The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2)(53)

Ethan’s desire to win wasn’t strictly opposed to distraction techniques, and his body definitely wasn’t opposed to seeing any part of Naomi’s, but he still had a problem with her putting herself in danger by squaring up toward the mound. His every instinct told him that was what this whole performance was leading up to.

The opposing pitcher could barely take his eyes off the planes of her bare stomach. As for Ethan, well, he tried his best to control where his gaze landed.

Halfway through the windup, Naomi moved into the bunting position Ethan had shown her. Luckily, the pitcher was so bamboozled, there was barely any heat behind his throw. Naomi kissed the ball with the fat edge of the bat, and it fell in a perfectly executed bunt a few feet in front of her.

Both the pitcher and catcher froze at her unexpected show of technique following so many minutes of misdirection. By the time they got the throw off to Amelia, Naomi had already cleared first base and was now smiling at Ethan like he could very much go fuck himself.

Honestly, he wished he could. That entire display was one of the sexiest things he’d ever seen in his life. There might as well have been cartoon birds floating around his head as their next batter made his way to the plate.

Morey nudged Ethan with a sharp elbow. “Look alive. You’re on deck.”

He pulled his gloves out of his back pocket and grabbed a helmet while the batter managed a line drive. Ethan’s desire to win cut through all his other emotions like a knife through butter. With runners on both first and second, he had a chance to tie the game in his next at-bat.

As he took his stance and checked the positions of the outfielders, Amelia gave him a friendly little wave from first base. He nodded in recognition and was taken even more aback when Amelia’s smile bloomed wider. It was a bit more of a warm greeting than he’d expected, and his cheeks went warm.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one confused by her attention. Amelia’s pitcher shot her a warning glare. He was sour after Naomi had so transparently played him, and had barely made anything within the strike zone during the last at-bat. Maybe Ethan could goad him? He certainly didn’t have the same assets at his disposal as Naomi, but he could ham it up, Major League style.

Why not? The Sunday synagogue league had certainly never seen anything like today’s Beth Elohim team before. Now that Naomi was safely on base, he didn’t see anything wrong with putting on his own performance. With extreme bravado, he made a show of slowly pointing beyond the fence. His face as stoic as Babe Ruth himself.

The pitcher rolled his eyes and then checked the runners before entering into his windup. What Ethan had taken for a curve sank into a fastball just as he made contact, sending a pitch that might have only skimmed the fence into a straight shot headed directly at— Oh no. His heart hammered as the ball slammed into Naomi’s shoulder.

Ethan raced toward her, even as the umpire called the ball fair.

“What the hell are you doing?” Naomi held her shoulder with the opposite arm as she raced away from him toward third base. “Go to first, you moron!”

He pivoted at the last second, too shocked to argue, but was still out by a mile.

Ethan got in the ump’s face as soon as he got back to home plate. “Time out. My player’s hurt. She needs to come out of the game.”

“I do not,” Naomi shouted from third base. “Ethan, sit down.”

The ump gave him a Better you than me, buddy look.

It wasn’t until Morey came and steered him toward the bench that Ethan closed his mouth.

He buried his face in his hands and tried to calm his racing pulse. He’d spent the entire game worried about her getting hit with a ball, and then to be the one to do it? There was a decent chance he might die of embarrassment.

He missed whatever play brought her home, had no idea if it was good or bad. The next thing he knew, Naomi was back in front of him.

“What is wrong with you?”

Ethan jumped to his feet. “I’m so sorry.” He reminded himself it wasn’t okay to hold her. “We’ve got ice in the first-aid kit—”

“We could have had that play if you’d just run to first like you were supposed to,” she interrupted him. Her cheeks were flushed, and a few strands of damp hair fell out of her ponytail to curl against her neck. She looked like a vengeful queen. “I thought you were obsessed with winning!”

His blood felt too heavy for his body. He could barely think through his still abating panic.

She made him feel like he was unraveling.

“I am,” he yelled back. “But I’m more obsessed with you.” Everyone else on the field turned to stare at them.

“I mean,” he said, looking around, his eyes catching on Amelia’s calculating gaze. “The collective you, obviously. As in, the team. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.” His breath came out in harsh puffs.

Naomi’s face was guarded.

Morey shuffled over with an ice pack, which she took with a small “Thanks.” Her eyes flashed to the field, and Ethan followed her gaze to Amelia.

The rest of the game passed in a blur.

Ethan tried to focus on the team. On the score. On anything but the flash of surprise across Naomi’s face when he’d admitted how much he cared about her. There was a slim chance she wouldn’t recognize his confession as an outright declaration.

He barely even noticed when they lost.