Free Promposal by Rhonda Helms Page A

of earning money.
    Now I couldn’t keep Dad out of the office, but at least he seemed happier. All that angst and frustration and anger he’d felt about Mom had been funneled into his writing craft. He spent hours agonizing over the perfect phrases, the darkest plot twists, and the most sinister characters.
    â€œThis lasagna is great,” Ethan said to me as he took another bite.
    I tried not to watch the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, the lean lines of his neck. The curve of his lips wrapped around the fork. But even the mundane seemed entrancing when he did it.
    I was ridiculously, hopelessly in love with my best guy friend.
    Despite my efforts to take my time eating—knowing that after dinner Ethan and I would be talking—dinner went all too fast. Dad cleared his plate and made a beeline for his office. Which left me and Ethan. Alone.
    I rinsed the plates and loaded the dishwasher with Ethan’s help. We wrapped up the leftovers. I grabbed two mugs and poured coffee I’d brewed a couple of hours ago, reheated them in the microwave, and then handed him one.
    Without speaking, we both moved upstairs into my room, him right behind me. I could feel his eyes on my back, and it made my spine itch. I led him in. He sat on the edge of my bed, while I sat on my computer chair.
    His gaze roamed over the sheet music on my bed, the guitar. While he didn’t play any music, he loved hearing my songs andoften asked me to make one up for him. If only he knew how many I’d written in my head. Ones I could never sing because they spilled all of me, my rawest feelings, my deepest secrets, out for all to hear.
    For him to hear.
    â€œCan you play it for me?” he asked in a quiet tone.
    My heart raced as I reached over and picked up the guitar, then adjusted the sheets for easy viewing. Thankfully, I hadn’t gotten to writing down the lyrics yet, so the words could stay safely locked away in my head.
    I strummed a few warm-up chords, then began to play. The song was incomplete, but the first two verses and the chorus were there, supported by a dancing bass line. I kept my eyes firmly on the paper and tried not to peek over at Ethan to gauge his reaction.
    Would he be able to guess this song was for him? About him? No, he wouldn’t assume it.
    My fingers fumbled just once, but I quickly recovered and finished what I’d written. When the last chord finished, the music vibrated into the silence, then faded away. We sat there without speaking for a couple of minutes, and I dared a glance at Ethan’s face. There was an intensity in his eyes; he’d been staring at me the whole time.
    My throat tightened. I rested the guitar on my lap. “I still have to write more.”
    â€œAnd lyrics, right? It was gorgeous. What’s it about?”
    Oh, not much. Just about you and how crazy I am about you. A hot flush crept up my cheeks. “I don’t know yet.” God, I hated lying to him.
    Ethan shifted on the bed and gave a heavy sigh. His eyes turned sad. “You don’t like him, do you.”
    I didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. I knew who he meant. Noah, the guy who was on his mind, who occupied his heart. “That’s not it.” That part was true. Noah wasn’t a bad person; in fact, he was generally nice to everyone. No one had a legit complaint about how he treated them.
    Didn’t change the fact that I wanted Ethan for myself.
    â€œThen why are you being so weird? Ever since I told you last weekend that I wanted to ask him to prom, you’ve been strange.” He rested his hands in his lap.
    I put the guitar away in its case and put the sheet music back in my folder. My brain scrambled for the right words, the ones that would soothe him but not give away how I really felt. After all, the truth wasn’t an option here.
    â€œIt’s because I asked you to help me with the promposal, isn’t it?” I