The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2)(51)

“Yeah, I am.” She shook her head and reached for a paper towel. “Sorry, have we met?”

Naomi was supposed to be smooth. Cold as ice. But she could not for the life of her think of a good excuse for recognizing this woman.

“Did you go to camp with Ethan Cohen? He was showing me old photos and I thought I recognized you.” Oh, nice. Real subtle.

At least the familiar name did seem to relax Amelia. Her shoulders fell away from her ears.

“Yeah, I did. We used to date, actually,” Amelia added with enough challenge in her voice that Naomi concluded Morey’s baseball uniform had not successfully canceled out her hotness.

“You’re a friend of his?”

“A business partner.” In order for this plan to actually work, Naomi needed to put as much distance between her and Ethan as she could manage. The last thing she wanted was to get into some possessive staring contest with this woman. “We’re running a seminar series for eligible Jews. Oh, and we’ve got singles mixers now too, I guess.”

Molly, bless her heart, had taken over the event-planning portion of the mixers after Ethan’s first clumsy attempt.

“Oh.” Clearly not the answer Amelia had been expecting.

Naomi grabbed one of the flyers Clara had designed for them from her bag and handed it over as proof. “You should stop by one of the lectures. If you’re interested, I mean.”

Amelia studied the form. “Ethan will be there?”

“Definitely.”

“I haven’t seen him in years. I heard he’s a rabbi now.” The blonde smiled. The kind of secret smile that said she knew exactly how hot Ethan still was. Amelia leaned in conspiratorially. “I don’t actually like softball, but I heard he pitches for Beth Elohim.”

That explained the three hundred dollars’ worth of spandex coating her lithe form. Fair play.

Naomi smoothed her hands down the front of her pants. “Right. Well, you might not get much time to catch up tonight. What with all the balls. Flying.” Kill me. Just kill me. “I’m sure he’d be glad to see you at one of our events.”

Grabbing the reins on her composure, Naomi made her voice light and confident. “If you’re interested in attending, just RSVP through the link on the flyer. We have a short screener for participants.”

Or at least they would when Naomi went home tonight and made one. It wasn’t that she was against the idea of Ethan and Amelia falling in love. There was no denying they’d make gorgeous Jewish babies together. But Ethan was so special, and he was so nervous about dating again. Naomi owed it to him to make sure that Amelia Green was as good as she looked on paper.

“Okay. Thanks,” the blonde said. “Maybe I will. And hey, may the best team win tonight.”

Naomi smiled. “You bet.”

As soon as Amelia walked out onto the field and saw Ethan in his uniform, that maybe was gonna skyrocket to definitely. Which was fine. It was good, even.

Naomi didn’t have a claim on Ethan. In fact, once he paired off neatly with this chick, she’d be able to go back to focusing on Shameless.

Work was simple, even when it was hard. Work reinforced the reality of who she was instead of making her feel like all the truths she’d built her life on were peeling back like cheap paint. Work didn’t ask anything more of her than time and commitment.

“It was nice meeting you,” she told Amelia, only sort of lying. “I’ll see you on the field.”

Amelia might be Ethan’s future: the perfect Jewish wife for the perfect Jewish man. But that didn’t mean that tonight, Naomi wasn’t gonna bunt like her life depended on it.

He wasn’t the only one who didn’t like to lose.





Chapter Eighteen


ETHAN NEVER FELT less qualified to be a rabbi than at the bottom of the fifth inning.

It was always right around then when his arm started going rubbery and he’d managed to chew through his bottom lip. His defenses against uncharitable, unsportsmanlike thoughts fell with each passing pitch.

Winning was like a drug. As far back as he could remember, he’d let the heady perfume of victory go straight to his bloodstream until he could feel the power of it when he flexed his fingers. And like any drug, the lack of it kept him up at night.

If he were a better man, he’d have avoided the softball league altogether. It presented too much temptation for his competitive side on a good day, and that was before Naomi had shown up and turned a seemingly innocuous uniform incendiary.

He had been a good athlete through high school and college. Not that good, obviously. No one had tried to recruit him or anything. But he’d earned himself a bit of a reputation. Teams didn’t like to see his name on the opposing side’s roster. The Sunday synagogue league wasn’t much, but there weren’t that many sports where short Jews with bad knees thrived. Ethan took what he could get.

Former glory days aside, he didn’t particularly want Naomi witnessing the sore-loser side of him. It was fine if the team saw him as a little hotheaded. Not great, but not lethal either. He never yelled or threw his glove or anything. The worst he did was go a little quiet when they lost in spectacular fashion.

It was undeniably embarrassing how much he cared. Rec softball was meant to be a respite from the hectic demands of capitalism. Or, in many of his teammates’ cases, from the monotony of early retirement.