In the Raw

by Eileen Griffin

  I muttered under my breath as I poured the cream into the pot, “Voilà, I’m going to vomit.”

  “No vomiting in my soufflé, Ethan.” She smacked my hand with a whisk. I winced, for more reasons than the whisk hitting my hand. “And keep an eye on the Nutella mixture. The recipe says it needs to be silky smooth.”

  “Jesus, you’re bossier than I am.” I carefully scraped the sides of the sauce pot as the Nutella and cream melted together. When I looked back for more instructions, I caught Lassiter idly licking some of the Nutella off one of his fingers. Are you kidding me? I quickly looked away when his eyes met mine and I felt my jeans get even tighter. This impromptu lesson in my kitchen was going to be the death of me. I turned my back on him and worked on the sauce.

  Claire scooted the egg yolks over to me when she deemed my sauce acceptable and once we added the egg whites, the sweet smell of chocolate filled the kitchen. Lassiter took over, his fingers brushing over the back of my hand when he took the bowl from me. His indrawn breath and muttered “Sorry” as he kept his eyes on the ramekins in front of him made me think I wasn’t the only one who was affected by working in such close proximity.

  What the fuck was going on? Was he here because of Claire? Or me?

  Claire popped the dessert in the oven and turned back to smile at both of us. “See? You just have to follow the recipes and you can make anything they put in front of you.” I scowled at her words. A pep talk from my little sister in front of Golden Boy was embarrassing and I didn’t like feeling weak.

  My mood soured even more when Lassiter smiled and nodded.

  “Whatever. It’s just a damn dessert.” I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel and tried to make a break for the exit.

  She put her hands on her hips and glared up at me. An annoyed sister was a force to be reckoned with. Especially when she blocked my escape route.

  “Hey, where are you going? We have about fifteen minutes until they’re ready and I thought we could make some fresh whipped cream to go with our soufflés and strawberries.”

  “I think you’ve got it handled.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “You two will do just fine.”

  “No. We’re going to finish this together. Sit your ass down while Jamie and I wash off the beaters for the cream.” She popped the top off another beer and slid it across the counter to me. With that attitude Claire would make executive chef at some fancy five-star restaurant quicker than I would.

  I sat down on the wobbly bar stool next to the counter and watched the pair work. He’d also make a good executive chef as he was soft-spoken but authoritative, intelligent, attractive and could play well with others—not one of my strong points.

  Claire placed the heavy cream, sugar and vanilla on the counter next to me and nudged me over to the mixer. For once I was grateful of the noisy appliance, relieved I didn’t have to make conversation while the old motor strained and whirred.

  I peered into the bowl as the heavy cream whipped into a light and fluffy concoction. My eyebrows rose when Claire set the bowl of sliced strawberries in front of us on the counter.

  “Jesus, Claire. Aren’t we done yet? I’m pretty sure I’ve practiced enough with you both tonight.” I knew I was being an ass, but I hated baking on the best of days and having Golden Boy in our run-down apartment set me on edge. At school I could keep everyone out. They only saw what I let them see. A stranger in my home was too personal.

  “We’re almost finished, E, but since you asked...” She took a deep breath. “Jamie and I were thinking you might need some extra help during this baking rotation to help you in the pastry competition round.” I felt my expression grow stormy as she continued, “Not with everything, just the basics—”

  “You and Lassiter were thinking what?” A lump lodged in my throat as shame flooded my body. How embarrassing. The one guy I’d been fantasizing about saw me as a charity case. I’d been set up and it didn’t sit well.

  “You could work with Jamie and catch up with your techniques during your free time. I’d love to help you but I have barely enough time to breathe after school and my internship.”

  I winced. Since when did my little sister feel like she had to take care of me?

  Her expression grew beseeching. “Ethan, we all have to pass this core class. Right now you’re in danger of failing, and besides, you’ve got to be able to get past the second round of the scholarship competition. I figured you need all the help you can get right now.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled.

