“Sorry.” He took it out to silence it, but when he did, over ten messages flashed angrily from the home screen.

Rabbi Cohen, since you’re dating now, I’ve taken the liberty of calling my daughter Marissa, who lives in San Clemente.

Didn’t realize you were on the market again. Call me.

Why are you lying to your mother? Rebecca Feinstein says you’ve already been out with five women.

What in the world?

Naomi raised an eyebrow. The moment was officially dead. “Everything okay?”

“Uh . . . I don’t know. Somehow the whole synagogue is under the impression that I’m dating now . . .” When he thought about the types of PR that could help this cause, this definitely wasn’t on the list. His email lit up with badges; his voice mail clogged before his eyes. This wasn’t just his congregation. This was every eligible Jewish woman in the greater Los Angeles area, or at least their mothers.

“This is insane.” He’d known that the congregation felt entitled to know a certain amount about his private life, but this level of siege at the exact moment it seemed like he might be interested in a relationship was unreal.

Naomi leaned forward to check out his phone.

“Well, the good news is, looks like we might not have to advertise the next mixer that much after all.”

* * *

? ? ?

THOSE WHO CAN’T do, teach, and those who can’t date, get other people laid.

By the time Naomi finally bellied up to the bar, Ethan had worked himself into a state. The bartender tried to console him with a plate of mozzarella sticks on the house before moving to bring Naomi another club soda with lime.

While Ethan pulled at the cheese sticks forlornly, Naomi dug out her phone, flipping through texts and emails she’d missed over the last few hours. She hadn’t meant to stay so late.

A name in her inbox caught her eye, and she hovered her thumb over it for a few seconds before clicking it open.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.” Naomi slid some cash out of her wallet for the bartender.

Ethan lowered his snack. “What’s up?”

After handing the bartender a big tip, she turned to him. “The new administration at my old high school has invited me back to speak on the future of sex education.”

He blinked at her, his absurdly long lashes working overtime. “Is that bad?”

Yeah. She hated that school and everyone in it. They’d completely abandoned her when she’d needed them. Not that Ethan would understand that. She downed half her soda, wincing at the sourness of the lime.

Before she had time to think of a plausible lie, a man in shorts with lobsters printed on them approached, depositing an empty glass close enough to her elbow that the condensation brushed her arm.

He squinted at her for a long moment. “Hey, I know you.”

His breath informed her it was far from his first drink.

“You’re that porn star.”

Oh great. Just what her night needed: a drunk asshole.

Ethan stiffened beside her.

She raised her shoulder an inch. “Which one?”

Guys like this didn’t respond to a firm Get lost. That only riled them up. Any sign of politeness was interpreted as invitation. Holding up a mirror was the only thing that ever worked. Smooth and slippery and hard. Giving nothing away. Simply reflecting each of his comments back at him.

“The one who used to get railed by Josh Darling.” The guy laughed, his mouth hanging open so she could see the red of his throat. “Damn. You’re fine as hell,” he slurred. “Where you been all my life, sweetheart?”

Sensing Ethan shifting behind her, Naomi pressed her foot backward until her heel aligned with his instep. It was a subtle cue to stand still, but effective nonetheless.

She really didn’t have time for this. Her plans for the rest of the evening involved stewing in old rage and writing a scathing retort to that invitation.

Naomi shook out her hair. Her new drunk admirer followed the shiny locks like a cat following a laser pointer. “Why don’t you buy me a drink?”

The guy looked eagerly toward where the bartender was breaking ice.

“At the bar four blocks down,” Naomi clarified.

It took a moment for the guy to puzzle out that he was being dismissed, but once he did, he didn’t like it.

“I’ve got a better idea.” His entire mouthful of teeth was on display in a slimy smile. “Why don’t you show me your tits?”

“Hey,” Ethan said, sharp and loud.

This time Naomi had to curl her hand around his wrist to keep him from stepping forward. Lobster Shorts wasn’t worth a confrontation. He was just another man in a long line of men who expected her to respond to their degrading come-ons like they were Hallmark Valentines.

The amount of time she spent batting them away was overwhelmingly tedious. Both she and Ethan had better things to do.

Naomi moved her club soda to the other side of her body. With the way this guy was swaying, she didn’t want to risk it.

She kept her hand on Ethan and dialed up her charm. No way in hell was she letting this dude ruin her night.

“Well, when you put it that way, I—”

But the guy was tired of waiting. “Come on. Don’t be a bitch. Everyone’s already seen them.” The sound of his voice, the vicious twist of his mouth into a sneer—it all hit, dead center, against a barely scabbed wound.