The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2)(39)

“It’s not a good idea.” She imagined shoving him, gently, out of the car so she could get the fuck away from this conversation, but he’d already been injured in the name of her ego once this evening.

Ethan frowned. “Because no one will have me?”

“Oh please.” You know what, maybe she should find someone to occupy Ethan’s attention. Then they could stop having these long, tension-filled moments where they stared at each other and panted.

Maybe if she saw another woman holding his hand, arranging his tallis, Naomi would remember that he was off-limits.

It was a lot to gamble. But that had never stopped her before. This infatuation with Ethan had gotten out of hand. She’d found herself admiring his collarbones through his shirt earlier.

“Why the sudden urge to date?” His timing was terrible. And she knew a lot about bad timing.

He dragged his hand over his face. He really did look wretched.

“All those people tonight, nervous and excited, dressed to impress. They reminded me that I miss the potential. The dizzy, light-headed feeling of falling for someone. The way you catch yourself thinking about them at all hours of the day and night. Finding excuses to spend time with them.”

Naomi bit her tongue. Literally.

“I forgot that love is essential. That even in its absence, you occupy yourself with the lack of it.”

Her therapist would tell her not to do this. That she was torturing herself.

“It might not be easy, finding someone,” she warned him. Who in the world was good enough for Ethan?

He swallowed, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob. “That’s why I need your help.”

Naomi licked her lips. She wanted to press her nose against his neck so much, she ached.

“I’ll see what I can do. But don’t get your hopes up.”

He finally got out of her car, bending low, leaning in toward her, the open door letting in cold night air that met her heated cheeks. “I’ve had my hopes up since the day we met,” he said, and then shut the door quietly.

Naomi watched him walk through his front door before she let her head drop onto the steering wheel. Apparently, she was the worst sort of fool, and to prove it, she’d find the woman of Ethan Cohen’s dreams.





Chapter Thirteen


THE MIRROR HANGING above his bathroom sink reported that Ethan’s black eye had taken up residence with relish. He couldn’t tell whether the throbbing in his head had resulted from getting punched in the face, consuming too many tequila shots on an empty stomach, or both. While the temptation to spend the morning in bed feeling sorry for himself had been strong, he’d persuaded Leah to meet him at the synagogue early to help clean out old boxes from one of the storage closets, and good help was hard to find. After a hasty shower, a vigorous teeth brushing, and a couple of aspirin, he was on his way.

“Holy shiner, Batman,” Leah said, perched on the hood of her car in the parking lot when he arrived.

Ethan tugged the baseball hat he’d thrown on lower. “Please tell me one of those coffees is for me?”

“You’re in luck, brother mine.” She scooted off the hood, steaming cups held aloft. “Looks like you need it.”

He accepted the coffee and kissed the top of her head. Ethan was short, but at least Leah would always be shorter.

“Whoa. Someone’s extra grateful this morning. What’d you do? Drop your cell phone on your face while reading in bed again?” Leah tried to grab his hat, but he dodged her.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Every time he thought about last night, he got nauseous, and it wasn’t just because his skin was still sweating out Herradura.

“I’ll bet. The board’s gonna love waking up to the combined news that you’re the first Jewish Bachelor and you ruined your face.”

“I didn’t ruin my—my face is not ru— I said I didn’t wanna talk about it.” Ethan brushed past her, achy and flustered, trying to cut her off before she could remind him again that he was going to have to explain his appearance to a board that was already on edge.

“Why not?” Leah trailed him as he unlocked the synagogue and led her toward the closet in question. “This is the most interesting you’ve been in a long time.”

“I suppose you think that’s a compliment?” He was pretty sure no one had opened this closet in a decade.

“Well, yeah.” Leah leaned against the door frame. “First you hire Naomi Grant, then you decide to start speed dating—”

“I wasn’t speed dating. I was evaluating the environment for optimization opportunities—” Ethan started hefting down boxes for Leah to sort.

“—then you get into a street brawl—”

“A street brawl?” Ethan whipped around to face her. “What am I, an extra in West Side Story?”

“West Side Story?! Wow, you are such a nerd.”

Ethan shoved a box into her arms. “Let’s start with three piles. Keep, donate, and trash.”

“Sure thing, Marie Kondo,” Leah said, setting down the box and pulling out masking tape and a Sharpie from her backpack.

Despite her abundance of sass, Leah worked harder than almost anyone he knew, and she always came prepared.

It only took five boxes and one giant spider sighting for Ethan to break.