“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.” ETHANlaid 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?”
“Definemagical.” 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 we do.” He brought his fingers up to his face and winced. “Maybe if they did, I’d get punched less.”
“Should I be recording this for your next sermon?” Even three sheets to the wind, he found ways to be poetic. Despicable.
“Sorry,” Ethan said, eyes drooping. “I told you I couldn’t hold my alcohol.”
“You sure did.” Naomi batted away another wave of guilt. “Here, drink some more water.” She handed him a plastic bottle from her cup holder.
“I usually drink the grape juice on Shabbat.” Ethan guzzled the drink.
“Hard to resist grape juice.” Especially when it tasted better than most kosher wine anyway.
He’d tilted his head to an almost perpendicular angle on his neck.
“How are you so beautiful?”
Pleasure shot through her spine. She liked the way he saidbeautiful, like it was powerful instead of just aesthetically pleasing.
She took the water back before he managed to drown himself. “I didn’t realize you were a chatty drunk.”
“Everything about you is... more,” he continued, obviously not deterred by her attempted deflection. “You’re like... da Vinci.”
“Now that is a new one.” Just when she thought she’d heard every line in the book...