In the Raw (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Ethan

After another restless night where I woke frequently from dreams of blue eyes, sweat-soaked skin and angry words, I was exhausted and on edge. Even asleep, I couldn’t get away from Lassiter.

“Good morning, competitors.” Boulanger looked at the small group of us standing in front of him. “The five of you have demonstrated your advanced proficiency in the culinary round. Today you will demonstrate your skill and mastery of the art of pastry. Joining me again today are our esteemed judges, Chef Shultz and restaurateur Calvin Sharpe.

The three classic recipes you will be preparing for us include apple tarte tatin, chocolate soufflé and, my personal favorite, chocolate éclair. You will have ninety minutes to craft your dessert selections. Commence.”

Fuck.
Me.
Running.
Éclairs?
Goddammit.

The five of us scrambled for our stations, tied on our aprons and got down to business. I glanced over at Lassiter. He looked like shit. Instead of his usual pressed and polished look, his hair was messy and he sported blond scruff. His usual mellow expression was gone and he looked pale and exhausted.

What the hell had happened?

And why did I care? I tried to tell myself he was just like everyone else I didn’t want or need. But I was wrong. Even when I was pissed at myself for giving a shit, I still watched him slowly and painfully unravel while Claire poked and prodded at me to talk to him.

He’d made me believe in the possibility of something more, and then he’d stood in front of his parents and looked so damn ashamed of me and what we had. Why would I want to talk to him? All the contrite apologies in the world couldn’t make this shit less painful. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him get under my skin again, make me vulnerable and walk away when he tired of me and went back to his own kind.

“Monsieur Martin? If you are planning on presenting us with your dessert plate...”

I glanced up at the clock and cursed colorfully as Boulanger chuckled in response.

“
Oui
, Monsieur Martin. Commence baking first, no?”

Shit.

Baking three classic desserts in ninety minutes was all about time management and I needed to get my ass in gear. In theory the three recipes weren’t difficult. But I had to finesse them just right or Boulanger would have my head on a pike.

I quickly and efficiently knocked out the choux dough for the éclairs in a pot on the stove and piped them onto a Silpat-covered baking sheet, then slid it into the oven. But when I reread my directions, I realized I was supposed to let them sit and allow the dough to set before I baked it. I yanked the sheet from the oven and dumped the dough. This time I made sure to read the whole damn thing before I got ahead of myself.

Breathe
,
Martin.
Lassiter’s words popped into my head. Slow down. Focus on the important shit. I could do this.

Next I whipped together the vanilla cream filling and jogged over to the blast chiller, hoping the mixture would cool quickly. I’d make the glaze while the pastry was cooling later.

Next, I made the dough, stuck it in the blast chiller, too, and quickly peeled and cut the apples for the tarte tatin. I chanced another look up at the clock and over at Lassiter, whose head was down and focused on his task. Loud swearing at the station next to me as Jake Silva pulled his éclairs out of a smoking oven and tossed his baking sheet in the sink caught everyone’s attention. He was screwed and he knew it. Hell, we all knew it. Now he had to remake them along with finishing the other dishes.

I quickly cooked the apples and added the rest of the ingredients in a pot on the stove. If I played my cards right the apples would be properly cooked, the sugar caramelized and, once baked, perfectly presented in a delicate flaky crust. Piece of fucking tart.

I stopped to wipe my sweaty forehead on a towel and tossed it at the laundry bin, movement catching my eye as I watched Lassiter curse and yank his hand back from a hot pan. He quickly walked over to the sink and ran water over his fingers. When he caught me watching him, this time the blank mask was gone and I could see the panic on his face until he hid it quickly. He turned and went back to his station and I swore under my breath wishing he’d at least stop long enough to slap some burn ointment and a bandage on. It’d be difficult to make the desserts with a burned and bandaged hand but he needed to take care of himself. I tried to focus. I should have been pleased. After all, if Jamie dropped out it meant one less person standing between the scholarship and me. But if he couldn’t work he couldn’t finish this round of the competition. Then where would he be?

