AN: I'm back! Sorry about the long wait. I had exams, then all hell
broke loose, but everything is okay now. Special thanks to Lorilei who
told me about Lambert's,; which is an actual restaurant. Visit their site
if you like www.throwedrolls.com. And always thanks to my beta LoMoRiBa!
Richie happily plunked down onto his bed Thursday afternoon. "Thank God it's over," he told John who was sitting across the room with a similarly elated look on his face. They had had their last exam together and now they were through.
"Those things," John said in disgust pointing at the large pile of books in the middle of their floor. "Are going back as soon as I work up the nerve to touch them again."
Richie laughed. "And you can use the five bucks you get for 'em to go to Burger King for dinner."
"Hey, that gives me an idea!"
"How can you have an idea?" Richie complained. "My brain is on total meltdown right now. I'm lucky I can remember my name."
"We should get all the guys together, sell back our books, and go to the most expensive place we can afford for dinner."
"Cici's?"
"No someplace cool. Somewhere we've wanted to go all semester but couldn't afford."
"And still won't be able to afford. They don't give you squat for your books," Richie reminded him. "But I'm with you on dinner. All that test anxiety worked up a hell of an appetite."
"Man, breathing works up a hell of an appetite with you," John said rolling his eyes.
"And I've been doing that all day."
. . . . . .
"And the grand total is," Andrew announced drumming his fingers on the desk as Jeremy counted the last of the bills.
"$268," he said with a grin.
"Hell, yeah, finally real food for a change!" Kyle slapped Richie rather forcefully on the back.
"Dude, I'm going you don't have to beat me into submission!" Richie exclaimed wiping Kyle into a headlock.
"You're screwed," Andrew said bending over and looking Kyle in the eye. "You pissed the champ. Bad move."
John laughed; Andrew had been calling Richie 'Champ' ever since he heard about the non-fight with O'Neal. "Well, Champ, where do you want to go to dinner?"
"You guys pick, I don't care. I just want food."
"Oh, have you ever been to Lambert's?" John asked counting the money again. "We could take the girls, too."
"Let's go! I haven't been there in forever." Kyle said as Richie let him go.
"Been where?" Richie asked.
"We went there for my sister's sixteenth birthday. It was cool," Jeremy added.
"What's the big deal about Lambert's?" Richie asked annoyed by his lack of information.
"I'm with you," Andrew nodded. "What's Lambert's?"
"That's right," Jeremy realized with a grin. "You guys aren't from around here."
Jeremy, Kyle and John all grinned at each other. "We're going, we have to go now. We can't let you guys live here for an entire semester and not go to Lambert's," John said resolutely.
"I don't like this," Richie said slowly. "I think maybe I just want my money back."
"Don't worry, Rich," John laughed. "Just call Heather and tell her you'll pick her up at six."
. . . . . .
At six o'clock sharp Heather was skipping down the front walk of her sorority house just as Richie pulled up with John and his girlfriend Samantha in the back seat.
"Let's go!" she demanded after giving Richie a quick kiss in greeting.
"What's the big deal about this Lambert's place?" Richie asked for the fifth time putting the car in gear. "And where is it?" he added.
"Go south on the freeway," John told him. "And you'll find out when we get there."
"Do you have any idea how much I hate surprises?" Richie grumbled.
"You're cute when you're mad," Heather purred lightly running her fingers up his arm.
Richie laughed nervously and pulled his arm away. "Do you want me to crash or something?"
"Really, Heather. I don't want to die yet," Samantha spoke up from the back seat.
"Yeah, you two are disgusting," John added. "Get a room."
"Fine by me, I'll just turn around," Richie shot back with a grin.
"No!" His three passengers protested.
"Throwed rolls," Heather hissed to the back seat. "You'll screw it up for all of us."
"What rolls?" Richie asked. Everyone laughed. "Lemme guess, 'you'll see', right?"
20 MINUTES LATER
"Are you sure you know where we're going?" Richie asked.
"There it is!" Samantha squealed pointing it out.
"Finally." Richie felt a little stupid having not noticed it before. It was hard to miss the giant white letters spelling out LAMBERT'S CAFÉ on a dark green background. Richie pulled in next to Jeremy's van, or as they liked to call it the soccer-mom-mobile. Heather ran over to him as soon as they got out of the car and snuggled into him. "I can't really walk half carrying you," he teased her scooping her into his arms. "It'd be easier this way." She squealed happily and gave him a kiss. He stopped walking and the pair began making out in the middle of the parking lot.
"You act like you just got married or something!" John exclaimed. "Dude, get over here, I thought you were starving? And you, Heather, weren't you just blabbing about throwed rolls and pass arounds?"
"I forgot about the pass arounds," Heather said pulling away from Richie mid-kiss. "Get moving buck-o before the other guys eat it all."
