Did I Mention I Need You? (The DIMILY Trilogy Book 2) (18 page)

All it says is this: MINE.

Each letter capitalized. Each letter bold and sharp. Each letter significant.

I part my lips as I release the smallest of gasps. I feel satisfaction rippling through my entire body as I realise it’s true. I’m his. I’ve always been his, never quite Dean’s, and Tyler’s always been mine, too.

As Tyler applies more pressure to my skin, he also sighs. “I hate to break it you,” he eventually says, “but it’s not exactly working. How about this?”

Suddenly his firm hands are grasping at my body, pushing me backward into the shower. Within a split second, he’s flicked on the water. It pounds against my back, pouring over my face, drenching me. Tyler’s laughing at my expression, but as I glare up at him through the water, I find myself shaking my head. I really can’t bear this any longer.

“Screw it,” I murmur. Slapping my hand against his chest, I grab a fistful of his shirt and pull his body into mine beneath the water. I stretch up on my tiptoes, crashing my lips hard against his. This time, I definitely take advantage of being in control, and with my new power, I push him against the back of the shower wall and press my breasts against his chest, my mouth moving in sync with the flow of the water.

His polo tee clings to his body as his clothes begin to soak straight through, but he doesn’t appear to care in the slightest. His hands are in my hair; his lips are against mine. The water keeps sparkling down over us in an endless burst, powerful and heavy, and it reminds me of what it’s like to kiss in the rain. Heavy, fast rain. Eager, I drop one hand to the hem of his tee as I make a messy attempt to tug it upward, and I shift the other to his belt.

“Stop,” Tyler groans against my mouth. It takes him a while to tear his lips away from mine, but when he does, he pants against my ear. I’m studying him through the stream of water, perplexed and irritated, wondering why the hell he keeps shutting me down, until I realize exactly why he’s come to a standstill.

Somewhere in the apartment, I can hear Snake’s voice.

“Wait here,” Tyler whispers, breathing heavily, chest rising and sinking. Within a heartbeat, the water is shut off and Tyler is already by the bathroom door. He runs a hand through his dripping hair as he swings it open, peering around the frame. “Guys, guys, we’re here. Shower went weird again. Was trying to fix it for Eden. Water kinda burst everywhere.”

“Who cares about the shower?” I hear Snake mutter back. “The real question is this: Did you guys forget about something? You know, like the fucking fireworks?”

Sighing, I slide down against the shower wall. I’m absolutely drenched and my euphoric rush has quickly faded away. Hugging my knees to my chest, I throw my head back against the wall. All I can think about is the Bible verse Tyler quoted, and the more I repeat it in my head, the more my lips curve into a smile.

Sinners, indeed.

I tilt my face up to the sky, squeezing my eyes shut as the sun beats down on my forehead. We’ve been outside in the heat all day and I’m starting to feel nauseous, burning up and sweating. If there’s anything I’ve learned about New York, it’s that the weather can switch between scorching sunlight and rainstorms whenever it wants to. Today, it’s ninety out. I tighten my hand around the plastic cup of iced tea I’ve been drinking for a while and exhale deeply. It’s times like these that I miss being in Santa Monica, where there’s always a pool to dive into no more than fifty feet away from my room. I’ve been taking that luxury for granted until now. There’s no space for pools in back yards here. Hell, I think half the people in the city might not even have back yards. I’m not sure how to cool down. My skin feels like it’s burning, and on the ride back from our day trip to Queens and Brooklyn, I stole a glance at my face in the sun-visor mirror, only to discover that my forehead is burnt. I even have pale circles around my eye sockets from where I was wearing my sunglasses.

“Hot, huh?” Tyler says. He squints up at the sky too, clear blue with not a single cloud in sight, and then glances back down to his car. I don’t know why, but he gingerly presses his hand to the hood. Immediately, he flinches and steps back. He shakes his hand, trying to ease the burn. “Shit.”

