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In my head, the obvious flippant response is clear.
Then, where the hell is MY Promposal?!
Out loud, I veer toward a safer route. “Okay, then. Answer me this—why is Alex putting so much effort into a Promposal for a girl he has no real interest in and probably won’t continue to date after the big event?”
Rob’s gaze darts between my eyes, obviously trying to determine if this is a trick question, meant to throw him off topic from the real question. “I honestly have no idea.”
It’s my turn to gape at him. “That’s it? You’re not going to defend his life choices, or try to convince me he’s actually really interested in spending all this money on a dance rather than just hopefully getting laid at the end of the night?”
“Nope.”
With that, Rob turns back to his work, apparently abandoning the idea of glitter.
What the hell just happened here?
One minute, Rob is freaking the fuck out about his best friend’s Promposal; the next, he’s calm, cool, collected and shutting me down faster than a safety on the field while I’m working my options in the pocket.
I don’t need this stress right now.
I have to get my head in game mode.
Rob lifts his gaze to watch me roll off the bed, then stalk toward the door. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Why? You’re supposed to be helping me. And we have to leave for the Powder Puff game in an hour.”
Because I feel like a second-rate girlfriend, not worthy of all these plans and special Promposals.
Because I’m not entirely sure I’m even allowed to be here in your father’s house.
Because I’m confused and hurt, and I don’t want to deal with any of it right now.
But I’ll never admit any of that aloud.
“Because I left my jersey at home, and I have to wear it for the game. I’ll just meet you there.”
I leave his bedroom door open when I exit. His voice calls after me as I make my way down the stairs. “Be there a half hour early, so we can go over the play book one last time!”
I snort, in spite of myself.
Nothing comes before football.
