Or at least they would when Naomi went home tonight and made one. It wasn’t that she was against the idea of Ethan and Amelia falling in love. There was no denying they’d make gorgeous Jewish babies together. But Ethan was so special, and he was so nervous about dating again. Naomi owed it to him to make sure that Amelia Green was as good as she looked on paper.
“Okay. Thanks,” the blonde said. “Maybe I will. And hey, may the best team win tonight.”
Naomi smiled. “You bet.”
As soon as Amelia walked out onto the field and saw Ethan in his uniform, thatmaybewas gonna skyrocket todefinitely. Which was fine. It was good, even.
Naomi didn’t have a claim on Ethan. In fact, once he paired off neatly with this chick, she’d be able to go back to focusing on Shameless.
Work was simple, even when it was hard. Work reinforced the reality of who she was instead of making her feel like all the truths she’d built her life on were peeling back like cheap paint. Work didn’t ask anything more of her than time and commitment.
“It was nice meeting you,” she told Amelia, only sort of lying. “I’ll see you on the field.”
Amelia might be Ethan’s future: the perfect Jewish wife for the perfect Jewish man. But that didn’t mean that tonight, Naomi wasn’t gonna bunt like her life depended on it.
He wasn’t the only one who didn’t like to lose.
Chapter Eighteen
ETHAN NEVER FELTless qualified to be a rabbi than at the bottom of the fifth inning.
It was always right around then when his arm started going rubbery and he’d managed to chew through his bottom lip. His defenses against uncharitable, unsportsmanlike thoughts fell with each passing pitch.
Winning was like a drug. As far back as he could remember, he’d let the heady perfume of victory go straight to his bloodstream until he could feel the power of it when he flexed his fingers. And like any drug, the lack of it kept him up at night.
If he were a better man, he’d have avoided the softball league altogether. It presented too much temptation for his competitive side on a good day, and that was before Naomi had shown up and turned a seemingly innocuous uniform incendiary.
He had been a good athlete through high school and college. Not that good, obviously. No one had tried to recruit him or anything. But he’d earned himself a bit of a reputation. Teams didn’t like to see his name on the opposing side’s roster. The Sunday synagogue leaguewasn’t much, but there weren’t that many sports where short Jews with bad knees thrived. Ethan took what he could get.
Former glory days aside, he didn’t particularly want Naomi witnessing the sore-loser side of him. It was fine if the team saw him as a little hotheaded. Not great, but not lethal either. He never yelled or threw his glove or anything. The worst he did was go a little quiet when they lost in spectacular fashion.
It was undeniably embarrassing how much he cared. Rec softball was meant to be a respite from the hectic demands of capitalism. Or, in many of his teammates’ cases, from the monotony of early retirement.
Thankfully, Ethan’s congregants appreciated how hard he played and how many hours he put into strategizing and organizing practices around his other synagogue commitments. Morey said the team believed in Ethan because Ethan believed in the game.
There was no point denying that he’d be a lot happier if they weren’t losing right now. It ate at his pride that he couldn’t stop exposing his flaws in front of Naomi. He’d been trying to play it cool since their last seminar, but by the second time he walked a batter with a full count, it got a little bit harder.
The score was close enough that he couldn’t let go of hope. Despite his flagging arm, they’d managed to close out the top of the inning without letting in any more runs. This next turn at bat was their best chance for a comeback.
They were back at the top of their order. If Beth Elohim could pick up three runs, they could tie the game, and Ethan could salvage what remained of his dignity.
Ethan pulverized a tacky stick of gum as he called out the lineup and tried not to let Naomi catch him scowling. She’d been quiet all game. He’d caught her staring at the opposing team’s first baseman a handful of times before he realized he recognized the player.
Amelia Greene. Man, he hadn’t seen her in forever. He’d had noidea she’d moved back to L.A. She’d sent him a really thoughtful card from Atlanta back when he was sitting shiva for his dad. It had been nice.Shehad been nice. Though Ethan couldn’t look at her without thinking about the disastrous results of trying to French kiss while they’d both had braces.
First base made sense for her. Like Naomi, she was both tall and left-handed. Though judging by the way Naomi was currently sawing the sleeves off her uniform with a pocketknife while Morey looked on in horror, the similarities didn’t extend to their dispositions.
Ethan shook his head and went to search for his batting gloves. He’d just managed to pull them out from under two heavy leather-bound books in his bag when Naomi stepped in front of him and put her hands on her hips.
“I wanna try that bunting thing.”
Before the first inning, he’d told her to start out with a normal swing so he could get a sense for their pitcher and be strategic about when to deploy the bunt. She was 0 for 4 at bat and, judging by her scowl, wasn’t having fun.
Ethan shook out the gloves before pulling them on. “It’s a bad idea. Their pitcher’s been cutting inside all night. It’s not worth the risk of you getting hit.”
“Come on.” Naomi’s raised voice attracted attention from the rest of their team. “If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s handle balls,” she said at the same volume, smirking at the disapproving titter of their elderly audience.
He’d never seen someone relish making other people uncomfortable as much as she did. It was pretty spectacular.