The smell of burning apples and sugar hit my nose and I cursed, pulling the pot off the stove. Letting myself get distracted was not helping. Lassiter could take care of himself, right? I needed to get my shit together and do this. I cut more apples and started my tarte filling again.

As I struggled to catch up, I tried to shake off the anxiety that had settled in my stomach and started on the chocolate soufflé, running through the recipe in my head and what I’d worked on with Claire and Lassiter. I managed to work on autopilot, rushing as time was quickly ticking down and I still had to assemble everything while the soufflé baked. I made the mistake of pouring the boiling water into the water bath too quickly and it splashed up into two of the ramekins.

“Motherfucker.” But the damage was done. My soufflés wouldn’t set properly with the extra moisture so I had to start over. A shitty soufflé wouldn’t be the reason I lost out on this goddamn scholarship. I had half an hour left and now had to redo my third dessert and finish the rest for presentation.

I piled all my dirty dishes on a cookie sheet and brought them over to the sink to clear out my workspace to redo my soufflé and when I turned back around to return to my station I found Lassiter watching me. But instead of the triumph I’d have expected to see on his face at my colossal screwup, his mouth quirked in a hint of an encouraging smile that vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared.

I let out a deep breath and nodded, then pushed all thoughts of anything Lassiter-related out of my mind. Even though I was pissed at him, he still grounded me.
You can do this
,
Martin.
You know you can.
Jamie’s voice echoed in my head,
Take a deep breath
,
relax and focus on what’s important right here and now.
I pushed all thoughts of Lassiter out of my mind and gritted my teeth.
Just don’t fuck it up again
,
Martin
,
or you’re dead in the water.

Twenty-five minutes later I added the last garnish to my desserts and wiped down the plates as Boulanger called time. The four other people I’d competed against put their hands up and stood back from the tables, wiping sweat off their faces and laughing tiredly.

We’d all worked our asses off and now had to wait.

“Thank you, everyone. Your desserts look delicious and since there are only five of you the results will be posted outside this room shortly. Good luck to you all.”

I yanked at the buttons of my sweat-soaked chef’s coat and balled it under my arm, ready to see the results. I pushed through the door of the classroom into the hallway. We were in the same building as my pastry class in a half hour so I wouldn’t have to worry about booking it across campus. I walked to the small store down the hall to grab a bottle of water and when I emerged everyone who’d competed was gathered around a piece of paper tacked to the wall.

Only three of us would make it to the last round of interviews. I had to hope my soufflé redux would be enough to pull my ass through. After Jake and a girl named Kailey moved out of the way I stepped forward and found myself shoulder to shoulder with Lassiter, who squinted up at the names and muttered, “I made it. Holy crap.”

I scanned the short list and found my name under his and Kailey’s.

“Hell,” I muttered as I pushed back the hair hanging in my eyes. I’d made it through. Two people stood between me and the scholarship and it was so close I could taste it.

“Congratulations, Martin.” Lassiter’s quiet voice cut through the elation.

“Yeah, whatever, Lassiter.” I didn’t have anything to say to him. Sure, during the competition I wanted a fair shot and had worried about him. But now we both knew we were in the running? What more did I need to say? After all, I wasn’t the one who’d been a dickhead in front of his parents. I wasn’t ashamed of who I was and wouldn’t hide from anyone like he had.

I turned to walk away as his voice sharpened. “Yeah, whatever? When someone congratulates you on something, Martin, the usual response is ‘thanks’ or ‘thank you.’”

When I stopped and met his eyes the blank detachment from earlier was gone. This time he faced me, unblinking. For a second my mind flashed back to him, sweaty and sprawled against me in bed. Before whatever it was we’d had went straight down the toilet.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I’d signed up for Trust Fund 101.”

“You are such an asshole. Why can’t you act like a human being for five damn minutes without ripping my head off?”

