In the Raw

by Eileen Griffin

  As I waited for the clerk to set us up with a lane, I searched the bowling alley for Lassiter’s tall frame. I finally spotted him hunched over one of the racks, twisting and turning the balls. He pulled down a ball, smoothed his hands over it, then placed it back on the rack. I chuckled at the intensity with which he searched for the perfect one. When he pulled down another ball and gave it the same inspection, I groaned and adjusted my now too-tight jeans as I imagined how intense Lassiter would be with a different set of balls in his hands.

  I pushed all thoughts of Lassiter and balls out of my head as I secured our lane and gave the clerk our shoe sizes. With shoes in hand, I made my way to lane seven. I set the shoes on the bench and sat down at the chair to enter our names into the lane’s computer. I was entering Golden Boy when Claire cleared her throat.

  “What?” I turned to see Claire’s glare as she eyed the screen above our lane.

  I sighed and turned back around. Just thinking about Lassiter and balls was making me hard. How in the hell was I ever going to make it through an entire game if I couldn’t even think of the word balls and Lassiter in the same sentence?

  I punched the delete key and typed in Lassiter instead as Claire tutted behind me. Finally satisfied, she moved over to the bench to put on her bowling shoes.

  Lassiter showed up a minute later and deposited three shiny bowling balls into our lane’s carousel. I wasn’t sure where he found them, but I would have bet good money they were the only clean balls in the entire place.

  “Jamie, these balls look brand new! How in the hell did you find them?” Claire picked up a pink one and rubbed her fingers over the shiny finish. Lassiter and I looked at each other, then immediately away. The ball references were going to kill me tonight.

  He cleared his throat and picked up the size elevens, then sat down next to her and began changing out his loafers for the nasty lane shoes. “I couldn’t find any I liked so I asked the guy behind the counter. He said they always keep some spares in the back for when the ones on the floor get too banged up and asked me what size we needed. I wanted us to have the best I could find. He found them. Simple.”

  I stopped mid-tie of my shoelaces and really looked at Lassiter—Jamie—for the first time all evening. Not the way he looked or how he affected me physically, but the person behind all that. He genuinely wanted us to have the best, ahem, balls for our game. When he realized I was staring, he gave me a small, sheepish smile. I nodded quickly and ducked my head back down to finish up with my shoes, internally cursing myself for giving a shit about a guy—the guy I needed to beat out for the scholarship we were both gunning for. What was I getting myself into?

  Claire stood and winked at us before she lifted her ball in her hands. “Hold on to your hats because I’m about to kick your asses, boys.”

  It bounced straight into the gutter with an undignified thump.

  I looked at Jamie as we both roared with laughter. Claire stomped back toward the carousel and growled as she waited for her ball to reappear. “I’m making you both feel like you have a chance. It’s a strategic move on my part, assholes.”

  She grabbed her ball and huffed back to the lane. I laughed even harder as Jamie leaned around me to get a better look at Claire. She lined up, took a step forward and threw the ball down the lane. I could hear her chanting, “Please go in, motherfucker. Hit the damn pins...”

  It wobbled down the lane and into the gutter again with a pathetic thump.

  “Wow. I thought I was horrible, but you...you make me look like a professional. Thank God I got the good bowling genes in the family.” Jamie snorted as I attempted to cover my laughter with a fake cough.

  “Quiet, ball polisher,” she snapped then dissolved into giggles as she sat down on the plastic seats across from us.

  I stood up, cracking my knuckles as I grinned smugly. “Amateurs. Let me show you two how a professional does it.”

  They both went quiet as I grabbed my ball off the carousel. I lined it up and released it down the lane with a grunt. When the ball split the pins, knocking them all down with a perfect strike, I turned around and flipped them both off, bowing to their shared chorus of boos.

  “Be in awe of my ball-handling skills,” I crowed.

  “I’m sure your ball-handling skills are something to be admired,” Jamie murmured, grinning as he stood up. He slipped his fingers into the holes of his ball and rolled his shoulders.