  “Bullshit, Claire. I’m not failing. I’m just a little behind everyone else.”

  I leveled my glare at Lassiter when he cut in. “A little behind? From the look of things in class, you’ve failed every single prep assignment we’ve received, Ethan. If you don’t pass, you’ll have to retake it. And Claire’s right. We all know you’re going to kick ass in the preliminary round of the competition, but the second round has baking elements in it. Did you really think you could fake it or fly by the seat of your pants like you’ve been doing in all your other cooking rotations? Do you want to waste all the time, money and hard work you’ve put into school, and kiss your chance at the scholarship goodbye?”

  I bristled at his words. I didn’t care how nice his ass was. Who was he to tell me what I should do with my life? “You stay out of this. Passing or failing, my business doesn’t concern you.” My body tightened with anger as my fists clenched.

  Lassiter’s back straightened as he stared at me.

  Claire grabbed my elbow and tugged hard. “Ethan, calm down.”

  “You’re telling me you invited him behind my back and you want me to be calm?”

  Lassiter cut in. “Claire’s my friend. You’re her brother. If she’s worried enough about you to talk to me, don’t you think you should listen? I only wish I had a sister who cared enough to put herself out there on my behalf.”

  “Why? I’m your competition. Why would you want to help me get better at something when you could easily capitalize on it and take this thing without looking back?”

  “It wouldn’t be fair.”

  I snorted. “Fair? The last time I checked, Lassiter, the world isn’t fair. Tell me why you want to help me. And if you say it’s out of the pure goodness of your heart, I call bullshit.” My eyes narrowed. “What’s in it for you? Did you volunteer just to get in my sister’s pants, Golden Boy?”

  Lassiter’s eyes widened in shock and his face flushed red.

  “What? No—” he sputtered. Claire cut him off as she pushed herself between us.

  “Ethan Thomas Martin.” Claire’s voice rose in fury.

  “What? It’s a valid question.”

  “If by valid you mean a question that will get you punched in the balls if you don’t apologize...” Claire’s eyes flashed with anger.

  “Apologize? Why should I apologize? I’m trying to make sure he’s worthy of banging my little sister!” I flinched as the words poured out and I knew I’d immediately want to take them back. What kind of asshole said that kind of thing about his own sister?

  “Bang me? You asshole, he’s trying to help you. We both are. Though I don’t know why we should bother when you’re obviously too big of a douche to take help when it’s offered.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Forgive me for trying to help you, Ethan. It’s not like I don’t have enough of my own stress. I just thought it would be nice for us both to have a shot at the scholarship. I know you’ve worked your ass off to pay for what financial aid doesn’t cover, but I’ve been busting my ass too, in case you haven’t noticed.” My chest ached when she blinked and swiped at a single tear as it rolled down her cheek.

  “Come on, Claire. Calm down. I didn’t mean it.”

  Without another word she stomped off, grabbed her keys and yanked the door open. She never even looked back before she left
the apartment, slamming the door shut behind her. Great. I’d made my sister cry and Lassiter had witnessed it. Fucking great.

  I looked from the door to Lassiter. Uncomfortable didn’t even begin to describe the atmosphere in the kitchen at the moment.

  “Do me a favor. Leave me out of your charity work bullshit. I’m not exactly the poster boy for the newsletters your type likes to send out preaching about all the good works they’ve done in order to get tax write-offs,” I snarled.

  “You don’t like me, do you?” His voice was steady, almost disinterested, but when he shifted his weight nervously I knew I was getting to him.

  “What gave it away, the seething anger or the fact I never invited you here?” When Lassiter flinched, I felt like even more of an asshole. “I don’t know you well enough to like you.”

  He finally looked away. “It doesn’t matter. I never had a chance.”

  I took a deep breath and had a feeling we weren’t talking about the same thing. “A chance?”

  He lifted his eyes back to mine and clenched his jaw. “You judged me before you even knew me. I may come from a wealthy family but at least I give everyone a fair shot.”