I smirked and bit out, “It takes one to know one.”
Not my most mature moment.

He rolled his eyes. “What are you? Thirteen? It’d be nice if you stopped acting like a whiny teenager.”

“Well, at least I can speak for myself without having to clear it past the rich assholes committee,” I snapped. Not wanting to hear another word, I turned to walk down the hall toward pastry class, rolling my shoulders and cracking my neck.

Ninety minutes in pastry competition and now another hour of class was not high on my list of boner-worthy things. Add one pissy Lassiter and I had a feeling this day was going to be too long.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Ethan

When I felt Lassiter on my heels, following me from the pastry competition, I ducked into the bathroom. I needed a second to myself to get my shit together. The past two weeks had been stressful enough, but add the past two hours of our culinary school’s version of
Chef Throwdown
for needy students, and I was running on fumes. If I went into class this wound up, I’d most likely end up getting into it with Lassiter and any chance I had at the scholarship would be shot. I was pretty sure the judges would knock me out of the competition for punching Richie Rich right in his oh-so-handsome face. Even if he deserved it.

When I walked into the pastry classroom a few minutes later, I cursed whatever passed for my shitty karma when I spotted Claire talking to Lassiter at her usual station. My stomach roiled from the earlier stress of the competition and all the coffee I’d been surviving on since I’d stormed out of Lassiter’s place weeks earlier.

Claire met my eyes with an apologetic glance and patted Jamie on the shoulder. Then she walked over to me and wrapped her arms tightly around my waist. I patted her on the back woodenly, not having the faintest idea what in the hell was wrong with my normally undemonstrative sister. I was about to pull away from her when she lifted up on her toes and whispered in my ear, “You’re on your own today, E. Time to put on your big-boy undies and take care of the shit between you and Jamie. I’m tired of watching you two slowly destroy yourselves.”

She released her hold on me and patted my cheek before moving to another station and a new partner.
What the fuck?
I scanned the room in a panic for a partner, any partner to work with for the day’s assignment. When my eyes met with Chef Boulanger’s, he tipped his head toward me and smiled.

“Monsieur Martin? It seems you and Monsieur Lassiter are both in need of partners today. Please move stations and commence the lesson for today.
Merci
.”

I swear I had to have done something sadistically evil in a past life to deserve the shit dumped on me lately. I looked over at Lassiter’s station and gritted my teeth.
Fucking great.

I didn’t want to push it with Boulanger, so I gathered my things and headed over to Lassiter’s station. When his eyes met mine, they were tired but defiant. Gone was the quiet, shy James Lassiter I’d gotten to know at the beginning of the semester. Standing in his place was a very determined Lassiter who refused to be intimidated by my temper. Even though it pissed me off, I had to hand it to him. Somewhere along the way he’d found whatever passed for his backbone. I just hoped he’d used it to tell his overbearing control-freak parents to eat shit and die.

I made no attempt to hide my scowl as I began setting out the pans and equipment we’d need to make the crepes for today’s lesson. The group at the next station jumped when I slammed the stainless-steel bowl down on the counter in front of me. I wanted to snarl at them and tell them to mind their own business, but I was too exhausted from this morning’s competition to fight with anyone besides my golden, hand-picked partner for the day.

Without another word, I buttoned a clean chef’s coat and wrapped an apron around my waist. I tried to ignore the feelings that swirled in my stomach when I felt him watching me. Before, I would have relished it. Now, it irritated the crap out of me.

When Lassiter leaned across the station to grab our ingredient list, I froze. This close I could smell him, a woodsy scent of cologne or aftershave undercut with just him. It had been two weeks since I’d let myself get this close, but my traitorous body still reacted the same way. I closed my eyes in an attempt to ward off the images of the night at his condo as they flashed through my brain.

