can come to my senses and say it back, he’s already gone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lucas

  On Wednesday, I arrive at the first Kyle tutoring session of the week a little earlier than usual. My nerves kick into overdrive as I think about all the possible ways this can go down. Option One: Kyle could storm off and resent me for the remainder of the year, which would probably result in awkward encounters and poorer performance in class. Option Two: he could completely love the idea and give me his blessing to ask his mom out. Option Three: he could be iffy about it, not sure how he feels about the idea of his mother and me as a couple. But even if this all does work out and I receive Kyle’s permission, I still feel like Chloe will require some convincing of her own.

  I’ve noticed how she’s not upfront about her emotions all the time to me. Sure, she has moments—little spurts of vulnerability that make my heart melt into a puddle of goo in my chest. But they’re not often, and I can physically see how uncomfortable letting her guard down around me makes her. It’s in the way she stares off into empty space, trying to distance herself from the world around her. From me. Or the way she plays with a lock of hair, trying to calm the nerves rattling around inside her. I’m not quite sure I can change any of those quirks—to make her feel more comfortable showing her own vulnerability. But I do know this: I’m more than willing to try.

  Chloe’s eyes widen as soon as I step through the threshold and enter the bakery. She glances at her watch; then her eyes dart back to me with questions in them. She knows I’m an exceedingly punctual person, so I’m not entirely sure why she’s so taken aback by it.

  I walk up to the counter and hunch over it. With a finger, I beckon her closer.

  “Would it be alright if I take Kyle out for a walk before we get started?” I ask, my voice almost a quiet murmur as my heart thrums more rapidly in my chest with each passing moment.

  Her eyes pin me, flickering with several unasked questions.

  “Okay,” she says skeptically, elongating the word much farther than I thought possible. Curiosity drips from her tone, but she doesn’t act on it. And I respect that a helluva lot because I really didn’t want to have to lie to her about my intentions for this unexpected walk. She dips her head.

  Gently, I place my hand over hers and give it a reassuring squeeze, hoping to ease that worrisome mother brain of hers. I crook my finger under her chin and raise her gaze to meet mine. “It’ll be just around the block.”

  I’m trying my hardest to reassure her that everything will be okay, but I’m not sure she’s convinced of that just yet.

  I gaze deeper into her troubled green eyes and speak nothing but the truth. “I would die for him, Chloe. Know that he will be protected by me. Always. I promise you that.”

  A warm smile lifts her mouth. Her eyes soften as the watery sheen glosses over them. She shuts them, probably in an attempt to prevent the tears from fully flowing down her cheeks.

  “Thank you. You have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say that,” she whispers toward the counter. She shakes her head to recompose herself before her eyelids flick open again. “I’ll go get him for you.”

  I know this was a massive step for her—to entrust her son's life to my hands. I can’t help but curve my mouth into a smile and admire the ass of a strong, remarkable woman as she saunters her way up the stairs.

  “What a woman,” I mutter under my breath, dragging a hand through my hair in the meantime.

  “What’s up, Mr. Ashford?” Kyle asks as he bounces down the stairs.

  “Thought we’d start with a walk today before tutoring. Is that alright with you?”

  Kyle glances back at his mom, who just smiles and nods before he turns back to me. “Awesome! Let me just go get a jacket really quick.”

  “He really is a great kid. You should be proud,” I say to Chloe as I wait for Kyle to come back down the stairs. Her eyes light up at my words.

  “I am,” she replies. Her words may be simple, but the meaning behind them runs deep. Far deeper than any ocean. In a way, I understand how it feels. I was my sister’s legal guardian after our mother passed away. Being responsible for another person—whether that be your child or your younger sibling—just makes you think differently, more strategically. It’s like a game of chess. You have to think two steps ahead before you even make your first move, anticipating all the obstacles life is going to throw your way.

  “I’m ready to go,” Kyle calls out, jumping off the staircase a few steps away from the bottom. He lands with a thud.

  “Kyle, what did I say about doing that?” Chloe chastises. Her voice is stern, unwavering as she glares at her son.

  “Not to do it,” Kyle frowns. “Sorry, Mom.”

  She pats him on the back. “Alright, now, you boys go have some fun before the hard work begins. And Lucas?”

  My eyebrows perk. “Yeah?”

  “Take care of him.”

  Using my pointer finger, I draw an X over my heart. “Cross my heart.”

  Once Kyle and I are outside enjoying the cool, fresh air on our faces, I start walking southbound. We’re barely ten paces away from the front door when Kyle confronts me.

  “I as
sume this impromptu walk has something to do with you wanting to talk to me about something or someone. Am I right?” Kyle asks, flicking up his rakish brow. His expression almost mirrors that of his mother’s when she thinks she’s onto something.

  I ruffle his hair a bit. “Clever kid.”

  He does an overdramatic bow. “I learn from the best.”

  “The best, huh? I’ll take it.” I pretend to polish my knuckles on my chest, a smug smirk plastered on my face.

  When we’re a bit further down the road, I get right down to business. Placing my hands on both his shoulders, I look Kyle square in the eye. His calculating brown eyes hold his own against mine.

  “This probably will come as no surprise to you, but I like your mom. And I’d very much like to ask her out on a date.” I take a beat.

  “Why are you telling me this? You don’t need my permission, just hers,” he interjects, a confused yet amused expression etched on his face.

  I chuckle.

  “True. I know I don’t need your permission, but I still want it. I’m your teacher, and she’s your mom. The last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable with any of this. So, that’s why I’m asking you. Kyle, do I have your blessing to ask your mom out on a date?” I pause to clear my throat before adding. “It’s okay to say no. Even though I don’t want you to, I want you to know that it is always an option.”

  Kyle narrows his eyes and tilts his head. It’s as if he’s studying me, or worse…my intentions. Freckles I’ve never noticed before lightly dust across his nose, which is more evident when he crinkles it like so—another personality trait he shares with his mother. I can see the resemblance the more I analyze him. His hair, although a pigment or two lighter, he gets from his mother. He also has her button nose. His eyes and mouth, however, I assume are all his father. Chloe doesn’t share the deep dimples in his cheeks as he smiles or his thin lips.