  He exhaled heavily and his expression turned to pity. I didn’t want his pity, I didn’t want his damn charity and I sure as hell didn’t know why I wanted to grab him, pin him against the wall and kiss him until he begged me to fuck him senseless.

  “I don’t want anything from you or Claire but your friendship. The tutoring offer’s still on the table if you apologize to Claire.” He paused. “You’re a good chef, Ethan. Well, you will be if you manage to pass this course. It’d be a shame to watch you lose your chance at the scholarship because you were too proud to accept help.”

  He shrugged on his coat and quietly let himself out of the apartment. I was left alone to think about the myriad ways I’d screwed up tonight as the smell of the perfect soufflés wafted through the apartment. The smell turned my stomach.

  Chapter Seven

  Ethan

  I moaned and arched up to meet his hungry mouth as he licked his way across my abs. His teeth grazed my hip bone and I sunk my fingers deeper into his hair. He gave me a wicked look before dipping his head back down. His cheek nuzzled my thigh before his lips dragged over my skin, sending shivers along my spine. My back shot off the bed when his tongue darted out and traced the head of my cock.

  “Fuck, Lassiter.”

  His only answer was to drag his tongue down my length. I tightened my grasp on his hair and rocked my hips to press myself harder against his lips. He licked back up my length and swirled his tongue around the tip. Unable to control myself, I rocked harder against him as his lips parted and he enveloped me with his warm mouth.

  “Holy shit. That feels amazing.”

  He shifted between my legs and rolled my balls in his hand. I shuddered when he tugged them away from my body, taking my cock deeper down his throat as he bobbed over me. I cried out when I felt myself bump the back of his throat.

  Off to the side, my cell phone rang. My grip on his hair faltered as I searched the bed to find the damn thing. Jamie pulled his mouth off my cock with a pop and smirked. “Which is more important, Martin? The phone or this?”

  My cell rang louder. When I turned to find it, hoping to fling it across the room and silence it once and for all, Jamie’s weight against me lifted. Frantically I looked down my body to where he had been only seconds before. Only now I found the space empty of everything but the sheets pooled around my hips.

  “What. The. Fuck?”

  My eyes snapped open and turned toward the annoying sound. My cell phone’s alarm blared on the nightstand next to me. I grabbed my phone, silencing the shrieking, using every ounce of willpower I had to keep from throwing it across the room.

  After I tossed it back on my nightstand, I flopped back on my bed, scrubbed my hand over my face and glared at the ceiling in frustration.

  As the images from the dream flitted through my mind, I closed my eyes and palmed my cock under the sheets, stroking slowly as I remembered the look on Dream Lassiter’s face. I ran my thumb over the tip of my cock, groaning when I spread the pre-come over the tip.

  I rolled to my side and opened my eyes in hazy pleasure. “Shit.” One glance at the clock told me I didn’t have the time to finish. After my spectacular performance in pastry class this semester, I couldn’t afford to give Chef Boulanger another reason to fail me. Fucking Dream Lassiter and his warm, wet mouth.

  With a grunt of frustration, I eased my hand off my aching hard-on and pushed myself off the bed. Bleary-eyed, I made my way to the bathroom. When I flipped on the light, I saw a bright yellow note taped to the mirror above the vanity.

  E—

  Not going to class—am sick. Still pissed at you. Soup from Lect’s Soup Stop would help my mood. Btw, hurry up. You can’t be late to class again.

  —C

  I ripped it off the mirror and sighed. The entire weekend had sucked. Claire hadn’t come back to the apartment until late Friday night and completely avoided me the rest of the weekend.

  Great. Now I felt like an even bigger dick. Claire was sick and still pissed. Could I screw up anything else?

  To further add to the confusion, of all the fantasies I’d had about Lassiter, none of them had included him coming over to flirt with my sister and offering to tutor me like I was some culinary school dropout, even if watching his lean body moving around my kitchen had been an incredible turn-on.

