Page 19 of The Promposal

Jake smiled at me then, and I noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Instead he looked ... worn out. “So is your mom still texting you to say she loves you?”

“More like she told the whole world that she didn’t have a daughter.” At least now I could say it without getting choked up.

“What?” he demanded, and I told him the whole story. He was awesome and sympathetic, telling me how sorry he was that it had happened. That I deserved to be treated better. He took my hand and brought it up to his lips. He kissed it softly and then held my hand against his heart.

It was such a sweet gesture that my whole body melted.

We arrived at a steak house restaurant, and I was relieved to see it wasn’t too swanky so I didn’t have to feel nervous about accidentally flipping a fork across the room, catching my linen napkin on fire, or dumping my water all over the bread basket.

Not that I’d ever done any of those things.

The smell of batter-dipped onions and steak hit me as we walked inside. Delicious. Jake gave the hostess his name, and she said it would be a few minutes and they’d call us when our table was ready. Jake pulled me in close, wrapping his arms around me as we waited.

Even more delicious.

I had only a couple of minutes to enjoy it before my tranquil happiness got shattered.

“Hey, the Dothraki birthday clown is here,” he said. He and Trent had never really gotten along, and Jake had a list of colorful euphemisms for him. But why would Trent be here?

I followed his gaze to see Trent seated at a table, scrolling through his phone. This didn’t seem like it would be his kind of place. Especially since, like Ella, he was a vegetarian.

Wondering if we should say hi, especially given the amount of damage that had occurred the last time we spoke, I decided to just ignore him.

Right up until the moment when he was joined by a girl.

A girl who was not Ella.

She sat down on the bench across from Trent in their booth. I recognized her as the pseudo-hipster formerly known as Alice. She’d been a year ahead of us at Malibu Prep and had decided her senior year to change her name to Bronte. (And I was so concerned my English teacher, Mrs. Aprils, would find out and change her name to Mrs. Twain since she was so obsessed with Mark Twain, and I would not be able to call her Mrs. Twain with a straight face and would probably spend the entire year in detention. Thankfully, none of that happened.) I thought the whole name change thing was pretentious and that Bronte was trying too hard to be cool. Like now. I took in her fake nose ring, her topknot, and the fanny pack slung diagonally across a white shirt that looked like a painter’s smock my dad might wear. As if she’d copied the “What to Wear” section ofHipsters’ Monthly.

“Why is Trent here with Bronte?” I asked, not able to keep the suspicious tone out of my voice. Was he stupid enough and/or self-destructive enough to actually be cheating on my sister? And if so, was I going to get arrested after I killed him, or would I be able to convince Jake to drive me to Mexico?

Jake rubbed my back, making small circles with his hands. “Don’t jump to any conclusions. Maybe she’s giving him tips on the best way to apply eyeliner or how to avoid looking like a hypocrite when you condemn the rich while sponging off your wealthy parents.”

“I’m not jumping. My feet are firmly planted.” Even though I’d already jumped to a million different conclusions, all of them bad.

Then the worst thing imaginable happened.

Bronte leaned across the table and kissed Trent.

On the mouth.

For a long time.

“Okay,” Jake said, sounding just as shocked as I felt. “I think you can jump now.”

Oh, I was going to jump, all right. I was going to jump down that skank’s throat.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I made my way over to their booth. I came to a stop, breathing hard, angry lava percolating through my veins. I expected them to notice me or to say something, but Bronte just kept kissing Trent. I considered grabbing the soda on the table and pouring it over her head.

Jake stood just behind me, his hand on my shoulder. I think he meant to reassure me, but all his support did was give me strength.

Fiery, rage-filled strength.

Bronte finally stopped, and they pulled their cheating heads apart. Trent seemed startled to see me, his face turning paler. “Mattie!”

Some small part of my brain registered that at least he had the decency to look panicked and guilty.

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