At the front of class, Boulanger started his lecture on crepes. I should be paying attention, but all I could focus on was Lassiter. His proximity, how good we’d been together, then how he’d broken whatever tenuous connection we’d had. Nothing could have been more insulting than the look he’d had on his face when his parents had shown up. Embarrassment. Shame. Self-loathing. Fear. Another reinforcement of Richie Rich’s take on how low on the totem pole I was and how we came from different worlds.

“Seen your mommy or daddy lately, Lassiter? Brunch at the country club go well?” When he flinched, I knew I’d struck a nerve.

He gritted his teeth. “Ethan—”

“Stop calling me Ethan, Golden Boy. We’re not friends. The sooner you realize you don’t belong outside your ivory tower with the rest of us, the better.”

I knew I was being a dick and I felt a sick sense of triumph when he flinched. My words hurt. But his actions had cut me deeply and I wouldn’t give him another opportunity for a repeat performance. Without another word, I headed to the back supply room. I grabbed some bowls and a stand mixer, my mind not on today’s class as his words kept echoing in my head.

“Don’t you think you’re being awfully hard on him?” Claire rifled through the attachments for the mixers next to me.

“Don’t you think you should mind your own business?” I growled.

“Oh, so when you thought he wanted to fuck me it was your business. But now you two have done the nasty it’s none of my business? Screw you, Ethan. I don’t know what happened but you’ve been a total dick to live with for the past two weeks. Maybe you couldn’t see it, but when you two were talking, you were actually decent to be around. I’m sorry you’re too blind to see what’s going on here, but at least I can tell when someone is worth fighting for. But you’re too arrogant to admit it, aren’t you?” she snarled, her green eyes spitting fire.

“Thanks, Dr. Phil, but I think I’ll handle it on my own.”

Out came the jabby finger. She poked me hard in the chest. “You have a chance at making this shit work if you’d stop being stubborn and talk to him.”

“You better get back to your station before your new partner misses you.” My flat voice only fanned her fury.

When Claire was truly angry, she got deadly quiet. She lowered her voice. “Jamie likes you. As in, actually enjoys your surly-as-fuck company. He likes you for you and tolerated your bullshit even when he was just trying to help you out. Or at least he did two weeks ago.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to him or you about any of this. I’m done. Got it?” I grabbed a whisk attachment and took off, leaving her standing by the supply cabinet like the dick of a brother I was. I loved my sister but I wasn’t in the mood for her lectures at the moment.

“You want to have a heart-to-heart? Fine. You talk to him. You guys can have a slumber party and paint each other’s toenails. See if I give a shit,” I snapped. Pissed off and done with my conversation with Claire, I stalked back to the station I shared with Golden Boy. I slammed down the equipment, rattling the glass bowls and jars of ingredients Lassiter had already gathered.

“Ethan, I tried to explain what happened after you left my condo, but you haven’t returned any of my phone calls. For Christ’s sake, I’ve tried to apologize. Now if you’re through throwing your pissy little fit, I need to focus on passing this class.” He jammed the plug of the mixer into the socket and turned away before I could see the expression on his face.

“You had your chance to talk, Lassiter. Remember? I seem to recall it was two weeks ago in your condo when your parents were content to think I was some piece of shit you were slumming it with. Just help me make the recipe and stay on your side of the station and we’ll be good.”

He smacked his hands down on the workstation as his eyes flashed with annoyance. “So that’s it? I don’t get any say? Look, I get it. I’m an asshole for saying what I did. But you know what? I finally did it. I told my parents who and what I am. My opinion matters and I don’t need their name or money to be happy. Not for you, but for me. Now, you can either listen to me here, or we can talk about this somewhere else. But I’m tired of your drama queen antics and feeling sorry for something you won’t even talk to me about.”

“Monsieur Martin, Monsieur Lassiter? Do you have something to share with the rest of us, as you’re interrupting my always-thrilling lecture on crepes?” Boulanger’s wry voice had us both standing up straight and Lassiter’s face flushing in embarrassment.

“No, Chef.” Jamie flushed a deeper red as all eyes in the class turned to look at us.

