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

  Chemistry

  An Everyday Heroes World Novel

  J.P. Nicholas

  Contents

  Introduction

  1. Prologue

  2. Chapter One

  3. Chapter Two

  4. Chapter Three

  5. Chapter Four

  6. Chapter Five

  7. Chapter Six

  8. Chapter Seven

  9. Chapter Eight

  10. Chapter Nine

  11. Chapter Ten

  12. Chapter Eleven

  13. Chapter Twelve

  14. Chapter Thirteen

  15. Chapter Fourteen

  16. Chapter Fifteen

  17. Chapter Sixteen

  18. Chapter Seventeen

  19. Chapter Eighteen

  20. Chapter Nineteen

  21. Chapter Twenty

  22. Chapter Twenty-One

  23. Chapter Twenty-Two

  24. Chapter Twenty-Three

  25. Chapter Twenty-Four

  26. Chapter Twenty-Five

  27. Chapter Twenty-Six

  28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

  29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

  30. Chapter Twenty-Nine

  31. Chapter Thirty

  32. Chapter Thirty-One

  33. Epilogue

  KB Worlds

  Also by J.P. Nicholas

  About the Author

  ALSO WRITTEN BY K. BROMBERG

  Copyright Page

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  © 2020 KB WORLDS. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  Published by KB Worlds LLC.

  Cover Design by: J.P. Nicholas

  Cover Image by: Wander Aguiar

  Editing by: Janell Parque

  Formatting by: J.P. Nicholas

  Published in the United States of America

  Introduction

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to the Everyday Heroes World!

  I’m so excited you’ve picked up this book! Chemistry is a book based on the world I created in my USA Today bestselling Everyday Heroes Series. While I may be finished writing this series (for now), various authors have signed on to keep them going. They will be bringing you all-new stories in the world you know while allowing you to revisit the characters you love.

  This book is entirely the work of the author who wrote it. While I allowed them to use the world I created and may have assisted in some of the plotting, I took no part in the writing or editing of the story. All praise can be directed their way.

  I truly hope you enjoy Chemistry. If you’re interested in finding more authors who have written in the KB Worlds, you can visit www.kbworlds.com.

  Thank you for supporting the writers in this project and me.

  Happy Reading,

  K. Bromberg

  For all the teachers, thank you for all you do—especially for what you don’t get credit for.

  Prologue

  Chloe

  Embarrassment. A feeling that I wish I could completely exorcise from my being. Seriously, who needs it? Why must we feel embarrassed when we sit down, and our asses rip right through our pantyhose? When somebody waves to the person behind you on a crowded street and you wave back. Or even when the silent fart is not so silent in the restaurant. Why can’t we all as a society just embrace these moments? We’re all human. And none of us can change them.

  I’ve always been prone to embarrassment. I guess it’s just hardwired in my DNA or something. One time, I had to call the maintenance man to investigate some noise I heard coming from the laundry room in my house. When he arrived, I led him to the door, and everything appeared normal. After some quick investigation, the repairman concluded that the noise was an alarm that warns about potential flooding. He asked if he could check the pipe under the sink. To which, I stupidly replied, of course, and swung both cabinet doors open for him, forgetting that’s where I store my dildo. I know I should keep it in my nightstand, but I don’t ever want my son to stumble upon it. And since I do his laundry, I know he has no reason whatsoever to enter this room. Anyway, I know the repairman saw it—it’s hot pink, for fuck’s sake! Thankfully, he didn’t say anything, but his shock was written all over his face. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

  I always thought—no, prayed—that would be the most embarrassing moment of my life—that nothing would surpass that. Unfortunately, I was very, very, wrong. Today’s mishap was immensely worse.

  Everybody’s got that one song. The one that as soon as your ears register the opening note, you stop whatever it is that you’re doing and lose your freaking mind. Well, for me, that’s Satisfied from the Broadway Musical, Hamilton. And today, it led to the most embarrassing moment of my entire life.

  Chapter One

  Chloe

  I am desperate. So desperate that I just walked into my least favorite place on this planet—the car repair shop.

  Car maintenance is not one of my specialties. I don’t give a shit if the tires need air, the tint is bubbling, or the axle needs balancing as long as it takes me from point A to point B exactly like I need it to. That’s what cars are for, after all—modes of transport—nothing more, nothing less.

  Unfortunately, my usual plan of ignoring all the blinking lights on the dashboard trick doesn’t seem to work as it used to in the past. Cars have gotten a lot smarter. And quite frankly, I’m not here for it at all. I liked being able to make the check engine light magically disappear by disconnecting the battery and reconnecting it again. For a while, that became my one-step fix for all my car troubles. It followed the same logic as blowing in the USB port or giving your monitor a good beating to get it to work again. Scientifically, it doesn’t make any logical sense, but that shit seemed to work, so you keep doing it until it doesn’t work anymore.

