Off-the-Charts Chemistry

By Christine Miles

A single chemistry teacher with two cats equals a spinster in the making...or does it?

Stacey Kinsella is the definition of unlucky in love and long-ago accepted she has more brains than beauty. What's a chemistry teacher to do? Focus on her job, friends, family, and perfumery hobby. She never expects the sexie

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sealed With a Swoon Books, LLC
• Release date: Sep 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9781962092081

Christine Miles

Christine Miles is a full-time writer living in Albuquerque, New Mexico.An avid reader and writer since elementary school, her passion for literature inspired her to pursue a BA in English and an MA in Creative Writing. She writes YA and Adult Contemporary Romances with sassy, independent heroines and swoony heroes who love them for their strength.When not writing romances, she loves traveling, binge-watching shows on streaming apps, reading mysteries and thrillers, listening to music, and spending quality time with her family, friends, and dog.

Book preview

Chapter One

Gas question. Stacey Kinsella swapped her eyeglasses for safety goggles and held up a half-full beaker. "Who can tell me which gas smells like rotten eggs?"

A student sitting at a lab table in the back raised his hand, followed by, Hydrogen sulfide. Can I get extra points for answering correctly and quickly?

Several students groaned while Stacey removed the plastic wrap from the beaker. Nice try. But extra credit doesn’t work that way in my class. Everyone please put on your safety goggles and latex gloves.

She caught several students eye the over-sized analog clock hanging on the wall to her right. They then released heavy sighs and followed her directions.

Stacey had learned the hard way as a first-year teacher seven years before that the last period could be exceptionally long on Fridays this time of year at Brigid’s Vista High School for two reasons. The first one could be articulated with one obvious word. Friday. Or FriYAY as some of her closest friends and colleagues liked to say.

Miss Kinsella, why can’t you let us out early on Fridays? a girl sitting up front whined as she slid on her goggles. It’s the most important night of the week in this town.

The second reason could be summed up in three little words. Friday Night Lights.

She wrinkled her nose at not only her student’s high-pitched whining, but the mention of her least favorite high school pastime. Shayna, football has nothing at all to do with my class. Nor is it going to start any earlier or later if I release all of you—she glanced at the clock and back at her student—ten minutes early. Now, back to the business of rotten-egg smell. You can remove the plastic wrap from your beakers.

Shayna rolled her eyes while carefully pulling the wrap off of her beaker.

Follow my actions, please. Stacey lifted the beaker she held, moved it under her nose, and sniffed twice. Wonderful, isn’t it? Chemistry at its finest.

Several students stared at her dubiously before doing as she instructed. They immediately cringed and held their beakers away from them.

Stacey managed to suppress her laughter.

That smells awful, Shayna declared. What is it?

Drinking water that’s been contaminated with hydrogen sulfide. Stacey set down the beaker. Those of you—

"You expect us to drink this?" The young woman’s mouth dropped open.

Many students again groaned.

Stacey deeply inhaled and answered, Of course not. But I would like to finish this lesson before the bell rings. She gave her student a long look over the goggles which made the girl nod and sit back. Excellent. Those of you who live outside the town limits use water from a well. Many heads bobbed up and down. "Hydrogen sulfide occurs naturally in groundwater due to a form of respiration called sulfate reduction. Sulfate-reducing bacteria chemically reduces sulfates to sulfide. We then have hydrogen sulfide which is soluble in water. She pointed at the beaker. However, it easily escapes as a foul gas." She sniffed for emphasis.

Some braver students tentatively sniffed their water again, followed by cringes.

But we can easily fix the problem by shocking the water with bleach. Stacey grasped a small, round tablet and dropped it into her water. She then picked up a glass stirring rod. Follow my actions. Just don’t get crazy with the stirring.

Once her students appeared finished with the task, she set down her glass rod and smiled. In a very short period of time, the rotten-egg smell will be replaced with the smell of chlorine. Her smile grew. Which means you’ll have fixed the contaminated water problem all due to… She leaned forward and cupped her left ear.

"Chemistry," most of the students finished, but with unmistakable sarcasm.

