The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2)(52)

Thankfully, Ethan’s congregants appreciated how hard he played and how many hours he put into strategizing and organizing practices around his other synagogue commitments. Morey said the team believed in Ethan because Ethan believed in the game.

There was no point denying that he’d be a lot happier if they weren’t losing right now. It ate at his pride that he couldn’t stop exposing his flaws in front of Naomi. He’d been trying to play it cool since their last seminar, but by the second time he walked a batter with a full count, it got a little bit harder.

The score was close enough that he couldn’t let go of hope. Despite his flagging arm, they’d managed to close out the top of the inning without letting in any more runs. This next turn at bat was their best chance for a comeback.

They were back at the top of their order. If Beth Elohim could pick up three runs, they could tie the game, and Ethan could salvage what remained of his dignity.

Ethan pulverized a tacky stick of gum as he called out the lineup and tried not to let Naomi catch him scowling. She’d been quiet all game. He’d caught her staring at the opposing team’s first baseman a handful of times before he realized he recognized the player.

Amelia Greene. Man, he hadn’t seen her in forever. He’d had no idea she’d moved back to L.A. She’d sent him a really thoughtful card from Atlanta back when he was sitting shiva for his dad. It had been nice. She had been nice. Though Ethan couldn’t look at her without thinking about the disastrous results of trying to French kiss while they’d both had braces.

First base made sense for her. Like Naomi, she was both tall and left-handed. Though judging by the way Naomi was currently sawing the sleeves off her uniform with a pocketknife while Morey looked on in horror, the similarities didn’t extend to their dispositions.

Ethan shook his head and went to search for his batting gloves. He’d just managed to pull them out from under two heavy leather-bound books in his bag when Naomi stepped in front of him and put her hands on her hips.

“I wanna try that bunting thing.”

Before the first inning, he’d told her to start out with a normal swing so he could get a sense for their pitcher and be strategic about when to deploy the bunt. She was 0 for 4 at bat and, judging by her scowl, wasn’t having fun.

Ethan shook out the gloves before pulling them on. “It’s a bad idea. Their pitcher’s been cutting inside all night. It’s not worth the risk of you getting hit.”

“Come on.” Naomi’s raised voice attracted attention from the rest of their team. “If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s handle balls,” she said at the same volume, smirking at the disapproving titter of their elderly audience.

He’d never seen someone relish making other people uncomfortable as much as she did. It was pretty spectacular.

But there was still no way he was going to let her go out there and get hurt.

“No. I’m sorry. You might be an expert handler.” His mouth twitched, despite his attempts to convey the seriousness of the situation. “But you’re also stubborn, and I fully believe you’d take a line drive to the chest before you’d admit that you don’t really know what you’re doing out there.”

Her eyes went dark enough that he half expected steam to start pouring out of her ears.

Whoops. Maybe telling Naomi she couldn’t do something in front of the entire team wasn’t such a great idea.

“Ms. Grant, you’re up,” Morey called from the other end of the dugout.

Naomi pivoted on her back foot so fast she threw dust.

“Wait a second.” Ethan reached for her hand, but she was too fast. His fingers closed around air.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice dangerously light. “They’re calling my name.”

The way she swayed her hips as she grabbed her helmet and bat and walked to home plate was absolutely designed to punish him.

Ethan groaned. He had a feeling that no matter what the outcome of her at-bat was, somehow he was going to live to regret it.

Naomi stopped just shy of the batter’s box to take a few warm-up swings. Ethan wiped sweat from his furrowed brow. That stance wasn’t anything like what he’d shown her. She was wiggling way too much.

Unlike Ethan, who could feel a migraine starting behind his eye sockets, the pitcher on the opposing team didn’t seem to mind Naomi’s admittedly limber routine. His mouth was practically hanging open. It was a wonder the ball didn’t roll out of his slack grip.

Instead of course-correcting when she finally stepped into the batter’s box, Naomi adjusted her stance so it was even more outrageous. With her legs completely straight, she lowered her torso toward her knees, which had the effect of . . . Ethan swallowed. Oh dear.

“She looks like she’s shooting a pinup calendar,” Morey whispered to him, in half awe and half fear. “What’s she playing at?”

If Ethan had the answer to that, he’d sleep a lot better at night.

The first pitch went wild, missing the strike zone by a solid three feet.

Naomi stepped out of the box again, this time to . . .

“Oh, you have gotta be kidding me,” Ethan yelled, loud enough for her to hear.

She gave him a heart-stopping wink as she continued to roll her shirt up and tuck it to reveal her navel.

“Well,” Morey reasoned, wiping his brow with a handkerchief, “you gotta admit that’s a strategy we haven’t tried before.”