Rolling my eyes, I drop to the ground and sit down on the curb of the sidewalk. The concrete is burning hot against my thighs, but after a few seconds it becomes bearable. I set my drink down by my side—it’s too warm and gross now to drink the rest of it anyway—and study Tyler’s car as the sunlight bounces off the glossy white bodywork. A thought arises that’s just too tempting to ignore. “Can I drive your car?”

Tyler stops soothing his hand. Frozen, he looks down at me and then, with a wary expression, he glances back at his Audi. “You? My car? This car?” He bites down on his lower lip and rubs at the back of his neck, uneasy. “Don’t get me wrong, Eden, but . . . you know.”

I place my hands down flat on the sidewalk behind me, leaning back as I squint up at him through the bright sunlight, an eyebrow arched. “You don’t trust me?”

“For starters,” he says quickly, “you drive automatic. My car’s a stick shift.”

“And you think I can’t drive a stick?”

Both Tyler’s eyebrows shoot up, and he stares down at me intensely. “You can?”

“Automatic is the easy way out,” I say, pushing myself up from the ground and straightening up. Challengingly, I narrow my eyes at him and smile. “Stick shift is way better. Keys?”

He gives me a beaming smile and laughs, hooking his arm around my neck and drawing me toward him. “No way in hell,” he says, and promptly plants a kiss on my cheek. Playfully, he pushes me away again.

I knew there was absolutely zero chance of him letting me get behind the wheel of his car, but it was worth a shot. Shrugging, I grab my drink from the ground and head across the street to the apartment building. Tyler follows behind me, stepping into position by my side, interlocking my free hand with his. I think, for the first time, I don’t react. It just feels normal, and Tyler doesn’t make a big deal out of it either, because he simply leads me into the building and toward the elevator, never letting go.

It’s not something we usually ever do—holding hands. That’s what couples do, not what two people keeping a secret do. Today, however, we don’t have to be so cautious. Snake left for Boston this morning to visit his family and won’t be back until tomorrow. Emily is hanging out with some of her friends, the ones she’s made while living in the city. Right now, Tyler and I are in the clear.

We head up to the apartment and I’ve only just stepped foot over the threshold when I decide that I’m going to take a cold shower in an attempt to cool myself down. The moment I tell Tyler this, however, my cheeks flush with color. Thoughts of Thursday night flood my mind, of Tyler and the shower and the rain and the writing and the Bible, and part of me wonders where that night might have taken us if Snake and Emily hadn’t came home so early.

It’s blatantly obvious that Tyler’s thinking the exact same thoughts as I am, because he bites back a smirk. “No problem,” he says.

It’s so unbelievably tempting to slip him some remark about how he should join me, but I know I wouldn’t be able to pull it off. I smile instead, as innocently as I can, turning for the bathroom and tossing my cup of iced tea into the trash as I pass.

Burning up, I strip off my clothes and steal a glance at myself in the mirror. I think I have slight tan lines and my face appears even redder than it did back in the car. Slipping into the shower, I lower the temperature. Freezing is too unbearable, so I keep the water lukewarm and stand under it for a short while. I don’t bother washing my hair, so the second my skin feels like it’s no longer on the verge of bursting into flames, I step out and wrap a towel around my body, holding it close to me as I make my way back into the living room.

At first, it doesn’t occur to me that I’m alone. It’s not until I’ve pulled on a pair of running shorts and a tank top that I realize that the apartment is not only silent, but also empty.

“Tyler?” I call out. I’m standing right in the center of the living room, my hands on my hips and my eyebrows furrowed. I wait a few seconds, but I get no reply. “Tyler?” I yell louder.

I sigh. He wouldn’t have headed out anywhere without telling me. Maybe he left something in his car. Maybe he’s on the roof. It wouldn’t surprise me. He always disappears up there whenever he feels like it.

