Mister Know It All: A Hero Club Novel Read online

  Copyright © 2020 by Amélie S. Duncan and Cocky Hero Club, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Editor: Marion Archer, Making Manuscripts

  Jenny Sims, Editing 4 Indies

  Photo Credit:Miguel Angel, Sergio Carvajal

  Formatted by:Stacey Blake, Champagne Book Design

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  INTRODUCTION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  ALSO BY AMÉLIE S. DUNCAN

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Mister Know-It-All is a standalone story inspired by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s Stuck-Up Suit. It’s published as part of the Cocky Hero Club world, a series of original works, written by various authors, and inspired by Keeland and Ward’s New York Times bestselling series.

  JASMINE

  The summer of me

  Dear Ida,

  I discovered my boyfriend of almost two years carried on an emotional affair for the past few months with a woman three thousand miles away. His nude photos and poorly written cybersex horrified me, but not as much as their letters to each other. He shared his thoughts, feelings, even his dreams for the future. He showed a side of himself he’d never shared with me.

  When confronted, he explained their “friendship” as a harmless flirtation that got away from him. Admittedly, our relationship had gone a bit stale. Even I had fantasies of other men and lost myself in romance books to fill the void, but I still cared for him. He begged me for a second chance. I asked for time to process where we’d go.

  I hadn’t expected to find him in the middle of condom-less coitus on the desk in his office a month later. Had my hesitation in breaking up inadvertently green-lighted an open relationship?

  Emotionally Outsourced

  Blindsided in Boston.

  Swallowing hard, I pressed the send button on my computer, then waited for my cousin Soraya, who worked for Dear Ida, a relationship advice column, to respond. I’d only told her I wanted advice on finding a New York City job for the summer. She hadn’t known I’d been played, but since I would be there soon and she would most likely ask about Randall, I might as well tell her. Her reply came a few minutes later.

  Dear Jasmine,

  Emotional cheating is still cheating. If Randall cared, he would have ended the affair and worked with you to rebuild your trust and relationship. You’re better off without him. I’d also advise you to get tested at the campus clinic.

  Soraya

  I sent her a text in response.

  Jasmine: I always made him wear a condom and got tested regularly, but I went for an early screening, anyway. I’m negative. I hope he gets a scorching dose.

  Soraya: You sound good. Glad you’re coming here.

  I was happy to see her too.

  It had been three weeks since I found them together in his office, yet I still felt like I was in the shock-he-cheated-on-me phase. Working an office job the summer before the last year of my undergraduate degree in sociology wouldn’t help make me Rhodes Scholar-worthy, but I couldn’t continue to work as Randall’s teaching assistant and keep my dignity. Soraya’s offer to work at her husband, Graham Morgan’s, Financial Holding Company was a lifeline I couldn’t pass up. Though I’d miss Boston, I’d always wanted to go to the Big Apple.

  My tote bags were already by the door. According to my Felix the Cat clock on the mantel, I had thirty minutes before my college friend was taking me to the airport.

  Buzz. I checked my phone and groaned.

  Mom.

  I waited for the voicemail and listened.

  “Randall called and said you’ve quit your teaching assistant job. You can’t blow your career when you’re on the cusp of getting everything you worked so hard for—”

  I pressed the stop button and rubbed my temples. Mom had said nothing I hadn’t already thought of myself. But an attack of my conscience wasn’t what I needed.

  Instead, I shifted my attention to the state of my home—the semi-renovated Victorian house I inherited from Gran. It currently suffered from post-semester ruin. A couple of empty stockings from Christmas remained on the fireplace mantel, and books and term papers were scattered across my fabric sofa and chairs in the living room. While it wouldn’t be a crime to leave the place a mess, I dreaded cleaning up when I returned at the end of the summer.

  I sprang into action: shelving books, stacking papers, and collecting all the many pairs of socks I left because my feet were always too hot or too cold.

  Rushing up the flight of stairs to my bedroom, I shoved the pile of socks along with the rest of my discarded clothes, shoes, and books in the closet. A quick stop at the mirror to brush and twist my long black hair in a bun, add mascara to my lashes, and put a little eye pencil to my eyelids. Securing my glasses and a small drop of patchouli oil on my forehead, I was right on time. Tam Nguyen’s red Prius was visible in the driveway below.

  I went through a few epiphanies during my descent of the stairs.

  At the top, I cursed the pain in my legs from running up and down the stairs all day.

  On the bottom step, I reminded myself how incredibly toned my legs had become since I’d moved in a year ago.

  I frowned at the front door, remembering how Randall had pointed out how particularly amazing my legs looked when we last had sex.

  How long had it been since we had sex, and why hadn’t I noticed?

  Shouldn’t I have missed sex?

  Tam climbed out of her car and ran over to me. “Hey, girlfriend.”