Richie rolled his eyes and carried her across the parking lot and out her down outside the doors of the restaurant. They entered the loud building and scanned the crowd for the rest of their group. They spotted Jeremy, Kitty, Kyle, Melinda, Andrew and Corrine at a large table in the middle of the room. They all filed over and took their seats.
"What took you guys so long?" Corrine asked.
"The driver didn't know where he was going," Richie answered looking over the menu.
The waiter came and Richie couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for him, large tables were the worst. They all placed their orders and then began to razz each other over their selections.
"Could you have possibly gotten a bigger steak?" Kyle demanded of John.
"If they had one, then yes, yes I could have. And what about Richie and his pound-o-catfish?"
"Hey! I'm trying to find some decent seafood around here. It's not my fault I didn't grow up land locked like you guys. Hell, come to Seacouver and I'll take you for a McLobster value meal, I'll even super size it for ya," he grinned.
"Do they really have lobster at McDonalds?" Kitty asked in wide-eyed wonder.
Heather grinned. "I'll go and tell you when I come back," she said nudging Richie in the ribs. "But all I have to say is, ew, Andrew. . . how could you?"
"What? I like it!" he defended.
"Nobody likes liver and onions," Corrine insisted. "I'm not kissing you until after you disinfect your mouth. I don't even want to smell your breath."
Heather leaned over and snuggled into Richie. "Are you cold?" he asked.
"Yeah," she answered.
"Are you planning on eating like this?"
"I can try."
Richie grinned and rolled his eyes. "I don't that will work. Here," he picked up the sweatshirt he had abandoned on the back of his chair and covered her with it as she settled back into his arms. "You can put it on when the food comes."
"Oh, come on!" Kyle groaned. "You two, I swear, that's just wrong."
"Don't listen to him," Melinda said swatting Kyle's shoulder. "He's just mad because you make the rest of the guys look bad, Richie."
"Yeah, man. Stop being so nice already," Jeremy jabbed at him.
"Hey, I have to live with the guy," John reminded everyone.
"Let's play a game!" Kitty interrupted excitedly.
Samantha laughed. "I spy with my little eye. . ."
"No," Kitty interrupted. "Let's play Personal Trivia."
"What's that?" Andrew asked.
"You know someone puts out a category, like most embarrassing moment, then you go around the table and every one answers."
"Okay," Melinda said scooting up in her chair. "Worst childhood injury. . . John."
John rolled his eyes and told the story of falling off the jungle gym and breaking his arm. Then Samantha began her story. Slowly they worked their way around the table and made it to Richie.
'I wonder, since I got shot at nineteen, does that still count as a child hood injury, or is that adulthood?' he thought to himself.
Just as he was about to cop-out with a stupid story about getting trampled during a soccer game, a small army of waiters arrived with trays and bowls full of food. Richie looked around at everything trying to decide where to start. With a small pout Heather pulled away and slipped Richie's sweatshirt over her head before helping herself to a couple spoonfuls of little brown things.
"What's that?" Richie asked.
"Okra," she answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"It looks like deep fried rabbit turds."
"Well, you got the fried part right. Here try some." She pushed the bowl towards him. Richie stared at it for a second before popping one in his mouth.
"What exactly is okra made out of?" he asked as he chewed.
"Okra," Corrine, who was sitting on his other side, answered.
"So it's, like, an actual thing."
"Yes. A thing you eat. Don't worry, Heather," she continued leaning forward. "We have another three and a half years to work on him. He'll be southern by the time he leaves here if it's the last thing we do."
"I don't know if I like that plan," Richie said.
"Hush, you'll love it."
"Who wants bread!" someone yelled on the other side of the restaurant.
"Raise your hand," Heather instructed with a grin. Then Richie found out why they called them 'throwed' rolls.
. . . . . .
Two days later, Richie was on a plane to Paris.
"Paris for a few days?" Heather had laughed at him after dinner at her parent's house. "How very. . . upper-class of you."
Richie blushed. "It wasn't my idea. For some reason or another that's where Mac and everyone are right now."
'It's never my idea,' Richie realized leaning back and closing his eyes. He really missed everybody and was glad to be going home. 'Technically the barge was home for a while,' Richie smiled as he remembered his first night on the barge. There had been a storm blowing, the waters were choppy, and he had gotten seasick. His first time on a plane, his first time out of the country, his first time on a boat, and the first time Tessa had stayed up with him all night because he couldn't sleep for all the throwing up he had been doing; all within a twenty four hour period.
He found himself wishing Tessa was going to be there when he got to the barge. It had been a little over a year since she died, and he still missed her horribly. He liked everyone else, but there had been something about Tessa. Their relationship had started with Richie having a simple crush on her and it had ended as so much more. Richie couldn't describe it. He never really wanted to, just knowing that it was something he would only have with her was explanation enough for him. He sighed heavily and tried to sleep. The faster he fell asleep, the faster he would be in Paris.