  I release a loaded sigh, full of longing and annoyance. I miss the good ol’ days when your car didn’t yell at you relentlessly when you needed an oil change. After two weeks of endless nagging and high-pitched beeping whenever I pressed the engine start button, I just couldn’t take it anymore! This is precisely why I’m here this morning.

  “Miss Hayden,” the guy at the counter taps his pen lightly against his desk, commanding my attention. Once my eyes meet his again, he continues. “It should be ready within the hour. You’re more than welcome to help yourself to anything in our waiting room during your wait.”

  I nod him a quick thanks, dropping the key on his desk before making my way into the adjacent room. After a quick peruse, I notice that the coffee pot is already empty—go figure. I sure as hell am not brewing another one, so I guess my daily caffeine hit can wait until I get home.

  After a few more paces, I nestle my ass into the chair directly across from the window. Once seated, I dig my AirPods out from my purse and securely fasten them in my ears. Satisfied, I press play on the latest Lauren Blakely audiobook and let Joe Arden dirty talk in my ear.

  My body temperature rises as the scene progresses. Clothes are coming off, and the hero is suck
ing on the heroine’s neck. Things are escalating quickly, and I am oh-so ready for this eargasmic ride. As soon as the heroine gets on her knees, that’s when I spot him—the perfect fantasy man. The man I’m going to pretend for the next—I check the remaining time left on the chapter—twelve minutes is my hero, doing all the deliciously naughty things to me that are about to transpire in my audiobook. Oh, this is going to be fun.

  He’s sitting at the small circular table by the window, nose deep in a book. Hell, I’m half-tempted to sneak a quick snap of him for the HotGuysWhoRead Instagram account, but alas, I refrain myself. Shamelessly, I let my eyes roam over him. I start with his broad shoulders, then wander my way downward. His corded arms are on full viewing display, thanks to his sleeves being rolled up to around mid-forearm. I adjust my position in my seat to get a full view, rather than a side view, of his ass. Lord, what an ass he has on him. They’re two perfectly rounded beef patties that I bet any woman would want served up to her on a silver platter. Seriously, that ass should be carved into marble on display in a museum somewhere. Damn, why is it getting so hot in here?

  I narrow my eyes on him, imagining him as the hero in this story…and he’s just about to have his filthy way with me. My heartbeat quickens as Joe continues to narrate the story in my ears.

  As soon as her bra falls to the floor, I palm her breasts, unable to deny my incessant need to touch her anymore. My mouth claims hers in a desperate, needy kiss. Her tongue slides against the ridges of my cracked bottom lip. She slinks her hand further down my chest, trailing over my abs until she’s cupping my pulsating erection in her hands. She gives it a gentle squeeze.

  “Fuuuuck,” I groan into her mouth, opening for her. She’s letting me know exactly what she wants, and that’s hot as hell. Not wasting any time, she takes greedy pulls of my tongue. They dance a tango only the two of them know the choreography for as she tastes me.

  Gently, I roll her nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

  She throws her head back and moans toward the ceiling. “Oh, yes. More. I need more.”

  I curl my mouth to the side in a devilish smirk. “More of what exactly?”

  “Of this?” I roll her nipple again, smiling as I watch her lose herself beneath my touch.

  “Yes. More of that.”

  Just to spite her, I remove my hands from her gorgeous breasts. Reaching forward, she grabs my jaw and forces my gaze to meet hers. “Don’t you dare not finish what you’re starting.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, brushing her hair to one side, exposing her neck to my hungry gaze. Dipping my mouth to her soft skin, I nip at her neck. She hums in response.

  Unable to control myself any longer, I trail kisses down to the spot I want my mouth on the most.

  Wait a second, is Mr. McHottie staring at me? Slipping back to reality, I focus all my attention on his gorgeous whiskey-colored eyes. Deep, rich amber eyes that swirl with golden undertones as they speckle with his amusement. He curls the side of his mouth into a smirk and shakes his head.

  What, I mouth, trying to figure out what’s so funny. Mr. McHottie mimes taking out an AirPod and points to me. It isn’t until I begin to reach upward toward my right ear that I notice that everyone else in the waiting room is laughing at me. Seriously, what the hell is going on here? As soon as I remove the AirPod, I have my answer. And I am beyond mortified.

  “Fuck, your arousal tastes so fucking sweet on my tongue, babe,” Joe Arden praises in that sexy, gravelly voice of his. The only problem is it’s no longer coming through my AirPods, but rather through the speakers of my car at MAX VOLUME! Fuck Bluetooth. Fuck catchy songs that make me jam out alone in my car. Fuck auto repair shops. Just fuck all of it.

