The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2)(26)
If he survived the rest of this seminar, it would be a miracle.
Chapter Nine
MODERN INTIMACY—LECTURE 2:
You only get one chance to make a bad first impression
WHATEVER PRESS RELEASES Clara sent out following their coffee date worked, because just four days after bringing her onboard, turnout had more than doubled for their second seminar. Naomi appreciated the broader audience, the peppering of gray hair and crow’s feet mixing among the sunburned shoulders of eager-eyed college students filling the chairs in the JCC classroom.
Like Shameless, these discussions of modern intimacy worked better when they included an array of experiences. Being single wasn’t reserved for the young and hot.
“Today we’re going to talk about first dates,” Naomi said. A few people nodded. An eager guy in the second row set the audio recorder on his cell phone. “Specifically, we’re going to talk about how you should stop viewing them like job interviews—hiding your weaknesses and overplaying your strengths—and start treating them like games of chicken.”
That earned her a few eyebrow raises.
“Look, your time is valuable, and presumably so is the other person’s, so just cut to the chase. Tell him you’re high maintenance and let him rise to the occasion. Fill her in on your crippling self-loathing, but, and here’s the important part”—she held up her index finger—“only if you’re taking steps to address it.”
A hand went into the air, a guy with a tattooed sleeve full of different kinds of pizza. “What if you’re broke?”
“Definitely tell your date that you’re broke. They’re going to find out sooner or later. Do you have any idea how much time and energy it takes to fake being rich?” Over the last twelve years in L.A., she’d seen plenty of people try it. She shook her head at the image. “Pass.”
Another guy, with a delicate jaw and a crop-top with Dolly Parton on it, caught her eye. “What if you’re a virgin?”
“You don’t have to tell someone your sexual history on a first date, or ever, if you don’t want to. That’s your business. In my experience, having sex—even lots of sex—doesn’t make anyone a better or more qualified partner, and a person who deserves you will know that.”
Naomi didn’t hide her sexual history from anyone she dated, but she also definitely didn’t think they were entitled to the information. Still, she wanted to make sure this guy, and everyone here, knew they could give themselves permission to bring it up on their terms.
She chewed her lip for a moment, considering.
“If it’s something you’re nervous about, and you want to share it with the person you’re seeing, you absolutely can bring it up in a casual, ‘hey, let’s skip the part where we ask about each other’s siblings, and talk about things that might actually affect whether we want to see each other again after tonight’ kinda way.”
Dolly Parton Shirt nodded gratefully, and Naomi’s heart melted. This feeling, tiny liberations and radical transparency, this was why she’d wanted so badly to teach in person. So she could see people’s faces when they shed their shame. It was amazing that one look of hesitant confidence could cancel out so many years of disapproval and distrust.
Naomi swallowed an unwelcome swell of emotion. “Okay, who else wants ceremonial permission to air their dirty laundry on a first date?”
Every hand went into the air, including Ethan’s. Something suspiciously like butterflies took flight in her stomach when he returned her Really? look with a grin.
“Okay,” she said, to him and the room both, “let’s do this.”
After a few more shouted-out confessions, the seminar conversation quickly melded into a blend of commiserations, recommendations, and catharsis.
The more comfortable the audience grew, the more Naomi realized she didn’t need her prepared notes to fill an hour-and-a-half session with lecturing. She just needed to present a hard-won but still admittedly imperfect theory or two about the syllabus-dictated dating milestone and then hold space for people to process and respond. No one would ever be a dating expert. It was too variable a subject for that kind of intellectual hierarchy.
But Naomi figured she could be a sort of conductor for discourse. She relished the chance to use techniques she’d learned for her psych degree, teasing out truths from amid the cyclone of hope and insecurity that permeated the room.
Even more, she appreciated the distraction from Ethan and his soft-looking cardigan. The more buttoned-up he dressed, the more she wanted to unravel him. Her attraction was messy and wild and . . . unwelcome. He’d made it perfectly clear to Clara that he didn’t want anything unprofessional to do with her. That the very idea was beyond comprehension.
Naomi was handling it about as well as could be expected, which was to say not at all. Her best bet at this point seemed to be avoiding him. That wasn’t so hard, really. What was once a week in a classroom full of people? She could get through the next month and a half with minimal non-electronic interaction.
She had basically unlimited access to sex toys and a buffet of hot, sexually experienced friends. Naomi hardly qualified as hard up. And if something deep in her chest protested, well, too fucking bad. She’d taken this job to help other people get lucky.