AN: More to come soon. I promise the wait won't be as long as last time.
Richie happily plunked down onto his bed Thursday afternoon. "Thank God it's over," he told John who was sitting across the room with a similarly elated look on his face. They had had their last exam together and now they were through.
"Those things," John said in disgust pointing at the large pile of books in the middle of their floor. "Are going back as soon as I work up the nerve to touch them again."
Richie laughed. "And you can use the five bucks you get for 'em to go to Burger King for dinner."
"Hey, that gives me an idea!"
"How can you have an idea?" Richie complained. "My brain is on total meltdown right now. I'm lucky I can remember my name."
"We should get all the guys together, sell back our books, and go to the most expensive place we can afford for dinner."
"Cici's?"
"No someplace cool. Somewhere we've wanted to go all semester but couldn't afford."
"And still won't be able to afford. They don't give you squat for your books," Richie reminded him. "But I'm with you on dinner. All that test anxiety worked up a hell of an appetite."
"Man, breathing works up a hell of an appetite with you," John said rolling his eyes.
"And I've been doing that all day."
. . . . . .
"And the grand total is," Andrew announced drumming his fingers on the desk as Jeremy counted the last of the bills.
"$268," he said with a grin.
"Hell, yeah, finally real food for a change!" Kyle slapped Richie rather forcefully on the back.
"Dude, I'm going you don't have to beat me into submission!" Richie exclaimed wiping Kyle into a headlock.
"You're screwed," Andrew said bending over and looking Kyle in the eye. "You pissed the champ. Bad move."
John laughed; Andrew had been calling Richie 'Champ' ever since he heard about the non-fight with O'Neal. "Well, Champ, where do you want to go to dinner?"
"You guys pick, I don't care. I just want food."
"Oh, have you ever been to Lambert's?" John asked counting the money again. "We could take the girls, too."
"Let's go! I haven't been there in forever." Kyle said as Richie let him go.
"Been where?" Richie asked.
"We went there for my sister's sixteenth birthday. It was cool," Jeremy added.
"What's the big deal about Lambert's?" Richie asked annoyed by his lack of information.
"I'm with you," Andrew nodded. "What's Lambert's?"
"That's right," Jeremy realized with a grin. "You guys aren't from around here."
Jeremy, Kyle and John all grinned at each other. "We're going, we have to go now. We can't let you guys live here for an entire semester and not go to Lambert's," John said resolutely.
"I don't like this," Richie said slowly. "I think maybe I just want my money back."
"Don't worry, Rich," John laughed. "Just call Heather and tell her you'll pick her up at six."
. . . . . .
At six o'clock sharp Heather was skipping down the front walk of her sorority house just as Richie pulled up with John and his girlfriend Samantha in the back seat.
"Let's go!" she demanded after giving Richie a quick kiss in greeting.
"What's the big deal about this Lambert's place?" Richie asked for the fifth time putting the car in gear. "And where is it?" he added.
"Go south on the freeway," John told him. "And you'll find out when we get there."
"Do you have any idea how much I hate surprises?" Richie grumbled.
"You're cute when you're mad," Heather purred lightly running her fingers up his arm.
Richie laughed nervously and pulled his arm away. "Do you want me to crash or something?"
"Really, Heather. I don't want to die yet," Samantha spoke up from the back seat.
"Yeah, you two are disgusting," John added. "Get a room."
"Fine by me, I'll just turn around," Richie shot back with a grin.
"No!" His three passengers protested.
"Throwed rolls," Heather hissed to the back seat. "You'll screw it up for all of us."
"What rolls?" Richie asked. Everyone laughed. "Lemme guess, 'you'll see', right?"
20 MINUTES LATER
"Are you sure you know where we're going?" Richie asked.
"There it is!" Samantha squealed pointing it out.
"Finally." Richie felt a little stupid having not noticed it before. It was hard to miss the giant white letters spelling out LAMBERT'S CAFÉ on a dark green background. Richie pulled in next to Jeremy's van, or as they liked to call it the soccer-mom-mobile. Heather ran over to him as soon as they got out of the car and snuggled into him. "I can't really walk half carrying you," he teased her scooping her into his arms. "It'd be easier this way." She squealed happily and gave him a kiss. He stopped walking and the pair began making out in the middle of the parking lot.
"You act like you just got married or something!" John exclaimed. "Dude, get over here, I thought you were starving? And you, Heather, weren't you just blabbing about throwed rolls and pass arounds?"
"I forgot about the pass arounds," Heather said pulling away from Richie mid-kiss. "Get moving buck-o before the other guys eat it all."
Richie rolled his eyes and carried her across the parking lot and out her down outside the doors of the restaurant. They entered the loud building and scanned the crowd for the rest of their group. They spotted Jeremy, Kitty, Kyle, Melinda, Andrew and Corrine at a large table in the middle of the room. They all filed over and took their seats.