At that moment, the last bell of the day rang.

Her students practically sprang from their stools.

Carefully remove your gloves the way you’ve been instructed, Stacey loudly said above the end-of-Friday chaos, and dispose of them in the trash can. And as always, please be careful tonight!

Another reason she despised Friday nights happened to be the parties the adults weren’t supposed to know about but did because they’d once been teenagers. Many of them, like Stacey, had been teenagers in this quaint Colorado mountain town where boredom could escalate into trouble with almost no help on a Friday night after the football game, especially if the school’s team won. However, the beloved BVHS Bears had already lost two out of three games. Tonight’s game mattered, but only to those who lived and died by the religion of high school football.

She shook her head, removed her latex gloves, and swiftly replaced her goggles with her glasses. She then blinked her bright, empty classroom-lab into focus and grinned.

Windows lining the left side offered Stacey and her students an uninhibited view of the high school’s round quad. When not inundated with the mass exodus of high school students, the quad featured a lush lawn with enormous trees and some aspens, her personal favorite. Being mid-September, the aspen leaves would soon be on their way to deep orange and yellow, only adding to the beauty of her daily view.

In preparation for the day’s main lesson, Stacey had opened several windows. A comfortable, late-summer breeze drifted through the classroom, but the smell of hydrogen sulfide and bleach still hung in the air. She’d definitely have to turn the ceiling fans up to high before she left for the day. Right now, she was expected at a meeting with her fellow science teachers, then the weekend would officially begin.

With that thought, Stacey removed the hot lab coat she’d worn most of the day and headed for the closet where she kept her personal items stored during the school day. She paused long enough to check her reflection in the mirror hanging just inside on the door…and flinched at her red blouse that had absorbed her sweat from the coat and unseasonably warm afternoon.

If she wore nothing under the damn lab coat, she’d still sweat like a sinner in a church located in the Mojave Desert. Her thick, long blonde hair had also started to spill from the knot on her head. The definition of a hot mess because she, a chemist and teacher, had been born with more brains than beauty; a reality she’d been forced to accept during the last half of her thirty-two years. The sweaty-lab-coat factor was why she kept a spare shirt in the closet.

She eased back to look beyond the closet door shielding her from the classroom doorway.

Empty room. No one, namely a student, lurking nearby.

She glanced over her shoulder to eye the quad that had already started to clear.

No one, namely the students, were paying any attention to her classroom. Plus, the sunshine’s glare and her standing across the room from the windows provided cover. Outside of the physics teacher who never came in here, she worked with women and had never been caught by anyone while changing her shirt.

Satisfied, she swiftly removed her blouse, then flapped her arms as if a wild bird to dry her underarms. If her mom could see her, she’d be appalled. But there was nothing elegant about teaching chemistry to high school students in an older classroom-lab without air conditioning.

Hello? A deep voice filled the silence of the classroom. Miss Kinsella?

A head appeared around the closet door.

Stacey shrieked and clutched her sweaty, red blouse to her chest, then fully faced the closet. It gave the man a fantastic view of her black bra’s back which she’d take over him getting a full frontal view.

She peeked over her shoulder and her gaze collided with wide, strikingly blue eyes.

"Shit! He stepped back behind the closet door. I’m sorry. He muttered another, more graphic swear word. I’ll wait outside."

Stacey’s shoulders fell forward. She once again started to sweat, but for reasons that included this certain man catching her in a situation that could only be described as mortifying.

Why did it have to be him? At the same time, better him than a male student.

Seconds later, she breathed deeply through her nose, calmly smoothed her black BVHS polo shirt, and closed the closet door.

Coach Reece Caldwell stood in the doorway of her classroom while he faced the hallway.

Correction: Reece Caldwell, former football player and the school’s new head football coach who had been quietly named the sexiest man to ever walk the halls of BVHS by almost every female teacher, stood in the doorway of Stacey’s classroom.