  I slammed my fist against the vanity. Clusterfuck didn’t even come close to summing up the situation and I still had the rest of the semester and two classes with him. Wasn’t that swell? But I didn’t need him and I’d make it through this semester without his help.

  I had just enough time to splash some water on my face and slap on some deodorant. A quick dig through the pile of clothes near my bed produced a wrinkly but clean T-shirt, my chef’s coat and a pair of baggy chef pants that didn’t seem too dirty. I scribbled a quick note of apology to Claire. I knew I’d have to do a lot better, but it was the best I could do with the little time I had before class. On the way to the door I grabbed a Pop-Tart and my keys. I checked the time on my cell phone as I ran to my car. If I made every green light and sped like a bat out of hell, maybe I’d make it to class on time.

  Who was I kidding? I was screwed. And not in a good way.

  Chapter Eight

  Jamie

  I glanced at the clock. Again. All the stations were full and Chef Boulanger was at the main table prepping his own station for today’s lesson. I glanced to my left to check Ethan’s station. He was always late, but today his absence felt personal. When I checked my cell phone I found nothing. No voice mails, no missed calls, no texts from Claire.

  With two minutes to spare, Ethan dashed into the room. He looked tired and harried. I knew I was the last person he wanted to talk to after the disastrous scene at his apartment Friday night. My concern for Claire, however, trumped any awkwardness from actually having to talk to the one person I wanted to simultaneously smack and pin up against the wall so I could kiss him senseless.

  As Ethan passed the head prep table, Chef Boulanger noticed his last-minute arrival and smiled. “Monsieur Martin. I’m glad you could make it on time today. I notice Mademoiselle Martin is not with us today. Is there a problem I need to know about?”

  All eyes in the class were riveted to the scene in front of them. Ethan cleared his throat and smiled at the instructor. “Claire’s under the weather, Chef. I’m not sure yet how long she’ll be out, but I promise to help catch her up to speed on anything she misses.”

  A loud snigger echoed in the silence to my left. I turned and saw Reed’s shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter as he rolled his eyes in Ethan’s direction. When I looked back at Ethan, the only visible respo
nse to Reed’s lack of social skills was a tightening of his jaw.

  “Ah, I am saddened to hear Mademoiselle Martin is sick. Since you and Monsieur Lassiter both seem to be without partners today, you will join him at his station. Oui?”

  All eyes snapped from the front of the classroom to my prep station. Great. Maybe Ethan and I could get through the lesson without discussing anything besides soufflés and pastry techniques. Ingredients, preparations, instructions. Keep it simple and straightforward. No mention of Friday night. Or how his jeans had ridden low on his hips. Or how his muscles strained under his shirt. Or how I wanted to smear the Nutella across his collarbone and lick it off. Or, most important of all, how he thought I was a dirtbag trying to score some points so I could bang his sister.

  “Monsieur Lassiter?”

  I shifted uncomfortably behind my prep station and looked up at Chef Boulanger. “Yes, Chef?”

  “Monsieur Martin will be your partner until his sister is well enough to return to class. Now, students, today we will go over the techniques for perfecting a chocolate soufflé and a simple glaze. Please pull out the following ingredients from the pantry...”

  Ethan shrugged into his chef’s jacket and buttoned it up as he nodded curtly. “Lassiter.”

  “Martin. Sorry to hear Claire’s sick. Anything I can do to help?”

  “Nope. I think you’ve done enough. Let’s make it through today’s lesson and hope she gets over whatever crap she has. As soon as we’re done we can go back to our own corners and ignore each other.”

  “Listen, Ethan, I only offered to help you because you suck in this one particular class. If you can’t get over yourself long enough to take help when it’s offered, by all means, fail.”

  I turned my back on him and stalked off to the ingredients pantry to gather our supplies. When I returned, we both began the task of making the assigned dessert in silence. This time everything ran like clockwork. Ethan seemed to run on autopilot with a confidence which grew as the class went on. This was the Ethan Martin who had dominated every other class we’d been in together.