Even though I’m out of the sun now, my skin feels like it’s burning up even more than it was before. My face feels so hot that it hurts and I’m regretting ignoring Mom when she pointed out that I should pack some aftersun lotion. Back then, I didn’t think New York could be this hot. Walking around Queens was definitely a bad idea. I think the only time we got shade was when we stopped for drinks. The rest of the time? The rest of the time gave me sunburn.

I try to blow some air back on my face as I make a beeline for the kitchen, straight for the second cupboard along from the left. It’s where the guys keep all the medicine and a first-aid kit, and if there’s any hope at all of me finding some aloe vera, it’ll be in here. I stretch up to the top shelf, unable to see as I rummage around for bottles. I find painkillers, the ones that soothed my headache last weekend, and I find Band-Aids, which are definitely no use, and I continue to find just about everything that I don’t need. No aloe vera. Sighing, I pull myself up onto the worktop, getting on my knees and peering into the cupboard for a better look. Even my shoulders are starting to burn like hell, so I keep fumbling around, stretching my hand straight to the back of the cupboard. I pause when I touch a glass jar.

When I squint at it, I think my breathing stops. It’s a Mason jar. Sealed and airtight. Inside, there are several clear, tiny Ziploc bags. The thing that takes me aback, however, is that inside them, there’s weed.

To begin with, I’m too stunned to even process it. I take the jar in my hand, staring down at its contents in disbelief, my lips parted. I don’t know why there’s weed in the apartment. There shouldn’t be. Tyler stopped smoking this stuff almost two years ago and Snake told me he doesn’t smoke, but knowing him, that could be a lie. It’s not mine, and I doubt it belongs to Emily.

My stomach tightens as I numbly glance back into the cupboard. There’s still that stack of lighters, the ones I discovered on Sunday morning as I searched for those painkillers.
Why is this
here?
I think.
Who’s smoking this shit?

I grasp a couple lighters in my hand, glancing between them and the jar for a few seconds. Eventually, I lay the lighters down on the worktop and focus all of my attention on the Mason jar. I don’t know what brings me to do it, but I screw off the lid, and the smell is so overwhelming and all-consuming that I almost fall off the worktop.

It’s so pungent that I almost feel sick. It’s so much different to the stench of weed as it’s being smoked and released into the air. Stronger, more musky. I slam the lid back on as fast as I can, almost gagging at the strength of the odor, and then glance back at the lighters. I stare at them for a while, trying to figure out whether or not I should just put everything back and pretend I never found it, but just as I’m deciding this, something clicks.

The lighters. On Thursday, Tyler and I lit candles. Tyler, who just so happened to have lighters on him. I understand there being lighters in the apartment. That’s okay. But in his pocket? Who the hell carries lighters for no reason? No one does unless they . . . unless they smoke.

My jaw almost falls open as the realization hits me. No way. No fucking way. Tyler stopped all of this years ago. He made it clear on my first night in New York that he was okay, that he didn’t need any of this stuff anymore. He wouldn’t have lied to me about it. It has to be Snake’s. The lighters have to be a coincidence. After everything, Tyler can’t be doing this again.

Fury overcomes me, and without another second of hesitation, I open up the jar and grab one of the tiny bags, holding my breath as I screw the lid back on once more. Somehow, I feel both numb and angry, and I swing my body off the worktop, stuffing the bag into the pocket of my shorts. I fling open the apartment door and head out into the lobby, gritting my teeth to stop myself from screaming in exasperation. I know Tyler’s on the roof. I know that’s where he has disappeared to. It always is, and as I slip into elevator, I realize I’ve never wondered why he always goes up there. Always alone, sometimes for hours at a time. Why is that? The answer seems more and more obvious, but I don’t want to believe it. There’s still no way in hell that this is really happening, that this is really true.

I take the elevator straight up to the top floor, and with my hands balled into fists, I make my way up the set of stairs to the roof. As silently as I can, I edge my body through the door, closing it behind me with an inaudible click. When I spin around, the rooftop is empty, besides one person. It appears I’m right about Tyler being on the roof.