She couldn’t help but notice him standing that way gave her an excellent view of his height, easily around six-foot-two, and broad shoulders. Per his usual, he had his dark-blonde hair under a baseball cap featuring the school’s mascot of Brigid, the Behemoth Brown Bear. The only time she’d seen him without the hat was at Back-to-School Night two weeks earlier. His arms were nicely defined, too. And the man definitely looked good in a pair of snug jeans.

Yes. Those were undeniably inappropriate thoughts about a colleague. Still, it’s not like he hadn’t just seen the back of her black bra.

As far as she was concerned, they were even.

She cleared her throat. What can I do for you, Coach?

He spun forward. The corner of his mouth barely lifted and twitched.

Heat consumed her face since it seemed pretty clear what was going through his mind.

I am sorry.

His rich, low, soothing voice caused her posture to relax.

I honestly don’t make it a habit to walk in on female teachers changing their clothes.

The heat intensified.

A little risky, though, don’t you think? He tilted his head left toward the windows, then at her open classroom door; all while still fighting a smile.

Until today I’ve never been caught. But she would clearly have to rethink it from this day moving forward. She adjusted her glasses and managed a smile. And if you did have a habit of catching teachers changing their clothes, I’m sure you wouldn’t be standing here as coach of a high school football team. Though after listening to many of her female colleagues the last few weeks, Stacey felt certain some of them wouldn’t mind him doing just what he said.

He walked toward her. I certainly can’t argue with that. He held out his hand with a warm grin. We haven’t properly met yet. I’m Reece Caldwell.

She gripped his hand. Stacey Kinsella. It’s nice to officially meet you.

His grin deepened. Likewise.

They continued to hold each other’s hands. His large tanned fingers had a surprisingly gentle grip.

How are you settling into one of the most important jobs in this school?

He flinched and released her hand. I’m not that important.

She leaned forward and whispered, I’m afraid you are, Coach Caldwell.

He leaned forward and whispered, No one is that important, Miss Kinsella.

She straightened.

The man seemed to really believe that which was nicely refreshing considering the person he’d replaced had thought of himself, and been treated by many locals, as a deity.

In fact, it’s tough teachers like yourself who hold the power. He sighed. It’s the reason I’m here.

Stacey nodded.

Friday GPA checks.

Three of my players are already flunking chemistry. It’s wrecked their GPA.

That meant they wouldn’t be playing until they improved to a C average. Their principal went by the vow that school would always come first during her tenure.

It didn’t make her a terribly popular principal, especially during football season.

I know the students, Stacey stated. They’re not doing the homework. It’s why they failed the last two quizzes. I also don’t have a lot of grades yet. Being a new school year and semester?

Yeah. I understand. And I’ll talk to them later about their lack of effort in your class. I’m sure their parents will, too. He gave her a tight smile. But they’re three of my best players. I need them in the game tonight. He paused before adding, I definitely need them by homecoming in two weeks.

Stacey held back her own sigh.

Football. Friday Night Lights. Homecoming. How she despised it all. Every competitive sport, for that matter.

Would you be open to assigning them some extra credit that I guarantee they’ll turn in first thing Monday morning? I’m thinking if I take an agreement like that—

Coach Caldwell—

Please call me Reece.

She hesitated, then said, I understand the position you’re in, but if my students are struggling they need to come directly to me. A strict rule she had as a teacher of a class that didn’t come easily to many students. She gestured at him and herself. We are, after all, preparing them not only for college, but also for adulthood. She waited for the pushback she’d received numerous times in the past from other coaches who, like Reece, had come to her while in a somewhat desperate situation.

Reece’s mouth eased into a soft smile which caused the skin around his eyes to crinkle.

Stacey’s breathing slowed.

She couldn’t help but wonder if the man knew the effect he had on the female species. Based on his down-to-earth personality and own embarrassment at catching her without a shirt while flapping her arms like a crazed chicken, the answer seemed to be a resounding no.

You’re absolutely right. I appreciate your position and honesty. He stepped backward. If they want to play football, it’s up to them to figure out how to fix their grades. I will make that crystal clear. His smile turned genuine and wide. Thank you…Stacey. I’ve been so focused on being the new football coach in a new town that I lost my common sense.

