The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2) - Rosie Danan Page 0,43

former performer and a rabbi descended from Hollywood royalty were a nonstarter.

She’d been quiet too long, she realized. “Still, one date with Natalie Portman couldn’t hurt.”

“She’s married!”

“Oh shit. Tell God not to smite me either.”

He threw back his head and grinned at the roof of the car. “I’ll put in a good word.”

“Am I anywhere near your house?” She needed to get him and his smile out of here before she did something stupid. They’d been climbing these hills for at least ten minutes. It was gonna be a hell of a ride back down.

“Yes, sorry. Just a little farther,” Ethan said, and then, “She’s not my type, you know. Natalie.”

That shouldn’t have sent a pleasant flutter through her belly. And yet . . .

“Oh please. Natalie Portman is everyone’s type.”

“I’m up here on the left.” Naomi slowed the car. The houses on this street were surprisingly normal, given his recent confession about his mom. Neat but small.

“I’d like to find someone who’s strong where I’m weak.”

Naomi wanted to stop talking about Ethan’s dating preferences, but she couldn’t stop fishing. Without tequila loosening his tongue, she knew he never would have told her so much about his personal life. Maybe she was a bitch for taking advantage, but there were worse things in the world.

“So, where exactly”—she looked him up and down—“are you weak?”

“How much time do you have?” He rubbed his hands on his thighs. “I take myself too seriously. I’m indecisive. I’m not good at saying no to people. I’m irredeemably clumsy.”

I like that about you, she almost said but didn’t. She coughed instead. “I think this is your house.”

“Yeah.” He unbuckled his seat belt but didn’t rush to open the door.

Naomi’s heart took his lingering in all the wrong ways.

“Let me see that battle wound before you go.”

She pressed the light above their heads on. The damage made her wince. Before she knew what she was doing, Naomi had leaned across the center console and taken his jaw in her hands, tilting his head slightly so she could survey the depth of the damage. The skin around his eye was red and swollen. His cheekbone held the dark promise of a bruise. Were men allowed to be so lovely?

“Bad?” At some point he’d closed his eyes. He was probably tired. Tired and sore and drunk. At least two-thirds her fault.

“You’re going to have to come up with a good story,” she confirmed.

“You don’t think getting punched in the face by a drunk frat guy is a good story?” He smiled again. No one ever smiled at her this much.

“I don’t trust you to tell it right.” In actuality, tonight, Ethan stepping in to protect her, seeing him lying on the ground with his hand pressed to his face, still trying to lecture the man who had insulted her about respect, had been one of the most quietly heroic things she’d ever seen.

Oh shit. She was still holding his face, his beard softer than she’d expected against her fingertips. It would be so easy to pull him just a few inches closer. Stop his smiling with her lips.

“I’m good at advocating for others, but I don’t always ask for what I want.” Ethan didn’t seem in a rush to reclaim his chin.

“Maybe you should practice,” Naomi said, holding on even though it was stupid and ruinous.

Ethan was looking at her bottom lip. He was looking at her bottom lip and then up into her eyes and holy shit was Rabbi Ethan Cohen going to kiss her? And if he was, should she let him? And if she did, was that considered taking advantage of a drunk person?

He cleared his throat and slipped slowly out of her grip. “Will you help me find someone to date?”

Well. That was . . . not where she’d thought this conversation was going.

She killed the engine. If he wasn’t gonna get out anytime soon, she might as well save gas.

“I thought you didn’t want to date.”

Even with the bright light on between them, she couldn’t read his face.

“I think I just changed my mind.”

Great. What fun timing.

“You hardly need me to act as matchmaker.” Naomi fought hard to keep her voice from growing hostile.

“No, I think I do. I certainly don’t want my mom doing it, and I saw you at the mixer tonight, making introductions, pairing people off. I trust your judgment in matters of romance way more than my own.”

“It’s not a good idea.” She imagined shoving him, gently, out of