All I can do is stare back at him. He seems honest, but Tyler’s great at acting. Years ago, he had everyone fooled. No one ever suspected he was broken inside and not the tough, badass guy he made them believe he was. Keeping secrets is what Tyler is best at. He could be lying to me right now. “I just don’t know what to think, Tyler,” I murmur eventually.
“Do you see me looking at her the way I look at you?” he asks. Taking a step closer to me, he looks down at me from beneath his eyelashes, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“No.”
“Exactly, Eden,” he says, frustrated. “It’s stressing me out that you keep doubting me, and I thought for a while about how I can prove to you that you’re the one I want.” He stops for a second and shakes his head, heaving a sigh. “You know what? Fuck it. I don’t want you. I need you.”
“Need?” I echo.
“Need,” he confirms, nodding once. “I need you because you’re one of the few people I trust. I need you because you saw me the way I used to be and you still stuck around. I need you because I’m in love with you, Eden, and I have no idea how I’ll ever get over you.” His words hit me so hard that I don’t think I even blink in response. I stand there, listening to him, and it becomes clear that he’s definitely not putting on an act. His voice even sounds on the verge of pleading. “I got something to prove it,” he says.
Slowly, he rolls up the left sleeve of his T-shirt to reveal his bicep, huge as ever, wrapped tightly in Saran Wrap. Underneath, glossy black ink stares back at me. Biting his lip, Tyler carefully unwraps the plastic and tilts his arm for me to see. Inked in small lettering, black and bold, is my name. Nothing else. Just four letters. So simple, yet so stupid. At first I’m taken aback by it, but then I quickly become irritated.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Why would he even think about doing something so insane? I squint at the tattoo for a moment longer as I attempt to figure out if it’s only henna. I’m hoping that it is, but his skin is red and raised and there are some traces of blood, and I feel my chest sink in dismay.
“It’s real,” Tyler says, stating the freaking obvious. “Permanent.”
“You’re so irrational.” I take a step back from him without my eyes ever leaving his arm. My name. Doesn’t he have any idea that people can be temporary? Isn’t he aware that things can change? Right now, it feels like whatever is between us is real and endless, but the truth is, neither of us knows what could happen in the months and years to come. Still stunned, I manage to tear my eyes away from the tattoo and back to his. “What if I choose Dean, Tyler?” I whisper.
“I know you’re not choosing Dean,” he says with a shake of his head.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because if you were really planning on staying with Dean, you wouldn’t have made that deal with me,” he says, and he’s right. “You wouldn’t have cheered your ass off for Derek Jeter.”
“I still haven’t chosen yet,” I blurt. I think I have, though. I think I know already that in the end, it’s going to be Tyler. If I knew there were any hope for Dean at all, I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing. I wouldn’t be avoiding him at all costs. “This is still so stupid, Tyler,” I murmur, nodding to the tattoo on his arm.
Tyler glances down and analyzes it for a moment. “I like it.”
“And what are you gonna do when we go home and our parents see it?” I fold my arms across my chest. I’m starting to feel panicked at the mere thought of it. Maybe we could stay in New York. Maybe we could hide here and never go back to Santa Monica. I wouldn’t mind. “How are you gonna explain the reason for it? What then?”
Tyler’s gaze meets mine again, his eyes vibrant and wide. He shrugs. “Then I guess we’ll have to tell them the truth,” he says.
And to my complete surprise, he smiles as though people knowing our secret no longer seems like the end of the world.
16
“Hmm,” I say late Wednesday morning as I study the plate Tyler’s just handed me. Considerately, he’s decided to treat me to a late morning snack of toast. Unfortunately, it’s burnt black. “I mean, it’s . . . edible?” I pick up a slice and tap it against the edge of the plate. Rock-hard. I offer Tyler a small smile. “It’s the thought that counts, right?”
Tyler laughs from the other side of the worktop, shaking his head as he presses his hands over his face. “My mom would not be impressed right now,” he mumbles, chuckling at his attempt. He straightens up and takes the plate back from me, promptly tipping the toast straight into the trash. “I’m gonna try again,” he says as he swivels back around. He grips the edge of the worktop and smolders his eyes at me. “Actually, I might need your expertise.”
I roll my eyes and make my way around the worktop from the living room to join him in the kitchen, nudging him to the side as I reach for the loaf of bread. I place four slices into the toaster and pop down the lever, leaning back against the worktop and folding my arms across my chest. “You’re nineteen and you can’t make toast without burning it?”