His back is turned to me and his elbows rest on the wall as he leans slightly over the edge of the building, staring down at the avenue below. He’s not doing anything but that. Just standing there.

Taking a deep breath, I approach him and stop a few feet away. “Hey,” I say. Calm. Nonchalant. Inside, I’m burning up.

Tyler swivels around, startled by the sound of my voice and a little surprised at my presence. He smiles, though. It’s a warm one. “Hey,” he says. “Sorry I didn’t let you know I was up here. I thought you’d take longer in the shower so I don’t know, I just thought I’d head up. It’s too hot out to stay inside anyway, you know? Goddamn, it really is hot out here, though. Hey, your face looks kinda bur—”

“Tyler,” I say quietly but firmly as I cut him off. My eyes meet his and he raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to talk. I feel nauseous as I reach into my pocket for the bag of weed. Grasping it between my thumb and forefinger, I hold it up right in front of his face, and I glare at him as sharply and as fiercely as I possibly can. “What’s this?”

His eyes widen as he studies the bag and almost immediately his expression shifts from relaxed to panicked. I can see it in his eyes. He’s speechless, and as I watch him wordlessly part his lips, I feel my chest collapsing.

“You’re gonna tell me it’s Snake’s, right?” I ask quietly, my tone pleading. That’s what I want to hear. It’s what I need to hear, otherwise I’m not going to be okay. My voice cracks and all I can whisper is, “Please tell me it’s Snake’s.”

“Eden . . .” Tyler says slowly, and the guilt pooling in his eyes gives me the answer I didn’t want. He’s not even trying to hide it. He’s not even going to attempt to deny it.

Suddenly, I explode. It’s a mixture of fury and disappointment, consuming me all at once and fueling my words. “You lied to me!” I yell, livid. “You lied straight to my face when I asked you if you were fine! You’re not fine! You’re a liar!”

“Eden, I am fine,” Tyler protests, voice quiet. He looks ashamed, and so he should be. I’m so, so unbelievably let-down. “It’s just—”

“Are you back on coke, too?” My voice is like acid.

“God, no.”

“When did you start this shit?” I demand, waving the bag in the air. Part of me wants to throw it over the edge of the building. “When did you start all of this again?”

Tyler bites at his lower lip as he looks back at me, guilt still dripping from his face, his eyes softly crinkling at the corners. “A couple weeks after I moved here,” he admits.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Tyler? That quick?” I explode, shaking my head in disbelief. This can’t be real. “You could have gotten kicked off the tour!”

“I’m not stupid enough to get caught.”

“You just did, moron,” I snap. I throw the bag at his chest and it drops to the ground as I turn around, too furious to even look at him any longer.

“Eden, please, just chill,” Tyler says from behind me, never raising his voice. I don’t blame him. He’s been caught. Of course he’s quiet. “It’s just weed.”

“That’s not the point!” Growing more pissed off each second, I spin back around and throw my hands up in exasperation. He doesn’t get it at all. “You’re supposed to be fine! Is that why you’re up here all the time? To get high?”

“I can stop right now,” he says, not quite answering my question, and he doesn’t sound convincing at all. “Watch me.” Bending down, he grabs the bag from the ground and closes his fist tightly around it, then lurches forward to latch on to my wrist.

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss, but it’s no use. He’s already pulling me across the terrace, straight for the door. He doesn’t say anything as he drags me along with him. He’s too focused, breathing heavily. I don’t particularly want to talk to him now either, so we head down the stairs and into the elevator in complete silence.

I’m so mad. So furious. So livid. So angered. So confused. Why? Why would Tyler do this again? I don’t get it. Folding my arms across my chest, I glance sideways and step further away from him as the elevator takes us back down to the twelfth floor. I don’t want to be anywhere near him. He’s totally blown it. Big time.