In the Raw

by Eileen Griffin

  Chef Boulanger walked around to inspect everyone’s work and had proclaimed both our soufflé and whipped cream perfect. As he moved on to the next station, I grinned at Ethan, who smiled back. His grin quickly faded and he looked down at the prep table. “I’ll get this crap over to the sinks so we can head home. I need to check on Claire.”

  “Of course. It must be rough knowing someone you’re close to isn’t feeling well and you can’t do anything about it.”

  “Sometimes we might not appreciate it at the time but we always look out for each other.” His voice was gruff but full of affection.

  I sighed and began wiping up our area. Reed was glaring at Ethan’s back as Ethan stood at the sinks stacking the dirty pots. The look of malice in his eyes was unmistakable.

  Reed was a user. He sucked up to anyone just to get a leg up. He’d tried it with me countless times. But Ethan? He had nothing Reed wanted except the top spot in class rankings. Throughout all our other rotations, Ethan had owned the kitchen. For the first time he was struggling and Reed was like a shark circling for the kill. It was as disgusting as it was pathetic. I cleared my throat loudly.

  He schooled his expression in an attempt to hide his sneer. “Nice work today, Jamie. I’m sure you’ll be happy once you have Claire back, though. This Martin is too volatile and unpredictable as a partner. Better for you to have someone you can count on when you need it, right?”

  I opened my mouth, ready to let a scathing comeback fly when Ethan sauntered up to our station. He casually leaned against it, scratching under his eye with his middle finger.

  “Hey, Reed. Isn’t there somewhere else you need to be? Kissing someone’s ass, maybe?”

  Reed’s face flushed with anger. He glared at Ethan, who squared his shoulders and met him with an emotionless stare. Without saying a word he left to gather his dirty supplies.

  “He’s such a grade-A douche.”

  I laughed and threw my dirty towel down on the table. “I’m glad we finally agree on something, Martin.”

  Ethan was silent for a few minutes. When he finally met my eyes, he looked resolved.

  “Okay, Lassiter. I’m in, but I’m not a fucking charity case.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

  I stared at him. “I’m lost, here. Care to enlighten me?”

  He sighed and leaned forward to rest his forearms against the counter. “Today was the first day I didn’t suck in class. I can out-cook your ass any day, but I’m drowning with the baking crap. And since Claire’s too busy to help me, I’ll man up and accept your help. You help me, I help you. That’s how it works. Now what do you want in return?”

  I swallowed hard. I had no aversion to helping him, but Ethan needed to see me as a person and not an airheaded rich kid. After the crap he’d pulled with Claire, I wasn’t going to make it easy on him.

  “What makes you think the offer is still open?”

  He raised his eyebrow, clearly not expecting me to challenge him.

  “You pretty much dumped all over Claire and me, Ethan. Not everyone has it in for you all the time, despite your charming personality. Sometimes, people are just being friendly. You can’t treat people like that and expect it to be okay.”

  He stared at me for several long seconds, his head cocked to the side as he no doubt tried to figure out my angle. I held his stare until he finally looked away.

  I turned back to cleaning. Sure, I wanted to get to know him better but if he couldn’t treat me with respect, what was the point?

  “I’m sorry, Lassiter.” His words were a low rumble behind me.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I looked at him over my shoulder and almost laughed when his face scrunched up with impatience.

  “I said I’m fucking sorry. I acted like a dick to both of you.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going to be groveling at Claire’s feet for the next week, especially since she’s sick now.” He watched me, his face as serious as I’d ever seen it. “I need to pass this class and I need to ace the baking round for the scholarship competition but I can’t do it on my own. I need help but I’m not going to owe you. What do you want?”

  What did I want? I wanted him to be a worthy competitor. I wanted him to let down his guard long enough to see me as more than another spoiled rich kid. I wanted him to lose control and to feel his mouth on mine. I wanted a lot of things from him, but I’d start small.

  “I want to work in the school’s restaurant. I know you work there almost every weekend. I don’t care how you do it, but I want a shift.”

  I waited to see if he’d balk at the idea. When he pushed away from the table and doubled over in laughter, I took it as a good sign.

  “Jesus Christ, Golden Boy. All the things you could ask for and you want a shift in the kitchen from hell for getting me through a semester of pastry class? Deal. But let’s be clear, Lassiter. This deal doesn’t grant you free access to bone my sister. Comprende?”

  “If you weren’t in such desperate need of all your brain cells, I’d smack some sense into you. But I want to be clear, one last time, I’m not interested in boning your sister. Comprende?” I just want to bone you.

  Ethan looked away and started cleaning up. “Whatever, Lassiter. Just don’t fuck up your shift.”

  I sighed as I gathered up the last of our dirty towels and walked to the back of the room. As frustrated as I was, I didn’t think this was the time or place to set him straight on my orientation, so to speak. Not yet. But hopefully I could do something about closing this gap that existed between us.

  I watched as Ethan gathered the last of his things and sucked in a deep breath to settle my nerves. “I know you’re worried about Claire and want to go check on her, but I don’t have any plans for the rest of the afternoon. I was wondering if you wanted to work some more tonight. Chef Boulanger usually keeps the classrooms open for anyone who wants to practice. I figured we could use the equipment here.”