"What took you guys so long?" Corrine asked.
"The driver didn't know where he was going," Richie answered looking over the menu.
The waiter came and Richie couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for him, large tables were the worst. They all placed their orders and then began to razz each other over their selections.
"Could you have possibly gotten a bigger steak?" Kyle demanded of John.
"If they had one, then yes, yes I could have. And what about Richie and his pound-o-catfish?"
"Hey! I'm trying to find some decent seafood around here. It's not my fault I didn't grow up land locked like you guys. Hell, come to Seacouver and I'll take you for a McLobster value meal, I'll even super size it for ya," he grinned.
"Do they really have lobster at McDonalds?" Kitty asked in wide-eyed wonder.
Heather grinned. "I'll go and tell you when I come back," she said nudging Richie in the ribs. "But all I have to say is, ew, Andrew. . . how could you?"
"What? I like it!" he defended.
"Nobody likes liver and onions," Corrine insisted. "I'm not kissing you until after you disinfect your mouth. I don't even want to smell your breath."
Heather leaned over and snuggled into Richie. "Are you cold?" he asked.
"Yeah," she answered.
"Are you planning on eating like this?"
"I can try."
Richie grinned and rolled his eyes. "I don't that will work. Here," he picked up the sweatshirt he had abandoned on the back of his chair and covered her with it as she settled back into his arms. "You can put it on when the food comes."
"Oh, come on!" Kyle groaned. "You two, I swear, that's just wrong."
"Don't listen to him," Melinda said swatting Kyle's shoulder. "He's just mad because you make the rest of the guys look bad, Richie."
"Yeah, man. Stop being so nice already," Jeremy jabbed at him.
"Hey, I have to live with the guy," John reminded everyone.
"Let's play a game!" Kitty interrupted excitedly.
Samantha laughed. "I spy with my little eye. . ."
"No," Kitty interrupted. "Let's play Personal Trivia."
"What's that?" Andrew asked.
"You know someone puts out a category, like most embarrassing moment, then you go around the table and every one answers."
"Okay," Melinda said scooting up in her chair. "Worst childhood injury. . . John."
John rolled his eyes and told the story of falling off the jungle gym and breaking his arm. Then Samantha began her story. Slowly they worked their way around the table and made it to Richie.
'I wonder, since I got shot at nineteen, does that still count as a child hood injury, or is that adulthood?' he thought to himself.
Just as he was about to cop-out with a stupid story about getting trampled during a soccer game, a small army of waiters arrived with trays and bowls full of food. Richie looked around at everything trying to decide where to start. With a small pout Heather pulled away and slipped Richie's sweatshirt over her head before helping herself to a couple spoonfuls of little brown things.
"What's that?" Richie asked.
"Okra," she answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"It looks like deep fried rabbit turds."
"Well, you got the fried part right. Here try some." She pushed the bowl towards him. Richie stared at it for a second before popping one in his mouth.
"What exactly is okra made out of?" he asked as he chewed.
"Okra," Corrine, who was sitting on his other side, answered.
"So it's, like, an actual thing."
"Yes. A thing you eat. Don't worry, Heather," she continued leaning forward. "We have another three and a half years to work on him. He'll be southern by the time he leaves here if it's the last thing we do."
"I don't know if I like that plan," Richie said.
"Hush, you'll love it."
"Who wants bread!" someone yelled on the other side of the restaurant.
"Raise your hand," Heather instructed with a grin. Then Richie found out why they called them 'throwed' rolls.
. . . . . .
Two days later, Richie was on a plane to Paris.
"Paris for a few days?" Heather had laughed at him after dinner at her parent's house. "How very. . . upper-class of you."
Richie blushed. "It wasn't my idea. For some reason or another that's where Mac and everyone are right now."
'It's never my idea,' Richie realized leaning back and closing his eyes. He really missed everybody and was glad to be going home. 'Technically the barge was home for a while,' Richie smiled as he remembered his first night on the barge. There had been a storm blowing, the waters were choppy, and he had gotten seasick. His first time on a plane, his first time out of the country, his first time on a boat, and the first time Tessa had stayed up with him all night because he couldn't sleep for all the throwing up he had been doing; all within a twenty four hour period.
He found himself wishing Tessa was going to be there when he got to the barge. It had been a little over a year since she died, and he still missed her horribly. He liked everyone else, but there had been something about Tessa. Their relationship had started with Richie having a simple crush on her and it had ended as so much more. Richie couldn't describe it. He never really wanted to, just knowing that it was something he would only have with her was explanation enough for him. He sighed heavily and tried to sleep. The faster he fell asleep, the faster he would be in Paris.
AN: More to come soon. I promise the wait won't be as long as last time.