The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2) - Rosie Danan Page 0,40

across the thin skin there, try to smooth them away.

“It sucks.” Her voice hardened from water to ice. “But I’ve got a short recovery time.”

Aggressive was the last word anyone would use to describe Ethan, but still he’d known a moment when he’d craved nothing more than to knock out that guy’s teeth and hand them to her.

“I tried to reason with him,” he said, half leaning on her as they made their way to the bar.

She reached up again to press two fingers to the tender skin around his eye. The touch was featherlight and bittersweet with the promise of pain.

“No wonder he hit you.”

Ethan wiped his watering eye on the bottom of his T-shirt. “I should have known you didn’t need me to defend your honor.”

She stopped under the neon sign heralding the bar’s name, its pink light dappling her red hair. “I didn’t mind as much as you might think.”

As they walked in, she looked back at the bar, where earlier the sounds of music and laughter had confirmed their success this evening. It was quiet now.

“If you want to talk about it . . .”

“Tequila first.” Naomi bodily deposited him on a bar stool and then whistled for the bartender. “Two double shots of Herradura and a bag of your finest ice, please.”

Movies never lingered on the aftermath of getting punched. Turned out that was because it sucked.

When the bartender handed over her requests, she took Ethan’s palm in hers and pressed the ice into it. “Keep this on until your face goes numb or the ice melts, whichever comes first.”

Ethan followed her instructions and pressed the ice to his cheek. The bag was at once soothing and awkward. She lined up the shot glasses in front of him.

“Both?”

Naomi nodded, her mouth pressed into a grim line. “That eye’s really starting to swell.”

The smell wafting off the tequila burned the insides of Ethan’s nose. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

He tipped back the shots one after the other. Alcohol blazed a path from his tongue to his stomach. He tried clearing his throat, but the movement sent a shooting pain across the left side of his face, so the sound died halfway out of his mouth.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll make sure you get home safe, Rabbi Cohen.”

Chapter Twelve

“OH NO.” ETHAN laid his head back against Naomi’s passenger seat. “I think I might be a little drunk.”

She waited until they reached a stoplight to look over at him. His eyes were half-lidded, and the smile that stretched his mouth was definitely fueled by tequila. Whoops.

A better woman would have apologized. Apparently that fifth shot had been overkill. Back at the bar, shame and guilt had threatened to choke her. Watching the bruise on his face bloom in real time, she would have done anything to make the pain go away. Since she couldn’t mount him in the middle of the bar, liquor was the less volatile option at her disposal.

Besides, Naomi liked this version of Ethan, loose and flushed. She liked time alone with him in the dark privacy of her tiny car, close enough to reach out and touch.

Not that she was going to touch him. Naomi had a strict no-groping policy. But the idea of running her hand down the inner seam of his jeans? The idea that he might want her to? Ooh, that fantasy was as delicious as it was dangerous.

“How are you feeling? Want me to lower the window?” He wasn’t the only one at risk of becoming overheated.

“I feel good,” Ethan said, his words lilting together slightly. He moaned as a bump caused the injured part of his face to thwack against the headrest. “That’s probably bad, huh?”

“Not bad so much as the aspirin doing its job,” she corrected, lowering the window just in case.

Ethan closed his eyes against the night air whipping his hair. “I love Los Angeles.”

Naomi couldn’t imagine why at the moment. This part of the freeway was hardly scenic. Traffic was moving, but the roads were clogged, even though it was past midnight on a weekday. Classic.

“Everyone hates the freeway, but it’s sort of magical, isn’t it?”

“Define magical.” All Naomi perceived was smog and impatience as far as the eye could see.

“All those lights”—he pointed unnecessarily—“coming and going, each one a person with a whole world inside their head. People don’t think about that enough. How everyone we pass on the street has just as much complexity, just as many aspirations and fear and failures, as