“No, Chef. We’re having a difference of opinion about the consistency of the batter. That’s all.” I smiled at Chef Boulanger but wanted to tell the entire class to fuck off and mind their own business.

“Kindly take it outside in the hall, gentlemen.”

Was he serious?

Boulanger watched us both pointedly until I huffed, untied my apron and tossed it on the station, stalking out the door as I waited for Golden Boy to follow.

As soon as the door closed behind him, I was in his face. “Did you have to bring this bullshit here? Pretty low of you, Golden Boy.”

Lassiter stood up straight, his shoulders back, no trace of the man who I’d seen cave under the weight of his parents’ disapproval. Angry color lit his cheeks and his eyes ran over my face.

“Can you stop with all the insulting names, already? I’m trying to apologize to you, asshole.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the wall. “I don’t need your apology. I don’t need anything from you.”

He raked his eyes over my body, his look predatory. “Funny, that’s not how it seemed when you were fucking me through the mattress.”

My eyes narrowed. “This is some apology. You must have skipped that class in rich kid school.”

He clenched his fists, answering me through gritted teeth. “My point is I messed up. But at least I have the balls to try and make things right.”

I glared at him, not budging from the wall. “We fucked. Don’t try to make this into anything more.”

“You are infuriating,” he said in a low voice as he stepped closer. I held my ground, squaring my shoulders and refusing to look away.
Show nothing
, I told myself as he continued. “You are stubborn, temperamental, judgmental. Just plain mental, sometimes. But for some reason you and I...”

“There. Is. No. You. And. I,” I said defiantly.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel anything. That underneath all your bullshit you don’t feel anything, and I’ll leave you alone.”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself to lie through my teeth. I felt my lips curl in my usual cocky smirk. “I don’t. Sorry, Lassiter. You’re on your own.”

His eyes narrowed. “Liar. I know you, Ethan. I know what you sound like when you come, when you’re angry and when you’re being an asshole. At least I owned up to making a mistake. You’re taking the easy way out. You’d rather walk away than talk to me.”

“You think whatever you want to think. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some spectacular crepes to make.”

He let out a frustrated breath and fisted his hands in my shirt, pulling me close. His mouth slammed down on mine as he shoved me against the wall, echoing our first kiss. I tried to keep my body from reacting but when he tilted his head and his tongue found mine, all I could remember was how good we felt together. Nothing about the kiss was tentative. Frustration, need, desperation drove us both. With a low moan, my fingers clenched in the fabric of his apron as every inch of my body responded.

“
Merde
, finally. Take the rest of the day off,
s’il vous plaît?
You’ve already missed most of class anyhow, but I expect to see a makeup lesson from you two by the end of the week.
Oui?
” Boulanger’s amused voice floated into the hallway as he stood in the open door of the classroom, the curious faces of our classmates visible behind him.

“Yes, Chef,” we both murmured. He shook his head, smiling as he pulled the door closed again.

I let out a deep breath as Jamie stared at me. His cheeks were flushed, lips swollen and eyes heavily lidded. Even though he pissed me off beyond belief I still wanted him.

“You realize our instructor and everyone in the class saw you kiss me, right?”

His voice rang with conviction. “I told you. You drive me crazy and I want you. But I’m not going to be the person you treat like shit because you’re too afraid to get serious with anyone. I’m not going to waste my time with someone who doesn’t want what I want. I’ve said my piece, Ethan. If you want to talk some more, you know where to find me.”

When he turned and walked down the deserted hallway without another word I was more confused than before.

What did I want? If anyone had asked me last night, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I wanted to get this semester over with as quickly as possible. I wanted the scholarship so bad I could practically taste it. I wanted to get Jamie Lassiter out of my life. But now? I had no idea what I wanted. All I knew was getting Lassiter out of my system was proving harder than I had thought it would. For years, I’d successfully steered clear of any relationships that could complicate my life and if I didn’t do something, any chance I had at something more with Lassiter would be gone.