Promposal (4 page)

“Mom.”

“We can start looking tonight. No, tomorrow night. I think she is busy with something at church.”

“Mom!” I waved my hands in front of her face. “I know you're excited, but he and I are just friends.” Kinda. “This isn't a real
date. So don't start looking for a wedding dress or anything.”

“Wedding dress?” Mom scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Don't be ridiculous, Camilla. Now you are just talking silly.” She pranced into the kitchen, and a moment later I heard her talking in a quick rush. Probably already on the phone with Uncle Andre's wife, Betsy, who was a part-time seamstress. The conversation was punctuated with excited squeals and a ten-minute analysis of which fabric would be best to use for crafting my dress.

Look on the bright side,
I told myself as I trudged upstairs to shower and change. At least I got her off my back about chores.

I
stared down the lane and made sure my foot was behind the line. Drew my arm back and flung the ball. It flew straight across the smooth wood at first, then curved toward the right gutter.

“No!” I cried out as the ball took out only the very last pin. I spun around and faced Ethan, who was sitting on the plush dark purple seat behind the score stand. “Well, it's official. Nothing about me is straight.”

He smirked. “We wouldn't want you any other way.” He glanced down at the scores. “Joshua Mendez, seventy-six. Ethan Dreyfuss, ninety-five. Still pretty close, and we're not done yet.”

“Much closer than their game,” I noted with a nod to the lane on our left. For the last half hour, Ethan and I had been observing the couple—who appeared to be on a first date—to see what would happen after the woman had proclaimed to the guy with a flirty flush that she'd never been bowling. The man, though, had apparently missed all her signals. Instead of helping her, he was too busy trying to show off his prowess with a bowling score that tromped hers into the dust.

Ethan shook his head. “He's gonna blow it if he doesn't rein it in some.” The woman was already showing signs of frustration, and her stiff body language was screaming that the date would end early. Too bad the guy was blind.

“Five bucks says she leaves in the next half hour.”

One eyebrow raised, Ethan stuck his hand out. “You're on.” When our palms connected, I felt a warm shiver travel up my arm. One touch wasn't enough. I wanted to slide my thumb across the top of his hand, but I couldn't.

I withdrew my hand. Bit my lip and sat down to watch Ethan, who was up next. I hadn't expected tonight's surprise to be bowling, but I had to admit, I was having fun. Then again, he and I could write a grocery list and make it fun.

Ethan bent over just a touch, and his skinny jeans tightened over his ass. I turned my gaze away, looked at the scoreboard. The couple beside us. The family on the other side. Anything to help me dim this heated flush sweeping through my veins.

Ethan hadn't yet asked me whatever it was he was going to ask, and it didn't seem right to bring up prom in the middle of the bowling alley. So I tried to just push aside that little bubble of anxious excitement and focus on the here and now. Spending time with my other best friend. That bittersweet tinge in my heart grew larger when Ethan spun around and raised his fists in the air.

“Yes!” he cried out. “I got a strike—first one of the night!” He looked thrilled and proud of himself, his eyes glowing, grin wide.

I stood and gave him a high five. “Nice job.”

As he passed I smelled his familiar rich cologne, and I closed my eyes for just a moment. Breathed. My mouth dried up. I fumbled for my ball and peeked over at the couple on our left.

The woman stood at the line while the man held her ball and was trying to show her the proper way to throw.

“He's messing it up,” Ethan said in my right ear, and I jumped at the sensation of his warm breath caressing my skin. “He should be right behind her while she holds the ball, making every excuse he can to touch her. This date should be about her, not about bowling.”

He was right. For the tiniest of seconds, I pretended this was a real date with Ethan. That when I went up to the line, he'd stand behind me, grab my wrist, and slowly show me the correct way to throw the ball. The muscles of his strong torso would be pressed to my back.

I swallowed. Kept my attention focused on the couple. The woman threw the ball, which went right into the gutter. She said something to the guy in a low voice. He responded, waving his hands. She gave him a polite, strained smile, then sat down and began to remove her shoes.

“I won,” I said quietly, though there wasn't any victory in it. Now I just felt bad—it wasn't a game for her, and the guy looked irritated at his bowling night being disrupted before it was over.