  She hugged me in typical Tam fashion, pulling me in so tight my breath whooshed out of my lungs. No matter how long we were apart, Tam always hugged me like we’d just been reunited, whether it be a day or weeks. We bonded during an elective women’s studies course and our absorption in all that was academia a couple of years ago. Together, we often made homework when there wasn’t any.

  We both laughed as we pulled away, and she helped me squeeze my suitcase in with her cello and fencing gear.

  “You were way out of Randall’
s league. His cyber-skank side piece wasn’t as attractive as you, but she was still above his pay grade.”

  Of course, Tam did that friend thing of pumping up my ego, but she wasn’t wrong either. The other woman wasn’t as hot as I was. While attractiveness could be objective, I had a pretty face—symmetrical, large hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and nicely shaped lips. The rest of me was equally “bangable” I’ve been told, sexy curves and full breasts. I refused to believe my looks were the reason. In fact, Randall acted as if everything was okay between us. Until he had loaned me his laptop to reorganize, snooping wasn’t exactly my thing, but when a notification popped up that said, “Falling in love,” I couldn’t stop myself from reading. And as I read through their secret letters, a particular passage stung.

  My life feels like I’m going through the motions. My success caught me off guard, and now it’s dragging me underwater. I’m drowning with no one to lean on. You’re the only one I can talk to, who understands me. I feel like I’m falling in love, and I haven’t even touched you yet.

  The word “yet” should have clued me in. Because yet implied there would come a time when he touched the other woman. He’d already left me emotionally. And clearly, from his desk gratification, he’d left me physically too. And I didn’t want to know how long ago that started. Why wasn’t I enough?

  “Have you thought about renting your place for two months on Airbnb and staying at my place?”

  I’d spoken to Tam about quitting my TA position. Thanks to Randall, I was now out four thousand for the semester.

  “I’m not sure yet. I’ll probably take a roommate next year.”

  “Think about it, Jaz. Really, Randall’s not worth it. He’ll miss you now that you’re gone.”

  He’ll miss me. Maybe for five minutes between hookups, no doubt. Asshole.

  “But that’s behind you now. You’re going to New York City, the most exciting city in the world!”

  Tam had a romantic idea of New York City, like all of us small-town kids did. She was from Kewaskum, Wisconsin, and my parents abandoned San Francisco for an alpaca farm in Fife, Washington. To us, New York City was the dream city where the glamorous unique congregated to move a million miles an hour doing unusual things we’d only dream of. Where exciting things were thrown at you every minute for you to jump in and experience. That’s what I’m going to do.

  “You’re right, Tam. New York City is a chance to spice up my life. I could have an adventure and turn it into a research paper.”

  Tam laughed and closed the trunk. “Leave it to you to make your breakup more work for yourself. Just try some new things out and see where it leads you.”

  That was what Tam had done. This last semester, she went from wearing flowing skirts, band T-shirts, and boyfriend blazers like me to trendy dresses and high-end designer boots. She even cut her long black hair and added some fancy makeup from some artist she found on YouTube.

  I missed our twinning, but I admired her bold new look and fearless new attitude. My comfortable and practical look was something my parents had instilled in me. And being a good girl, I complied. Though now, comparing myself to Tam, I felt dated. My eyeglasses were still the same black square style I’d worn through high school, my black hair one length and long. Hell, I didn’t even have my ears pierced, unlike my cousin Soraya, who went as far as getting her tongue pierced and had tattoos. I’d spent my life making lists and plans and doing what they expected. But that would all change starting this summer.

  “From this moment on, I declare this summer, the summer of me,” I announced, shifting to face her from the passenger seat.

  Tam started the car. “I like the idea of having a selfish summer, but change because you want to, not because of Randall.”

  “I won’t change for him or any man. No matter how fab I treat them, they still cheat. Maybe I just need to focus on my career and let relationships happen later.”

  “What you don’t need to do is waste your prime-time mourning losers. You need to have a passionate fling to get that windbag out of your system. A rebound could make you over, babe.” Hopefully my rebound, if I found one, won’t ask if I’ve come seconds after he does. Thank you, Randall. Pretentious, pipe-sucking ass.

  My phone buzzed. Randall’s smug face popped up. Speak of the devil. I swiped the decline button. “He’s still calling.”

  “Forget him. What you need is a good fling to recharge your ego. Reach in my bag and check my phone. My Tinder app should be accessible.”

  I pulled up her handbag from the back seat and pressed her profile.

  My mouth dropped open. “You kept this secret.”

  Tam Nguyen—valedictorian, summa cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa, most likely to win a Nobel Prize for physics—had a raunchy profile with pictures of close-up body parts.

  “What the hell, Tam? Some creep is copying this on his phone.”

  She grinned and lifted her shoulder while keeping her hands on the wheel. “I don’t care. I’m not running for political office. Besides, women shouldn’t be afraid of expressing their sexuality.”