  Why did I have to sound like a rambling social misfit? I rarely had plans after my classes, but saying it out loud made me sound like an even bigger dork than he probably already thought I was. I’d seen him using the classrooms after class so of course he’d know we could use them. Why did I always seem to get tongue-tied around him? Probably because you want to get your tongue on him.

  I felt my skin heat the moment I thought about my tongue on his body and I looked everywhere in the classroom except at him. The seconds ticked by while Ethan stood there staring at me. No snarl of his lip, no snarky remark. Nothing. I was on the verge of taking it back and telling him I had just remembered I did have somewhere to be after class, when he nodded.

  “Sure. It’ll take me about an hour to change clothes and make sure Claire’s still alive, but yeah, I can do that.”

  He didn’t say another word, just left the classroom as if we hadn’t come to some kind of understanding. As if we hadn’t bridged the gap between us. But maybe I was the only one who felt that way. Ethan needed to pass the class and taking me up on my offer for help was a means to an end for him.

  I hoped I was wrong, though. I hoped there was a small piece of him that actually wanted to work with me because he wanted to be with me as much as I wanted to be with him. As I thumbed through our textbooks for the techniques we’d be required to learn this week, a small smile spread across my face. Maybe all my hope of getting to know Ethan better wasn’t lost after all.

  Chapter Nine

  Ethan

  After I ran home to check on Claire and found an empty apartment again, I knew she was still avoiding me. I knew I had messed up big this time, since my little sister never had trouble giving me shit to my face. I quickly changed into jeans and a T-shirt then headed back to school. The thought of spending a whole afternoon with Golden Boy after I’d had dreams about him would be awkward. Spending an afternoon with
him after I’d actually broken down and apologized for being a total dick left me off kilter.

  As I walked from my car back to the classroom I wondered what the hell I was doing. Sure he’d offered to help and I’d get him a shift like he’d asked for. But at the moment I felt like I’d put myself out there for Lassiter just to be reminded how much better he was at life and baking. Sure, I could cook my ass off but taking his help was like admitting defeat. “Oh hey, help out your charity case classmate who is a total douche because he can’t make a simple pie crust.”

  When I pulled open the classroom door, Lassiter was deep in thought studying his open textbook and I took a moment to watch him. He’d exchanged his usual chef’s coat for a blue button-down and I smiled at his version of “dressed down.” He probably slept in old-school pajamas all prim and proper, buttoned all the way to his chin. I blinked as the image morphed from him in pj’s to the Lassiter of my dream and the on-edge feeling I’d had all day returned.

  His easy smile when he noticed me started this weird flutter in my stomach. What the hell was that all about? I’d never forgive Claire if she’d given me her plague.

  “Hey, Ethan. How’s Claire doing?”

  “She’s at work right now or avoiding me.”

  He nodded and began sorting through all the ingredients on the table in front of us. I’m sure he thought it was only fair for Claire to ignore me after being an ass the other night, but I hated being ambushed in my own apartment. Lassiter might not know me well enough to understand, but Claire sure as hell did.

  “The next thing on the syllabus is cheesecakes and other dense cakes that require a springform pan. I figured we’d go over the basic techniques and hopefully walk away with a nice dessert for you to take home to Claire.”

  Cheesecake. Claire loved the cheesecake at the diner we sometimes stopped at when we had a little spare money in our budget and wanted to splurge on something. “She’d love that.”

  “Who doesn’t like cheesecake, right?”

  “I like it until I have to make it.”

  I glanced over at the equipment he’d also put on the table and picked up the large round cake pan. When I picked it up and flicked open the latch on the side, the bottom dropped out and clattered loudly onto the stainless-steel prep table. Dammit. Why did I end up looking like a dumbass every time baking was involved?

  Jamie’s low laugh drew my attention away from the defective pan but I couldn’t be pissy when he looked at me like that. There was no condescension there. No mocking. Nothing to indicate he thought I was a dumbass who couldn’t tell cornstarch from cream of tartar. Oh wait. I was a big dumbass around him.

  “I did exactly the same thing right before you got here but mine landed on the floor.”

  When he licked his lip, those same lips I’d dreamed about, I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. Change the subject quick, asshole, before he figures out you’re a perv.

  “What in the hell is this supposed to be?”

  Lassiter took it out of my hands and snapped the pieces back into place. “It’s a springform pan. The dessert bakes or molds in it and when you unsnap the latch—” his thin, graceful fingers flipped the latch, this time catching the bottom before it popped out of the form completely, “—the sides of your dessert come away from the pan easier and cleaner.”

  I nodded, trying to let him think I knew what in the hell he was talking about, but it looked more like a torture device than a baking pan.

  “Springform pan. I’ve seen them before. Just testing your skills, Golden Boy.”

  “Right.”

  I stared at the ingredient list. “This is why I hate baking. Give me five ingredients and I can cook anything. Give me this—” I picked up a box of cream cheese, “—I can think of a ton of dishes I can use it in. But tell me I need to make a damn cake and I go blank.”