She stared at him.

Had he—a coach—basically apologized after she hadn’t given him what he wanted?

Will you be at the game tonight? he asked while taking another step backward.

She blinked twice before frowning. Oh, no. Never. I hate football.

Surprisingly, he laughed. The sound deep and rich and soothing like his voice.

Noted. He started to turn, but stopped. With a smile that could only be described as devil-worthy, he said, I promise to knock and loudly announce myself the next time I come to your classroom after school. He then strolled out of the room and disappeared from view.

The heat returned while Stacey stared at her empty doorway.

A mortifying experience, for sure. But next time he came to her classroom after school? There was no reason for him to be here again after school. She’d made herself clear on struggling students, and he’d accepted her position with a smile.

Quite an inviting smile, at that.

Her cell she’d placed in the closet started incessantly buzzing. It had to be one of her closest friends, a fellow science teacher, wondering where the hell she was right now since she had yet to appear at the meeting.

She darted for the closet, opened the door, and swiped her phone off the shelf. She then caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Hair still falling out of an already messy knot. Flushed face. Brown eyeglasses that had slipped down her nose. BVHS polo shirt that fit on the snug side with a white spot on the chest line—

She leaned in for a closer look. "Oh, my God."

How and when had that happened? And this is how she’d looked while standing in front of Reece Caldwell, the sexiest man to ever walk the halls of the high school?

She slammed the closet door shut.

This being why she, Stacey Kinsella, had always been the definition of unlucky when it came to all things love and romance. A schoolteacher spinster in the making who also happened to have two cats.

With a deep sigh, she headed to the meeting.

All of Brigid’s Vista knew it, too, and she didn’t want to care what everyone thought, but she did. Way too much.

Chapter Two

We have a problem. Reece dropped the grade reports on his cluttered desk and pointed at the three chairs he’d asked the boys to move into his office. Sit. And it’s actually more your problem than mine or Coach Sebold’s. Reece glanced at the hefty assistant football coach leaning against the tall black filing cabinet covered in dust and dents.

Cleaning up the battered cabinet that looked older than Reece hadn’t been at the top of his to-do list since taking over this office three months earlier.

Arnie Sebold focused on the boys while not bothering to hide his smirk. That damn, irritating, smug smirk Reece had been fighting from day one as the new head coach for the BVHS Bears. But he couldn’t focus on Arnie Sebold and his big problem with the man.

Reece sat in his desk chair. You three are already flunking chemistry which has caused your GPA’s to drop too low.

Chase, one of their best defensive linemen, turned stoplight red. His two teammates, on the other hand, maintained their bored, entitled, infuriating expressions. But at least the two had the good sense to stop themselves from rolling their eyes.

Barely.

And I’m sure you know that means, Reece continued, you’re out until you start taking Miss Kinsella’s class seriously, and get your grades and GPA’s back up.

She’s the only teacher who’s already given two tests, Jesse, the team’s best wide receiver, complained. Coach, that’s effed up. School just started a few weeks ago.

Arnie half laughed, half grunted while examining his thumb nail.

Not a surprise Reece wouldn’t be getting any support from his assistant coach. Or more like the assistant coach. Nothing about Arnie made him Reece’s coaching ally.

Zeke rolled his eyes. And everyone knows Miss Kinsella hates the athletes. The kid, their best running back, crossed his arms and sat back in the metal folding chair. "I’m only taking that class because my parents want me to be pre-med. Their Plan B."

No doubt Plan A had to be getting drafted by the NFL right out of a Division 1 college.

Reece kept a heavy sigh in check.

He’d once had that dream a long time ago in a young life he no longer recognized.

Coach, Chase added, lifting his thick shoulders, Zeke’s right. Miss Kinsella isn’t bad to look at and all, but—

Reece raised his eyebrows.

The kid’s face now resembled a ripe cherry tomato.

His buddies didn’t try very hard to muffle their snickering. Arnie rubbed his mouth, no doubt his way of trying to remain professional.

My parents made me take it, too, Chase quickly added.