  I snickered. His ball bounced with an ungraceful thud and we winced as it slowly rolled into the gutter.

  “That was painful to watch.” I shook my head. “Good thing the loser of this game buys the first round.”

  He nodded. “Fair enough. Good thing I’m loaded, huh?”

  “Yeah, good thing, Golden Boy. You’re about to get schooled in the ways of the Ball Master.”

  Two full games and ten frames later, I pretended to moonwalk as both Claire and Lassiter scowled at my showboating. I had scored two perfect strikes on the last two frames alone and was celebrating my impending victory.

  “What did I tell you? Motherfucking perfect ball-handling skills. Too bad you and Claire had to split the cost of the last few rounds, Lassiter.”

  He laughed and took a drink of his beer. “Good thing I know something you don’t, Ethan.”

  “Oh, what’s that?” I tented my hands behind my neck, lacing my fingers as I shifted my weight.

  His predatory grin as he palmed his ball from the carousel made me shift in my seat until he spoke again. “How much do you want to bet I can catch up to or even beat your score?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m up three games to nothing. What makes you think you could possibly stage a comeback now, Golden Boy?”

  “Let’s just say I’m pretty confident. Confident enough to wager I can beat you.”

  “Right. So when I beat you, what do I get?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Whatever I want?” I stared back at him, beyond tempted to say I wanted him under me as I slammed into him. Instead, I looked away. “I’m getting hungry. I win, you buy me dinner.”

  “Deal. But if I win, you owe me another shift in the restaurant.”

  I laughed. “It’s your funeral. If you want to slum it and cut onions with us peons again, by all means.” I’d have to beg Kitterick but I’d make it happen. I never backed out of promises or bets.

  He chuckled. “I happen to like being an onion-cutting peon.”

  I sat down next to Claire, bumping her shoulder with mine as I heckled him. “Sometime this year, Golden Boy. I’m getting hungry and my buzz is starting to wear off.”

  Without another word he turned and, with no trace of the awkward jerky motion he’d used thus far throughout the games, proceeded to throw a perfect strike.

  Claire cackled next to me. I, on the other hand, sat there staring in shock as Lassiter turned and gave me a smug smile.

  “I think you’ve been hustled, big brother.”

  I gritted my teeth and slumped back in my seat as Claire shot me amused looks. “He’s as competitive as you. I love it.”

  I rolled my eyes at her and got up to walk to the ball carousel. My hip brushed up against Jamie’s as he passed by me. When I heard him draw in a quick breath, I faced the pins and grinned at his reaction. Whoops.

  Our scores were tied at the end of the game. My eyes wandered to Jamie, who had his elbows on his knees, eyes focused on the pins at the end of the lane. He was trying for the nonchalant look, but his toe rapidly tapping gave away the fact he wanted to win as badly as I did. I turned, picked up my ball and walked to the line. When Jamie’s long, lean body was no longer in my mind, and I could focus only on the pins, I drew my arm back and released the ball down the lane.

  The pins flew across the back channel and I turned around with a triumphant smile. Two more strikes
later, I sat down and crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m getting hungry, Lassiter. Finish up your tenth frame so I can pick somewhere to eat.”

  He grumbled something under his breath as he walked over to the carousel to pick up his ball. I leaned forward and watched his perfect form as he threw a textbook strike down the lane. I groaned and scrubbed my hand over my face. Fucking hell. I did not want to lose this bet. I stretched against the bench and draped my arms across the back of it. “Hey, Golden Boy.”

  He turned from the lane to look back at me and I smirked when he focused on the patch of exposed skin between my shirt and jeans. He cleared his throat before answering. “What do you want, Ethan? I’m trying to win the game here.”

  “Just wanted to know if you prefer hot wings or pizza. I’m trying to figure out where you’re taking us for dinner.”