  She took the ramp for the highway and increased her speed to join the traffic ahead.

  I returned her phone to her purse and groaned. “I’m not ready to advertise or date again. Maybe time alone is good.”

  “That’s feeling sorry for yourself bullshit. You fall off; you get back on. And before you find the guy who lives inside your heart, you recharge. I’m not talking about dating. Go to a bar or nightclub and hook up to get him out of your system. Just be safe. Find a man who turns you on. You’re not trying to date him, so you can be as shallow as fuck.”

  “Don’t we always go for what attracts us?” I asked.

  “Rhetorically speaking. But in reality, not all the time, and you know it. But this time, you do for sure. Kiss the guy in the bar to make sure you won’t end up with a sloppy tongue. Feel his junk under the table too. Or better yet, ask to feel his cock, like you can’t make it out of the bar without touching it, so you can make sure you’re on the same wavelength.”

  I shook my head. “That’s your advice, grope a stranger?”

  “You’ll thank me later. Trust me, it will save you the naked reveal.”

  I howled with laughter. “You’re crazy. I’m feeling up random guys to find the cock-nirvana? I guess this is a bar I never want to return to out of sheer embarrassment.”

  “Everyone goes to bars and nightclubs to hook up. Who are they to judge? Oh, and make sure you tell him you want to get fucked, not make love.” She said make love like it was a nasty word. “Keep the convo on sex. Don’t let him talk too much about himself. You don’t want this guy in your head.”

  “Am I hooking up, or is this Silence of the Lambs?” I mused.

  “These are trade secrets, darling.” We laughed.

  Revenge sex aside, I still wasn’t completely sold on a mindless man-toy fling.

  “You’ve obviously thought a lot about this. But attraction starts with the conversation for me.”

  “And where did that leave you, Jaz? Seriously, patchy-elbows Randall can’t be all that great in bed.”

  “He was adventurous. He wanted to try the Kama Sutra.”

  She scoffed. “You fell for that? That’s right out of the college manwhore’s playbook.”

  I touched my warm cheeks. “I know. I didn’t care at the time.”

  “I forgive you. Fake-tantra guys are a part of the college rite of sex passage. So here is another warning. If the fling guy tries to get to know you or talk you up, he’s bad in bed. So, you need to shake him off.”

  While stopped in traffic, we looked at each other, wearing huge grins. I was sure the same song popped into our heads.

  We broke into a loud rendition of Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” for the rest of the short ride to the airport. We were having fun, but Tam was never without dates or hung up on anyone. Unlike me, she kept her work and private life separate.

  But that would change, I vowed—no
more relationships.

  The rest of the ride to Logan airport was quick. I finished up with check-in and stopped at the gate to text Soraya, throwing in a little Klingon for good measure.

  Jasmine: Jaffa Kree! I’m on my way! Touch down at 2:30 p.m.

  My phone vibrated in my hand. Soraya. I lifted it to my ear. “Hello!”

  “You’re coming today? We had you down for tomorrow. I’m still in Connecticut. Didn’t you get the message to change your flight for tomorrow morning?”

  “I’ll find a hotel for the night. No worries.” Just a few hundred bucks I didn’t intend to spend before my first paycheck.

  “No, we can work it out. Oh, hang on. Graham said he’ll get his cousin, Ford, to pick you up. We’ll find a way to send a key to our place. I’ve got to go. Lorenzo’s being fussy. I can’t wait to see you. Bye.” She hung up.

  I furrowed my brows. Ford who? She spoke so fast I could barely keep up.

  “What’s going on?” Tam asked.

  I told her, and we both tried to think of what I could do when my phone rang in my hand, and I answered.

  “Hello, Jasmine? I’m Ford Lingren. Graham’s cousin.” His deep lyrical voice caught me off guard.

  “Jaffa Kree! Ford,” I blurted.

  Tam howled with laughter.

  I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’m Jasmine.”

  “So you are,” he replied abruptly. “I’ll be picking you up at the airport. Wait for me at arrivals kiosk two.”

  This Ford fella didn’t ask me if I wanted a ride from the airport. It was as if he decided for me. And I got the he-has-an-attitude vibe. Ick.

  “No, thanks. I’ve decided to hang out in the city until Soraya returns.”

  “Ask him if he’s packing,” Tam joked, and I laughed and covered the phone. “I can’t hear him.”

  “Are you listening to me? I need to get back to a meeting, and I don’t have time to play games. Let’s skip the rest of your ‘you don’t have to put yourself out’ part of this conversation. You’re coming to this city with nothing prepared. It would be ridiculous to refuse me. I’ll be at arrival kiosk two at three fifteen to pick you up. I expect you to wait there for me. And by the way, Jaffee Kree isn’t a proper Klingon greeting. It means listen up. nuqneH is more accurate.”