Ethan pressed a fiver in my hand. “That sucks. Wish we could buy her a beer. She looks like she could use it.”

She grabbed her purse and the rental shoes and walked away, with the guy staring dumbly at her retreating figure.

“God, some people can't see what's right in front of them,” Ethan said as he plopped into the seat.

Oh, irony. Thy name is Ethan.
I barely held in my sudden laughter. “Yeah. Totally.” If only he knew. I turned my attention back to the lane and threw my ball. “Knocked down five that time.”

“See?”
Ethan said with an encouraging grin. “You're already getting better.”

We finished our round—Ethan won by sixteen points—and grabbed a couple of slices of pizza. The silence was comfortable for several minutes, and we watched others bowl.

“This place is hopping on a Saturday,” Ethan remarked. His lean fingers stroked the edge of his napkin.

“Mm-hmm,” I said as I finished my last bite. Now that the game was over, I was back to thinking about
the Question
, wondering what the hell Ethan had to ask that was so important.

And I couldn't stop mulling over the best way to take the bull by the horns and ask Ethan if he'd go with me to prom. Despite spending most of yesterday and today thinking about it, I wasn't quite sure how to approach the subject without sounding dumb or desperate. Should I wait until he brought it up? Or just outright ask him if he was planning to go?

Though I already knew he was. We'd talked about it earlier this year with Camilla, in fact.

Anxiety twisted my gut, and I wished I hadn't eaten all that pizza. I dropped my hands to my lap and gathered my courage. “Hey. So . . . you said you wanted to talk.”

A flicker of emotion I didn't recognize flitted across his face. “Oh. Yes.” He wiped his fingers on the napkin and drew in a deep breath. A light pink flush stole across his cheeks and heightened his skin's contrast with his dark strands of hair. “I . . . was hoping we could go somewhere a little more private. You ready to head out of here?”

My heart was beating so irregularly now I was afraid I might pass out. Ethan looked nervous too. Perhaps I might not have to
ask him after all. “Sure. Yeah. I'm all done. Yeah, let's go.”

We stood and dumped our trash, returned the rented shoes, and donned our coats and hats. My hands shook so badly it took me a couple of tries to get the zipper right. Luckily, Ethan didn't notice. I tucked my scarf around my neck and we headed out into the brisk, dark night.

The bowling alley was only a few blocks away from our neighborhood, but given the chill in the night air, we'd taken Ethan's car. I hopped into the passenger seat and we sat in the spot for a few minutes while the car warmed up. My brain was screaming at Ethan in desperation for him to speak
now, now, now,
but I tried to hold myself in check. No sense pushing him—I knew Ethan would talk when he was ready. He wasn't a blurting type of guy. Not like me.

Finally, when warm air blasted through the vents, Ethan pulled out of the spot and we headed down the road. An instrumental song that sounded like it was from the 1920s filled the car.

“Still hot for Gatsby, huh?” I teased. Last year we'd read
The Great Gatsby
in English and then watched the recently remade movie. For weeks after, Ethan had gone around calling me and Camilla “old sport.” By week four, she was ready to choke him.

“You have to admit, that book was amazing.” He sighed and turned up the music a touch. “Imagine if we could have lived back then. The decadent parties. And that music . . .” He turned onto the main road, driving through our local Metroparks. We whipped past snow-covered trees until he turned into a parking spot for our favorite sledding hill.

I jumped out of the car and stared down the steep decline. Ethan got out as well, and the breeze played with his hair. With the
soft golden glow of the streetlight illuminating his face, he seemed angelic. I bit back a desperate sigh.

God, just once . . . just one time in my life, I'd like to have him look at me like he had feelings for me too.

“Check the trunk,” Ethan said. There was a light twinkle in his eyes as he used the key to unlock it.

Inside were two sleek black sleds.

I laughed, my face nearly splitting in two with a wide grin. “Really?”

“Why not?” He shrugged. “Been a while since we've gone sledding.”

