The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2)(68)
But then he’d been so good all night. So sweet and surprisingly funny with her friends. Smiling for goofy pictures. Bringing Naomi lemonade before she even knew she wanted lemonade.
Her coworker Lance, one of their male tutorialists for Shameless, had come up to her in the middle of the dance floor, beaming, to tell her Ethan had invited him to play bass at the reception after Shabbat services next week.
It almost wasn’t weird. Having him blend into her comfort zone.
Naomi had forgotten the luxury of having a date at a party. The way you could roll your eyes at them when someone made an inane comment. The delight of finding them with your coat already slung over their arm when you were ready to leave. The closeness, gentle and fond, of having them hold it behind you, arms straight, while you slipped inside.
She’d lost him for a while during the end of the night, only to find him at the kitchen sink, up to his elbows in dishes.
“It always sucks waking up to a mess the next morning,” he explained sheepishly. “Also, your friends kept trying to get me to play drinking games.” He ducked his chin.
Naomi kissed him until someone walked in.
They made it as far as the exit before hers on the highway, but when Ethan flipped on his blinker, Naomi put her hand on his forearm.
He seemed to understand the question in it. The Are we ready for this? Naomi couldn’t push past her lips.
“Yeah?” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.
Naomi swallowed. “Yeah.”
On the way into his house, she touched the mezuzah by the door without thinking. Two fingers, pressed against the marble and then brought quickly to her lips before she pulled them away. As if he wouldn’t notice if she managed to shove them back in her pocket fast enough. Not something she would have done a few months ago, but now she moved without thinking.
She liked his place, despite the old-money cues that didn’t quite fit with the way she saw Ethan in her head. It wasn’t that he didn’t look good against all the dark cherry wood and granite countertops. He did. But there was something about the chandelier hanging over a dining room table big enough to seat eight that felt aggressively vacant, formal and expectant. As if at any moment it would ask her just what exactly she thought she was doing here.
The other rooms were better. Easier. Books filled almost every available surface and spilled out of places she didn’t expect. Left open to specific passages or closed but sporting sticky notes like flags out the side. While he hung up their coats, she ran her fingertips across a heavy leather one left open beside the coffeemaker.
“You’re like a dog who sheds pages,” she told him when he came back.
He laughed in a way that made her think he enjoyed the characterization, head thrown back, eyes crinkled at the corners.
She had so many grand plans to ravish him.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, and escaped to the bathroom to run cold water on her wrists, trying to cool down. Her nerves multiplied when she reached for a hand towel and saw he had good ones. Thick and clean smelling. She’d never dated anyone with such nice accessories in their powder room.
Was it too much to wish for a little mess? A couple of loose ends to underscore his humanity?
Hands braced on either side of the sink, she stared down her reflection. Her makeup was smudged in the happy, post-party way that reflected a night spent sweating on the dance floor and leaving her lipstick on the rim of cocktail glasses and the collar of Ethan’s shirt.
There were a lot of ways she could play this next part. She could strip off her clothes, piece by piece, leaving a trail on the way to his bedroom. She could turn on the shower, and when Ethan came to investigate, she could tug him under the spray, wait until the water plastered his shirt to his body, and then bite his collarbone until he whimpered.
She could drag him only as far as the hallway before dropping to her knees. The carpet was plush enough that she could spend hours edging him without inviting bruises.
But while each imagined scenario excited her, made her blood hum in her veins, something in her mind kept whispering, Not now. Not yet. Like her body wanted something else from tonight.
She tried to shake it off, to get her head in the game. She’d come home with him for sex, after all. Because she was tired of waiting. She’d known him for months now; if she put it off any longer, they’d never be able to bridge the gap between her imagination and reality.
Her friends had teased her from the doorway as they waved good-bye. “Have fun riding that beard!”
She’d had to duck her head so they wouldn’t see her heated cheeks. How was it possible she hadn’t even seen Ethan naked yet? Hadn’t touched him anywhere below the waist? And while they’d watched her video and kissed enough to wipe out any expectations of virtuous intent, still she hesitated.
She didn’t know why.
All these nerves, they couldn’t belong to her. She never got like this. All giddy and vulnerable and . . . shy?
She knew it meant something, that she hadn’t mounted him yet, and that was sort of terrifying.
The barrier wasn’t Ethan. For all he loved God and wanted to get married . . . he wasn’t the one pussyfooting around. It was Naomi who’d pulled away first when he kissed her good night after their last seminar. Who had shaken her head, just barely, when he’d tilted it in inquiry.
He wasn’t pushing, not even close. But his eyes, when they caught hers and lingered, held a trace of invitation that Naomi had been diluting, dancing around.