Elements of Chemistry: Heat Read online

  Elements of Chemistry

  (Part 2)

  HEAT

  By PENNY REID

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, rants, facts, contrivances, and incidents are either the product of the author’s questionable imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or undead, events, locales is entirely coincidental if not somewhat disturbing/concerning.

  Copyright © 2015 by Penny Reid; All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, photographed, instagrammed, tweeted, twittered, twatted, tumbled, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without explicit written permission from the author.

  Caped Publishing

  Made in the United States of America

  eBook Final Edition: April 2015

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-942874-05-8

  Part 2: Heat

  CHAPTER 1 Thermochemistry

  CHAPTER 2 Chemistry of the Environment

  CHAPTER 3 Aqueous Equilibrium Constants

  CHAPTER 4 The Discovery of Atomic Structure

  CHAPTER 5 Simple Organic Compounds

  CHAPTER 6 Dimensional Analysis

  CHAPTER 7 Covalent Bonding and Orbital Overlap

  CHAPTER 8 Transition Metals and Coordination Chemistry

  CHAPTER 9 Organic and Biological Chemistry

  CHAPTER 10 Multiple Bonds

  CHAPTER 11 Line Spectra and the Bohr Model

  CHAPTER 12 Factors Affecting Solubility

  CHAPTER 13 Vapor Pressure and Boiling Point

  CHAPTER 14 Atomic Weights

  About the Author

  Part 2: Heat

  CHAPTER 1

  Thermochemistry

  I walked through the house and the partygoers in search of quiet, space, and cleanliness. In the end, numbness descended and I embraced it. Basically, I decided not to care, and instead thought about my ideal party.

  Give me a small intimate gathering of five people, a dinner party, where one-on-one conversations can be had, where people talk about current events, good books, good food, and weird news. That was my idea of a good time.

  Not keg stands with a hundred people on a private island, with a DJ and underage girls puking in the bushes while venereal diseases were shared in the hot tub. Add to that Martin ignoring me and making out with random girls.

  Not that. That was not fun.

  I happened upon the library, or a room with a lot of books. It was packed with people and I’m pretty sure a few someones copped a feel as I tried to squeeze past the bodies in favor of the books. I scanned the shelves and felt a spark of something good, something nice as I spotted Twenty Years After, by Alexandre Dumas. I’d been meaning to read it for a while. It was about the three musketeers twenty years after their initial adventures.

  To my right someone threw up on the carpet. I glanced at the guy and decided that if people were throwing up on the carpet then no one would care if I borrowed a book.

  I pulled it off the shelf, clutched it to my chest, and went in search of a quiet space. I roamed the house for a bit, thought about going back to the souped-up golf carts and just waiting for everyone outside, but dismissed the idea. The available reading light would be insufficient. I also dismissed the bedrooms, as those would be occupied. A bathroom was an obvious choice, but not a good one because they’d be in high demand, and it would be selfish of me to tie one up so I could read.

  I tried to find a closet with a light. At one point I almost tripped over a passed-out Ben in the hallway. I glanced around and found Herc hovering nearby, talking to several girls. He gave me a nod. I returned it and continued on my way. I decided my suspicions were correct: Herc had been following Ben around. I wondered if Ben had inadvertently consumed his own date-rape drug.

  I made a mental note to contact the campus police department about Ben when I got home. Martin had promised to handle it—whatever that meant—but if handling it meant no jail time for Ben, I would step in and do something.

  Shaking off thoughts of Ben the rapist, I ended up stumbling upon the laundry room quite by accident. It was actually perfect. There was a clean comforter folded on the washer and plenty of reading light. Therefore, I arranged the blanket and hopped up on the machine, leant against the wall with the cushy comforter at my back, and began to read.

  It was a truly excellent book. I didn’t know how much time passed—two hours, maybe three. That Porthos…I swear, he’s a riot. His antics always make me laugh. Although Athos was my favorite. I think it was because of his tragic past. I was a bit of a sucker for a guy with a tragic past.

  “What are you doing?”

  I lifted my eyes at the sound of Martin’s voice, but not immediately. I finished the paragraph I was reading, then I looked up, holding my place in the book with my thumb.

  He was dressed in swim trunks and he was wet, with beads of water dripping down his chest. As such, he looked super hot. However, only the right side of his body was visible as the door blocked the other side. His hand was still on the doorknob and he leaned a tad to one side, into the room.

  My eyes wandered over his form and I allowed myself to appreciate the beauty of Martin Sandeke like I might admire the beauty of a cold, soulless statue. Physically, he was a magnificent male specimen: corded muscle, long limbs, and rigid angles. Even his temples were drool worthy, especially since I knew his head housed a giant—albeit mismanaged—brain. Truly, he was one of our finest. His ancestors should really give themselves a big pat on the back.

  A little pool of water had gathered at his feet, which made me wonder how long he’d been standing in the doorway. My eyes traveled upward again and I noticed he wore an angry expression. He looked livid.

  I started a little at the heated annoyance in his stare. Then I glanced around the laundry room, searching for the source of his anger. I found that I was still alone. Therefore, I surmised his fury must be directed at me.