Back in middle school, he, Camilla, and I had spent hours outside, sliding down and trudging up this very hill. Laughing and sledding until we were practically numb. Then making our way through the thick snow to his house, where his mom had hot cocoa waiting for us.

“Okay, you're on.” I grabbed the sleds and handed him one, and we crunched through the icy snow to the very edge of the hill. I laughed as I eased myself onto the sled. Glanced over at Ethan, who shot me a cocky look. “Five bucks say I make it to the bottom before you.”

“Oh, that deal is on. I want my money back.” He slit his eyes in determination, then faced forward.

“Three . . . two . . . one!”

We took off in a rush. Cold air smacked my face, ripped through my sinuses as I plunged down the hill. Ethan whooped and we soared, nearly neck and neck.

I hit a bump and almost flipped over. “Holy shit!” I called with a laugh, gripping the sides of the sled tighter. My heart galloped.

He edged out in front of me and made it to the bottom just a second before I did. His sled toppled over, and he burst into riotous laughter. “Oh my God. That was more amazing than I remembered. Why did we stop doing this?”

I lay back in the sled and stared at the smattering of stars peeking through the trees around us, my cheeks burning from the wind and from my smiling muscles. My heart was still racing, and I felt so alive. “I have no idea. But we should do it again.”

“Okay. But before we do . . .” Ethan sat up, and I could feel the weight of his stare on me.

With his words, my lungs squeezed to the size of grapes, and I sat up as well. Tucked my hands in my lap and let my booted feet dangle off the edge of the sled. “Yes?”

“I . . .” Ethan cleared his throat, peeked at the sky. “I needed to talk to you about prom.”

OhGodohGodohGod.
I couldn't tear my gaze away from his dimly lit profile. The cold faded away. Tendrils of anticipation wrapped around my chest, tightened.

Here it comes.

“There's . . . someone at school I want to ask to prom, but I don't know how,” he said in a rush. “So I was hoping you could help me since you're so talented and smart.” He looked at me, and his eyes bore a strange vulnerability I'd never seen in them before.

My stomach fell as his words pierced my frantic brain, and all the air whooshed out of my lungs.

Ethan wanted my help asking another guy to prom. I didn't even know he liked someone. Crushing disappointment settled over me like fine snowflakes and froze my warm, hazy glow.

“Ah. I see. Who's the lucky fellow?” It was hard to keep my voice steady and light.

“Noah McIntyre.” Ethan exhaled, and a puff of steamy air floated between us. He shot me a wry grin. “He's in biology with me—oh, and he's the lead in
Oklahoma!
And I don't know what to do so he'll say yes.”

My mind flashed an image of a tall blond with bright green eyes. I knew who he was talking about now. A transfer student who came to our school his junior year from California. Gorgeous, witty, perfect abs. I think he was even nominated for homecoming king back in October, despite still being relatively new.

I stood and picked up the sled, my limbs weighing a thousand pounds each. What an idiot I was, thinking even for a second that Ethan might have brought me out here to ask me to prom. Of course he wanted me to help him ask someone else. Because that was my luck.

Thank God I hadn't yet asked him to go with me. Having him say no would have crushed me beyond repair.

“Why not just go up to him and ask him to prom?” I asked, my tone a bit flat.

He stood too, moved closer. He was only a couple of inches taller than me, but at the moment I felt a lot smaller. “Because I want it to be just right. And I know that if anyone can help me, it's you. You're the only one I trust.” He reached his free hand out and took mine, but I barely felt it. “Please.”

“Why Noah?” I said, because it appeared I had some dark desire to torture myself. As if the answer wasn't obvious.

Ethan's face softened, and his lips curved into a secret smile. He chewed on his bottom lip. “I just . . . I really like him. And I think
he likes me too. Sometimes our eyes connect in class, and there's this zing there.”

The hint of need in his face brought a surge of guilt-mingled pain to my heart. Ethan didn't know I loved him, despite my internal agony. How could he know? All these years, I'd never let anything on, had been so careful to keep my romantic feelings from him so as not to pressure him. All this waiting-for-the-right-time crap had now bitten me in the ass. It wasn't his fault I'd built up some stupid expectation, some delirious hope that one day we might end up together.