  He narrowed his eyes, turned back around to face the pins, then drew his arm back and released the ball down the lane. I stood up to watch its path. At the last minute it veered over to the left and split the pins, leaving him with the best-case scenario of a spare frame. His shoulders sagged as he stared off down the lane. I walked up to him with a big-ass grin on my face and smacked him on the back. “Sucks for you, Lassiter. Not only can I out-cook your ass, but I kicked your ass in bowling. Ready for some hot wings? ’Cause I am starving.”

  He glared at me when I doubled over laughing. Lassiter picked up his ball and hammered it down the lane, picking up only one side of the split to end the game.

  When he returned to the bench to exchange the bowling shoes for his own, I gathered up everything to take to the front and pay our bill. “I’ll take care of these since Lassiter’s going to be buying us all dinner in a few minutes.”

  Claire stood and stretched, giving us the fakest yawn I’d seen her produce in years. “Well, boys. As much fun as this testosterone-filled funfest has been, I’m out. I’m still not feeling one hundred percent better and I need my beauty sleep.”

  I looked at her incredulously. “Claire. We’re going for wings. Lassiter’s buying. You have to come with us.”

  She winked at me and pointed to the register. “Go take care of those and we’ll meet you out front.” Dismissing my groan, she grabbed Jamie’s arm and left me standing at our lane holding our shoes and wondering what had just happened.

  Ten minutes later, Claire and Jamie were standing on the curb in front of the bowling alley with two cabs idling beside them. Claire leaned over and hugged Jamie, who blushed a deep red. Once she released him, she walked over to pull me into a fierce hug, lifting up on her toes to whisper in my ear, “Have fun tonight. Jamie’s one of the good ones. I don’t care what else is going on with school or the scholarship. Don’t screw this up.”

  Tonight had been, well, fun. I had a dinner waiting for me and I didn’t have to pay for it. I smirked at Jamie and pointed to the cab.

  “Let’s go, Lassiter. Time to make good on your end of the bet.”

  His face relaxed and he smiled for the first time since he’d thrown the spare. “Let’s do it, Martin. But can we try to keep the mess to a minimum? Wings? Seriously?”

  I laughed and followed him into the cab. I had no clue how we’d gotten to this point where we were laughing or joking. But I wasn’t ready for the night to end.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jamie

  A visibly twitchy Ethan drummed his fingers on the windowsill of the cab door. I hid a smile as he rambled on about the bar we were headed to. The fact I, of all people, made him nervous was laughable, endearing, and plain sexy.

  “Do you ever stop moving?” I blurted out. He stopped talking midsentence about his favorite beer and ducked his head, giving me an almost shy smile.

  “No, not really. Too much going on in here most of the time.” He pointed at his head and shrugged. “Most people don’t even notice. Except Claire, or you.”

  “Same here. It’s why I like the kitchen. It drowns out all the static in here.” I pointed to my head.

  “Yeah.” He ran his hand through his hair, sending it sticking up even more than usual. “It’s the only place I feel normal.” He laughed. “Well, as normal as a social reject with no people skills can be normal.”

  “You have people skills. They’re just limited to calling people bad nicknames and assholes.”

  “If the nickname fits.” He shrugged.

  “Oh, come on. Golden Boy?”

  “What? Claire has a nickname. If I didn’t like you I wouldn’t even talk to you. You’d be a nonentity.” He ducked his head again and I heard him mumble to himself as the cab coasted to a stop.

  I snorted. “How would you like it if I gave you a nickname?”

  He shook his head. “Hell no. Nicknames are my thing. Your thing is...” He ran his eyes up and down my body then slid out of the cab.

  “My thing is?” I climbed out after him and stared as he paid the cabbie.

  “Your thing is all perfectly pressed and professional. People don’t want to disappoint you because you’re quietly confident. You’re good at what you do so they want to make you happy. Me? I’m the annoyingly obnoxious guy who gives them names like Asswipe and Dickwasher. I yell and curse and intimidate them into doing what I want.”

