Free Promposal by Rhonda Helms Page B

heard a tinge of emotion in his voice and looked over at him. He was staring at the wall behind me. “It put you in a weird spot, like I was dumping my issues on your shoulders. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it before.”
    True, yet not true. My mouth filled with unspoken words I struggled to bite back.
    Ethan turned angst-filled eyes to me and stood. “I’m sorry, man. Of course you don’t have time to help me with this. I never meant it to get in the way of our friendship.” He turned toward the door.
    â€œNo, don’t,” I blurted out.
    Dammit. I couldn’t let him think he was a jerk for asking a friend to help. Why would he think otherwise? Friends helped each other. God knew he’d helped me more times than I could count.
    I shoved aside my selfish emotions. I had to help Ethan, had to put my feelings on the back burner. My friend needed me, to the point where he even felt guilty about asking me to assist him. Afraid it would come between us.
    Ethan was no user. And I was an ass to make him feel that way.
    God, this was going to suck. But it was the right thing to do.
    He frowned as he looked at me. Crossed his arms.
    I bit my lip and gave a casual shrug. “I’m an idiot. I feel way out of my league with planning promposals and I’m afraid of letting you down.” To a degree, that was true. Though just a small sliver of the whole truth.
    His shoulders relaxed, and the tension lines around his mouth eased. One eyebrow rose. “You? A failure at planning something amazing?” A smile crept onto his face as he shook his head in disbelief.
    I pressed a hand to my chest and sniffed. The bubble of sorrow grew bigger, but I shoved it down, focused instead on the relief that my friend was no longer filled with anxiety about us. “I know. But I do have some mortal flaws, you know, though they’re few and far between.”
    Ethan moved back to the bed and sat down. “I have no idea how to go about this. He’s barely noticed my existence. How do I craft a promposal that won’t freak him out or make him reject me?”
    â€œHe’d be an idiot to turn you down,” I said in full honesty. “But first things first. The best way for us to make your promposal amazing is to make it personal. We need to find out what we can about him. Let’s start with you telling me what you already know.”
    About five minutes into this exercise, I regretted it and wantedto chew off my own hand. I learned that Noah always eats healthy meals at school, that he has all As and Bs in his classes, he’s left-handed and likes to tutor students who need help in English. Even his damned fingers were perfect. No chewed nails, unlike mine, which were a hot mess because of my anxiety over Ethan this week. I curled my hands around my pen even more to hide them from view.
    â€œWell, that gives us a place to start,” I said. I dropped the pen and leaned back in my chair.
    â€œThank you,” Ethan said. His voice wasn’t light and peppy but deep, full of emotion. He leaned forward, resting those lean forearms on his sturdy thighs, and peered up at me. “I couldn’t do this without you.”
    â€œYes, you could.” I gave him my best crooked grin. “But I’m here for you.”
    We spent another half hour or so bullshitting about everything and nothing. Once the topic of Noah was dropped, our friendship slid back into its easy existence, the way it always had. Yapping about our baseball team and who had the best stats so far, how progress with the senior musical was going, which classes were giving us headaches. Who had the tightest ass on the soccer team.
    Ethan glanced at his watch. He rolled his eyes. “Shit. Gotta watch my sister tonight. Parents are going to a concert and asked me to babysit.”
    Which meant Darlene, his eight-year-old sister, would spend all evening hounding Ethan to play Barbies and dress-up.
    I