  My fingers fumble against one another as I desperately lurch out toward my purse. I need to end this now. How long has everyone been listening to this sex scene? I was so distracted by tall, dark, and Clark Kent over there, looking all handsome and sexy while he’s reading his book, that I didn’t notice that my audiobook was no longer coming through my AirPods. How could I not have noticed that? And where the hell is my phone?

  I keep rummaging around in my purse, aimlessly searching for it. However, this feels like a hopeless mission now that my purse has decided to take on the Mary Poppin’s endless magical bag persona. I can feel the heated blush of embarrassment as it stings my cheeks. I probably look as red as a ripe tomato. You might as well just put a fork in me now cuz I’m done.

  “Yes, right there. Just like that,” the female narrator pants out right before I find my phone and smash my finger violently against the pause button.

  The room continues to laugh at my expense: their taunting, belly-hearted chortles growing louder and louder. Well, everyone’s but Mr. McHottie’s. He might still be chuckling to himself on the inside. But on the outside, he’s moved on from the worst moment of my life, diving back into his book. I can respect that. And even if he wasn’t already my favorite person here for having the appearance of a Greek god, he’s earned that title now.

  My heartbeat feels heavy as it pounds against my chest, synchronizing with the roaring hysteria in the room that doesn’t seem to be simmering even the slightest bit. I bet I made all these fuckers’ mornings. After sucking in a sharp breath, I glance up at the ceiling and send a silent plea to whoever might be listening. Just kill me now.

  Chapter Two

  Lucas

  This is a disaster of epic proportions. I don’t know if there’s a reward given for World’s Worst Cupcake Maker, but I think I’m a shoo-in for the top prize after my attempt. Seriously, how does one fuck up a cupcake? That shouldn’t even be possible!

  I just don’t get it. Everything seemed to be going well. I had the recipe printed out and easily accessible. I had the tools: two bowls, one whisk, and one spatula. I thought spatulas were just for grilling things, and I can’t possibly think of what they can be used for in baking, but the recipe said I need one, and who am I to argue with the recipe?

  I had all the ingredients listed: flour, cocoa and baking powder, baking soda, salt, eggs, regular and brown sugar, canola oil, vanilla extract, and buttermilk. Just follow the recipe and cook it for twentyish minutes. Easy peasy. In theory, everything should have gone swimmingly. So, what the hell did I do wrong to cause the damn thing to explode once I took it out of the oven? That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Who knew cupcakes could explode? I certainly didn’t.

  Admittedly, as a Chemistry teacher, the entire sight was mesmerizing—even if I’m still washing chunks of gooey cake out of my hair.

  Once I deem my hair cupcake free, I bow my head, giving my lost cupcake the moment of silence it deserves. Aaaaannndd, that’s enough of that.

  “Hey, Siri, what’s the nearest bakery still open?” I call out to my phone, slightly ashamed at the desperation I hear in my own voice.

  “The nearest bakery is The Nutty Cookie, which is 0.9 miles away,” Siri replies, her robotic voice modulating through the quiet space.

  “When do they close?”

  “The Nutty Cookie closes at nine p.m.”

  I scratch the stubble on my chin as I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s twenty-til now. That doesn’t leave me a lot of time to resolve this. Shit.

  After throwing on a pair of sneakers, I bolt out the door, neglecting my car keys as I pass by. It’s a nice Autumn night with a cool, brisk breeze tousling my hair and keeping me from sweating. I might as well get in some exercise. It’ll only take me about ten minutes to jog the couple blocks to the bakery Siri recommended.

  That’ll give you plenty of time to right this wrong, I reassure myself, slightly picking up my speed with each impact my foot has against the pavement. By the time I reach the front door, I bend over, panting and giving myself a handful of seconds to catch my breath. The cold air both rejuvenates and burns my lungs as I suck it in deeply. After a few more deep breaths, I am able to regain some composure. With the makeshift gym in my basement that I visit quite frequ
ently, I know I’m not out of shape by any means. But based on how I feel after running that near mile, I may need to add a little more cardio to my workout sessions next week.

  I check my watch. Roughly ten minutes, not bad. Even despite my lack of cardio training, I still made excellent time.

  A bell chimes as soon as I open the door, announcing my arrival, but I barely hear the thing over the music blaring through the speakers. By the sound of it, it’s some pop girl group tune. I take another step forward as a woman dances into my line of sight.

  Her dark blonde hair is fastened into a loose bun atop her head, bobbing to and fro as she whips her head from side to side in synchronization to the eighties-sounding synthesizer beats. With broom in hand, she sweeps the floor in a circular motion as she croons out the lyrics, “So turn it up, let it play on and on and on and on.”

  I’d clear my throat and interrupt her—that would be the polite thing to do, right? Probably, but I just can’t get myself to put an end to her jam session. It’s too freaking adorable to watch the way she moves so freely, without a care in the world.