  I stared at him, incredulous at the loaded compliment. “You think I’m good at what I do?” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared as Ethan flushed slightly, backlit by the streetlight in front of the dingy-looking bar. Pleasure settled in my chest.

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t let it go to your head, Lassiter.”

  It went straight to my head. And not the one he was referring to.

  I stepped around him to open the door to the bar, smirking when my whole body brushed against his like he’d done to me earlier at the bowling alley. I needed some food to clear my mind before I did something ridiculously stupid like kiss him right in front of the nasty dive bar.

  The sound of loud punk music, stale sweat and cigarette smoke assaulted my nose as I stepped inside. My eyes had barely adjusted to the dim lighting when a raucous group near the bar turned their heads and someone shouted, “Martin!”

  I recognized several familiar faces from the day I’d worked in the school’s kitchen. They looked friendly enough for a crowd gathered at ten-thirty at night with copious amounts of alcohol flowing. Behind me, I felt Ethan relax as he nudged me forward, murmuring, “Go on, they may be loud and obnoxious but you’re one of us, remember? You’ll fit right in.”

  “Hey, guys.” My smile grew bigger when they cheered.

  “Hey, New Guy! Back to join our crazy pirate crew of madness?” A tall bearded guy smacked me on the back. Trent. He’d worked the station next to me on the kitchen line.

  “How could I not want to join your crew?” I laughed.

  “Arrrghhhh.” He made a pirate noise as he raised his beer glass in salute.

  Ethan nudged me with his elbow and handed me a beer. “I’m sure you met most of this group of ingrates earlier.”

  “Ingrates? I’ll have you know I don’t use my toes to cook anymore,” a guy I didn’t recognize chimed in.

  Ethan chuckled. “For anyone who hasn’t met him yet, this is Jamie. I whooped his ass at bowling and now he owes me some dinner.” Jamie. He’d introduced me as Jamie, not Lassiter. Or Golden Boy.

  “Hey, Jamie.” A chorus of hellos and a couple of nods from the slightly quieter members of the group came at me from all directions. I nodded hello as he introduced me, letting Ethan do most of the talking. I’d never seen him like this before, open and unguarded, and I was curious.

  “You survived bowling with Ethan?” A petite redhead who still wore her dark chef jacket and pants stared at me, a curious look on her face.

  I laughed and pulled up an empty bar stool next to hers. I sat, halfway listening to some of
the guys give Ethan a hard time about his hoarding the omelet station.

  “I not only survived bowling with him, but I almost kicked his ass. It came down to the tenth frame. I screwed it up with a seven-ten split. I took the spare and lost. He won dinner.”

  “That sucks.”

  I shrugged and took a swig of my beer. I was as competitive as Ethan was and losing anything was a bitter pill for me to swallow most times. But if I had to suck it up to spend more time with Ethan? I’d deal.

  “Jamie? Did you hear me?” I turned toward the girl on the stool next to me and looked at her blankly.

  “Sorry. It’s been a long day. What did you say?”

  With her long auburn hair and big brown eyes, she was pretty enough most straight guys would be all over her right now. But the person I wanted to pay attention to me was talking animatedly with the other guys from the kitchen and she did nothing for me.

  “I asked how you scored one of the shifts in the school’s restaurant. They’re usually reserved for us financial aid students. Isn’t your father Douglas Lassiter?” Her eyes narrowed speculatively. “So how’d you score one of the shifts?”

  What? He’d gotten me a shift I wasn’t entitled to? When I searched for Ethan’s form in the group, her knowing laugh was low and amused.

  “I should have known. Ethan was sous chef on duty this weekend. He’s the one who got the shift for you.” She grinned like she’d gotten a juicy tidbit of gossip. “He tends to do whatever it takes to get what he wants.”

  I stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

  “Don’t worry. The head chefs usually don’t notice who’s on the line unless they screw up. I have a shift coming up soon as sous chef in charge. You don’t have to wait for Ethan to get you a shift, you know. Say the word and I’ll get you a place on the line again.”