  But, just to be sure, I said, “Who? Me?”

  “Yes. You,” he growled, then stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “What are you doing in here?”

  I raised the book and tipped my head toward it. “I’m reading.”

  Martin exhaled loudly, another growl. “I can see that, Parker. But why the fuck are you in here reading?”

  I frowned at his use of profanity, my shoulders bunching with tension. I realized I’d gotten used to it, how often he cussed; I’d accepted it as part of him. But that was before he’d left me standing at the entrance to a party I didn’t want to attend, and that was before I’d seen him kissing a random girl.

  “It’s the first sequel to The Three Musketeers. I’ve been meaning to read it. I found it on the shelf in the library—or living room, or whatever room. There are too many rooms in this house, so I don’t know what half of them are called.”

  Martin gritted his teeth, and I got the distinct impression he wanted to strangle me. “Parker. This is a party. And you’re in the laundry room? Reading?”

  I paused a beat to make sure this wasn’t a trick question. When I could find nothing amiss with his interrogation, I nodded slowly. “Yes. This is a party. I am in the laundry room reading.”

  “Why? What is wrong with you?”

  My mouth opened and closed but no words arrived, because his questions continued to confuse me. Finally, I admitted, “Martin, I don’t know what you want me to say or why you appear to be upset. I found the book when I was in one of the several rooms with lots of books. I’ve been meaning to read it. So I picked it up and found a quiet place. Why are you so angry?”

  He charged at me and I ineffectually scrambled backward on the washing machine. In less than two second
s he’d pulled the book from my hands, slapped it on the counter at my left, and braced his arms on either side of my legs, leaning forward.

  I realized he’d made me lose my page in the book. I decided to ignore my urge to vocalize this complaint, because his eyes were beyond heated.

  They were incensed blue flames. I braced myself, my gaze wide and watchful, and flinched when he lifted a hand. I relaxed a smidge when he used it to push my hair off my shoulder.

  When he spoke, his voice was low, strained, like he was trying very hard to control his temper. “I brought you here as my date. That was our agreement.”

  I nodded once. “Yes. I know.”

  “And, instead of talking to people or having fun, you’re in here reading a book.”

  I kept my voice even and calm, tried to sound soothing. “I am having fun. I’m reading a book.”

  “You’re trying to punish me for winning our bet, for bringing you here.”

  I shook my head, hoping he would see the honesty in my denial. “I’m not. I promise. I like to read.”

  “Who comes to a party, an entire mansion at your disposal, and reads Dumas in a laundry room? I’ve been looking for you for two hours.”

  He’s been looking for me? For two hours? Why would he do that?

  “If you’ve been looking for me then why are you wet?”

  “This place has pools with caves, and I’ve been through all of them searching for you. You’re avoiding me.”

  “Honestly, Martin…” I shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

  “You didn’t think I’d notice?” he roared.

  I winced. “That’s right.”

  He blinked at me once, then held perfectly still. His features completely motionless as though his face were stuck in angry suspension. I could see something building behind his eyes, like how you can see a far-off storm gathering in the distance. Therefore, I decided it would be best to explain before he lost control of his temper.

  “Earlier, after I changed,” I motioned quickly to the string bikini I was wearing, “I went back to the deck and saw you had your hands full—and at one point, your mouth full of a tongue that wasn’t yours—so I figured you were good. You know, entertained, taken care of, no need of my escort services.”

  He flinched, blinked rapidly during my explanation like I’d splashed water in his face, and his back straightened.

  “You saw that?” He appeared to be surprised.

  Lifting my hands up between us like I surrendered, I nodded and continued, “But, no worries. I understand that kissing random girls is in your wheelhouse. Which, like I’ve been saying all along, is another reason why we’re not compatible. Because, as I’ve said—and no judgment—I’m not really into kissing guys who kiss other girls. That’s not in my wheelhouse. So you should go return to your women folk. I’ll be down here reading; no rush. But if you plan on spending the night, let me know so I can ensure to hitch a ride with Eric and Sam, or Ray. For your own safety though, please make sure the sheets are clean. I overheard one of the guys in the library say that he thinks he has ringworm. I didn’t ask which bedroom he used.”

  Martin’s eyes narrowed as I spoke and his mouth curved into an unhappy line. When I was finished he lifted his gaze to the ceiling, subtly shaking his head; he paired an eye roll with a whispered, “Fuck.”

  Again, I flinched at the profanity and scrunched my nose, my gaze moving back to the discarded book. I wondered how much longer this conversation was going to take, because Porthos’s shenanigans were seriously cracking me up.

  “Parker…”

  My eyes jumped back to his, which were now once again on me. He didn’t look as angry, but he did look frustrated.

  “Yes?”

  Martin lifted his hand like he was going to put it on my leg, but stopped when I stiffened. He cursed again. Shook his head, again. Gritted his teeth, again.

  “Look,” he said, “if you’d stayed, then you would have seen me push her away. I’m not interested in her.” His expression relaxed, and I saw the flash of hopeful vulnerability. My heart leapt in response.

