The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2)(76)

“Sometimes love is your own quiet rebellion.” Her words were almost a whisper, but the microphone carried them to their intended destination.





Chapter Twenty-Seven


THE MOOD IN Ethan’s living room later that night was tense, to say the least.

Naomi put on a pot of tea, because that seemed to help soothe people in movies and because he had an electric kettle that made the process foolproof.

“Thanks,” he said when she handed him a steaming mug, and then immediately placed it on the coffee table.

So much for that idea.

His guilt practically radiated off him.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said gently.

He paced in front of his bookshelves, hands flexing in and out of fists. “I hate that you had to experience that. I hate that I didn’t see it coming. That I didn’t do something to prevent it.” He lowered his voice. “To protect you.”

Naomi walked over and took his hand, making him stop. Making him look at her.

“That is a beautiful impulse and I appreciate it, but those types of reactions are a sort of inevitable, unpleasant reality. The world we live in doesn’t exactly welcome our relationship for all sorts of reasons. But I’m not interested in their approval. I’ve already won.”

His mouth stayed in an obstinate frown. “How’s that?”

Naomi tried to think of a way to explain.

“You know how when you give a sermon, sometimes you use a story as an allegory?”

“Yes.”

“I’m gonna try to do that.”

His cheek twitched. “Okay.”

“Once upon a time—”

“Hmm.” He frowned. “Not my usual opening . . .”

“Hush.” She kissed him quickly, because he was being annoying but also because he was very cute.

“Once upon a time,” she repeated, “there was this cat, and she grew up in a nice cat home and had everything a cat could want, but then one day she met a boy, and this boy was very mean to her. And she figured that all boys, all people, were probably mean as well. So she decided to get tough, grew out her claws, learned to fight. She let herself become mean too.”

Ethan rubbed his thumb against her jawline. “Poor cat.”

“Don’t feel sorry for her. She was very successful. For a long time, she kept everyone away, hissing and scratching and biting, and she liked it like that. But then when she got older, she met a new boy, and he was the softest boy in the whole world.”

He groaned, “I am not.”

“He pretended he wasn’t that soft,” Naomi continued, talking over him, “but the cat knew better. Because he let her hiss at him on occasion, and he kept saying things like ‘I think you’re a great cat. Maybe the best cat. I haven’t met them all, but I have this hunch.’”

Ethan shook his head. “You didn’t say this story was going to be embarrassing for me.”

“I figured that was a given.”

He opened his mouth to protest.

“I’m almost done,” she promised. “The cat liked this soft boy. So when he tried to hold her and be kind to her, she wanted to let him. At first, she didn’t always know how. She’d spent so many years fighting. But he was patient, and he showed her he wouldn’t hurt her, even when she was cruel to him. So she grew a little softer herself.”

Naomi’s insides felt warm and gooey. It was almost intolerable. But she kept talking anyway. “But sometimes the cat would still get scared. Even though she knew the boy would never intentionally hurt her, she would bite him just to see if he’d still be kind. If he’d stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ethan said quietly, holding her gaze.

“And so he did, and the cat tried to bite him less, which was a work in progress, but alas, aren’t we all.”

“Very true,” he agreed.

“What did you think of the story?”

“Well, I gotta say”—Ethan wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her against him—“I prefer the version where we’re both human.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “That’s fair.”

“But”—he kissed her, soft at first and then deeper—“I appreciate the message.”

Naomi relished the heady press of his perfect mouth. “I guess I should tell stories more often.”

Holding her gaze, Ethan lowered himself to his knees in front of her.

Naomi caught her bottom lip between her teeth as her heartbeat kicked up. He was just that beautiful. Looking at him made her feel lucky. Made her want to paint, despite having never painted a day in her life. It felt like the least she could do. To capture this moment somehow, so that other people could know half the pleasure of it.

He’d been so sure in his movement, the downward trajectory, but she could read the hesitation in him now—the way he tapped his fingers against his palm and shook his head a little.

“Can I . . . um . . . would you mind if I . . .” For a moment she didn’t know what he wanted, truly couldn’t figure it out because her brain had emulsified into lust lava, but then Ethan traced his bottom lip, the soft, too-pink-for-its-own-good bottom lip with his tongue, leaving his whole mouth wet and shiny, and he tipped his chin toward her and grunted.