The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2)(58)

Dating Ethan also required bravery, but it didn’t inspire the same swooping belly and trembling hands she’d felt all those years ago. Instead, sitting across from him required her to flirt with her own softness. To decide if she was willing to put down the armor she’d worn for years and risk finding, when this whole thing ended, that she’d lost the strength to pick it up again.

Ethan reached for her hand across the tabletop. “Naomi, you still with me?”

“Yeah—” she started to say—only then she wasn’t.

Her ex-girlfriend Jocelyn, arm threaded through another woman’s, ducked through the cheesy beaded curtain hanging in the entranceway. The hostess led them straight toward Naomi’s table.

Joce quickly covered the little start of surprise that passed over her face when she saw Naomi, smoothing her brow and painting on a quick, if resigned, smile.

Naomi got to her feet, not thinking, and oh man, was that a mistake, because now it wasn’t just Jocelyn looking at her, it was everyone in the restaurant, including Ethan and the woman on Joce’s arm. Why on earth had she picked out such a stupid, shiny dress? She might as well have worn a neon sign around her neck inviting disaster.

“Hi,” she said limply.

She hadn’t seen her ex in five years, but not much had changed. Joce’s beauty was still the arresting combination of sharp and delicate. The specter of their former relationship hung in the air between them, mocking Naomi with a failed future she’d never know.

Jocelyn hadn’t looked tired when she’d walked in. She did now, as if simply coming into contact with Naomi were draining. If only someone in this restaurant would knock over a wineglass. Send it shattering against the wood floor in a hundred jagged pieces, creating a big enough distraction that Naomi could slip away and not have to face these two people, one past and one present, who wanted something from her she wasn’t sure she could give.

“Hey. It’s been forever.” Joce threaded her fingers through her companion’s, and Naomi caught the flash of a gold band even in the low light of the restaurant’s Einstein bulbs. “This is my wife, Alice.”

Naomi sucked in a sharp breath and tried to cover it with a cough. Ethan stood up and handed her a glass of water off the table.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, offering his hand to first Jocelyn and then Alice, covering for the fact that Naomi was still swallowing. “I’m Ethan.”

“Right.” Naomi shook herself. Put the water down before she dropped it. “Ethan is my . . .” Rabbi? Friend? Shit, what was she supposed to call him?

“Date,” he offered lightly.

“Nice to meet you.” Jocelyn tucked her sleek black bob behind her ear. Was that sympathy in the look she shot Ethan, or something else?

Alice bumped her shoulder gently against her wife’s. “How do you two know each other?”

“We used to date,” Joce and Naomi said at the exact same time.

Ethan laughed, but Alice’s brows drew together.

“You’re not . . . wait . . . are you Hannah?” Something heavy pulled Alice’s face taut.

Any traces of mirth soured in Naomi’s mouth.

“Umm, yeah. Or I guess I was, back when . . . back then.”

The waiter fidgeted with his pad.

“We should get going,” Jocelyn said after a long, awkward pause. She reached for Naomi’s wrist for a second, pulled her in just enough to whisper, “You look happy. I’m glad,” before walking away.

After they left, Ethan didn’t demand an immediate explanation for what had admittedly been a very odd encounter, but Naomi couldn’t suffocate the urge to explain.

“I treated Joce like shit. That’s why that was so weird.” She ran her thumb through the condensation on her water glass for something to do. The truth had escaped before she’d thought to bury it. “We met shortly after I moved out here from Boston. She owns a flower shop a couple doors down from the place where I used to waitress. I’d give her free drinks, and Jocelyn would bring me all the errant blooms that wouldn’t fit into her arrangements.” Naomi still couldn’t smell hyacinth without thinking of Joce’s smile. “We dated for two years, and it was great. No big problems. Just . . . nice.”

A frown painted Ethan’s dark brow. “But something went wrong?”

Naomi nodded, needing the extra seconds to find the words. “She bought me a ring. It was gorgeous.” Silver, not gold.

Ethan sat back in his chair, the firm set of his lips taking on a new air of gravity. “The idea of marriage scared you?”

“Not exactly.” She’d loved Jocelyn and seen a future with her. It had been the inscription on the ring, of all things. Yesterday. Today. Always.

The last word, tiny and precise, had scoured Naomi’s skin, echoing another promise from years earlier. One that still sent her bolting up in bed in the middle of the night sometimes, heart racing. Come on, baby, just a few pictures. You can trust me. You know I love you. I’ll always love you.

Fuck. She still hadn’t responded to that email invitation from her high school. Mostly because she hadn’t decided how to best articulate her disdain, but also because she couldn’t shake the hypocritical feeling of rejecting the exact kind of opportunity—one to change the conversation about sex ed and intimacy—she consistently fought to receive.