  Stupid heart.

  He cupped my cheek, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, and added, “I’m not interested in any girl here other than you.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep from frowning, though I knew my eyes betrayed my disbelief because Martin’s frustration visibly spiked.

  Before he could continue, I interjected, “Martin, even if I believed you—which I don’t—it doesn’t really matter. You pawned me off on Ray for the drive over. When we walked in here, into this house, you left me. You walked away from me, and you didn’t introduce me to anyone. You went off as though I wasn’t there. I don’t know any of these people and I’m terrible at parties.”

  His gaze turned thunderous. “Is that what this is about? Are you down here because you’re pissed that I left? I thought I was doing what you wanted. You said that you didn’t want me to be possessive and hover. Is this some kind of punishment? Because I don’t respond well to that kind of mind-fuckery or passive-aggressive bullshit.”

  Despite my desire to stay calm, his words felt like gasoline on a fire I’d been carrying around in my chest, but had thus far managed to keep under control. My temper rose and with it the volume of my voice.

  “No, Martin. I don’t do passive-aggressive and I don’t punish people. That is one of my life rules. I’m honest. If something upsets me, I’ll let you know. But in order for me to be upset, I’d have to be surprised by your terrible behavior. What you did, leaving me in a room full of strangers and giving CPR to female partygoers didn’t upset me, because I don’t really expect more from you.”

  It was his turn to flinch. He sucked in a sudden breath and straightened away from me, his eyes cooling to frigid icicles. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you’re used to getting what you want or who you want when you want it. And I couldn’t care less if you were upstairs, right now, having a ginormous orgy with the ringworm gang. Because I’ve known all along that you are a jerk-face and you don’t know how to treat people with decency.”

  His mouth fell open, presumably at my words and my hostile tone, and he stared at me. His expression was that of someone who’d been stunned speechless.

  I didn’t like losing my temper. In fact, I prided myself on how laid-back and in control of my reactions I was, and how I never lost my temper. Therefore, this loss of control was another irritating new development since spending time with jerky Martin Sandeke.

  At length, he found his voice. Though, surprisingly, he didn’t sound quite as angry. “If you don’t like how I treat you, then why do you keep letting me kiss you?”

  “Opportunity and lust.”

  Gah…that was spiteful.

  He flinched like I’d kicked him and he glanced away. His reaction made my heart hurt, and therefore, I heaved a gigantic regretful sigh.

  My words came out in a rush. “That’s not true. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. The truth is…”

  He lifted his eyes to mine, and the raw emotion made me forget myself. It made me forget to be cautious. Without really thinking about it or planning to do so, I gave him the whole embarrassing truth.

  “You’re smart—in fact, you have flashes of brilliance which is a huge turn on for me—and you’re funny and charming when you want to be. And sometimes, you treat me with kindness and respect. Also, you’re a good kisser. I thought at first it was my lack of experience, but now I think you’re just an exceptionally good kisser. I like kissing you. I like the way it feels. I love how you make me feel when you touch me. But what feels good isn’t always what’s good for me, and I’m not willing to settle for being with someone who sometimes treats me well. I’d rather be alone.”

  With the end of my unplanned speech the numbness returned. I peered at him in a way I hoped demonstrated my acceptance of the situation and the impossibility of us, and I reached for my book. I did all th
is while I tried to suppress my blush of mortification. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Porthos is rather charming and I’d like to finish this chapter before leaving.”

  Martin’s glare moved from me to the book. Before I understood his intention, he’d reached for the book, pulled it from me, and tossed it over his shoulder. I yelped my surprised unhappiness, but couldn’t retrieve the novel because he’d stepped forward again, crowding my space. He gripped my waist and yanked me forward so he was between my legs, and my chest was against his.

  My mind might have been numbed to him, but my pants weren’t. I sucked in a sharp breath at the contact, everything tightening and twisting and bracing for his touch.

  He stared at me for a long moment, during which—I’m ashamed to admit—my heart rate quadrupled and my body responded by pressing more fully against him. When he did speak, his voice was a growly and hostile whisper. “Listen to me for one fucking second, okay?”

  I also whispered, but only because he was whispering, “Only if you stop using the F-word like you get paid royalties every time you say it.”

  “I’ll fucking use whatever fucking word I want to fucking use whenever I fucking want to,” he whispered back.

  I shook my head and spoke mostly to the other washing machine and two dryers lining the walls. “Again, proving my point, jerk-face.”

  “Kaitlyn, you are irritating.”

  “Feeling is mutual, jerk-face.”

  “Especially when you’re right.”

  “Well, you can…” I paused, blinked at him and his shocking words. “Wait, what?”

  His eyes moved over my face as he spoke and the tension in his body eased. Peripherally, I noted he was wrapping his arms around me, one hand sliding under the string of my bikini and against my bare back.

  “I’m sorry.” He was still using his growly whisper.

  I narrowed my eyes, attempting to peer into and through his words, looking for trickery. As well, I was trying to ignore the wave of goosebumps that had spread outward from where his hot palm pressed against my back, and the fluttering butterflies in my stomach.