  “The way I look at it? Baking is like science. You have to combine the ingredients in the right proportions to get the recipe down. After you master the basics you can experiment and make it your own.”

  “I guess.” I looked away and sighed.

  “Look at me, Ethan. You’ve got this. Take a deep breath, relax and focus on what’s important right here and now.” Lassiter watched me, his expression steady and sincere.

  “Yeah, baking still sucks ass.”

  He laughed and handed me another box of cream cheese. “It may, but it tastes awesome when you do it right.” He stepped close and peered at my ingredient list. “Crap, of course I picked the one recipe where you’re supposed to use softened cream cheese.”

  He picked up a box, ripped it open, pulled out the foil-wrapped cream cheese and began kneading it with his fingers.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It says softened, right? You have any better ideas of how to warm up cream cheese?” He raised his eyebrows at me and I tried to push away dirty thoughts. Of all the things I’d imagined him warming with his hands, cream cheese wasn’t one of them.

  “That looks weird.”

  “It feels weird, trust me. But if you do the other package we should be able to use it still.”

  “Can’t you stick it in the microwave?”

  “Pretty sure it won’t have the right texture if you cook it before it goes into the cheesecake mixture.”

  With a sigh I picked up the box and copied his motion, feeling like some weirdo with a food fetish massaging the cream cheese.

  I zoned out while Lassiter began reading off the recipe as my mind wandered to Claire. I hoped this damn cheesecake would lessen the amount of groveling I’d have to do. At least I could show her I was making the effort and taking her advice to have Lassiter help me. It counted, right?

  “Are you okay? You seem kind of distracted.”

  “Shit, sorry.”

  He handed me a package of graham crackers and large zip bag. “We can do this the high-tech way and make the crust in a food processor. Or we can do it the fun way. Dump some of those in there and smash it with a rolling pin.”

  When I blinked at him, he grinned.

  “Trust me, it’ll get out some of your baking aggression.”

  I shrugged and followed his direction, throwing some graham crackers in the bag as he grabbed a small bowl and dropped a chunk of butter in and stuck it in the microwave.

  The only sound for a minute or two was the thump of the rolling pin as I pulverized the crackers into a fine dust. He was right, the motion was oddly therapeutic and if all baking involved bashing things with rolling pins I might have a shot at passing.

  “See, perfect. Now we have crumbs for a crust.” He eyed the rolling pin I still had in my hand and joked, “Hopefully this lesson will be painless and you won’t want to use that on me anytime soon.”

  I snorted. “Well, if that’s on the final I’m good. Bashing things with a rolling pin, check. Though Claire might still borrow it, I’m sure.”

  “You two are pretty close, aren’t you?” He went back to handing me ingredients.

  “Pretty close. Ever since our dad left, we’ve looked out for each other. Our mom worked a lot when we were younger, so Claire and I were on our own a lot. In the evenings we’d always cook dinner using whatever we could scrape together. I guess it brought out our inner foodies.”

  “That’s awesome, though. Baking may suck, but food brings people together. I know you two probably butt heads a lot but at least you care enough to look out for each other. I’m glad Claire has you.”

  As his words sunk in, I realized I’d revealed too much. All he was supposed to do was teach me how to bake, not have some kind of hand-holding emotional moment.

  I cleared my throat and tried to pass it off as usual. “Yeah. Whatever. At least Claire can throw this at me if she gets really mad.”

  We were both silent for a while as
I tried to follow the damn directions and not screw up the simple task of putting together a damn graham cracker crust.

  “You’re not as scary as you think, you know.”

  “Sorry?”

  “You. You come off as snarly but you honestly care about this.”

  “About what?”

  “Claire. Class. Not failing. All of the above.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Whatever. Tell me what we need to do next so we can finish this.” Deep breath. Focus on the important shit.

  He handed me the other ingredients and pushed the recipe closer, going over each one and explaining why precision was important. While we worked, my mind drifted back to what he’d said before I shut down. His comment had made me feel naked and exposed. With Claire, I could joke around and be myself without having to worry about what I said or did. When our dad left, I promised I wouldn’t allow anyone to have that kind of power over me again.

  The pathetic thing was I actually enjoyed talking to Lassiter. It was rare for someone to stand up to me, and even rarer for me not to lay them out flat for it.

  But now, when he was relaxed and obviously in his element, I wanted to ask him shit about his life. Where did he get his passion for cooking? What did he like the most about it? Instead, I kept my mouth shut and focused on not screwing up the cheesecake. I needed this dessert as a peace offering to Claire. I tried hard not to be a total asshole to her, but well, shit happened and it usually ended with me sticking my foot in my mouth.

  Before long we had what might have passed for a fairly decent unbaked cheesecake in front of us. Lassiter smiled appreciatively as he thrust a roll of aluminum foil into my hands. “Let’s cover it with foil and you can put it in the oven. We can clean all this up while it’s baking.”

  I wrapped the foil around the top of the pan, and paused. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll clean up. You’ve probably got shit to do other than babysitting me.”