Did I Mention I Love You? (Did I Mention I Love You (DIMILY) Book 1)

“Eden!” my best friend’s voice yells ecstatically down the line the next morning. Her tone is so high and so sharp that I have to draw my phone away from my ear for a moment. “Finally!”

“I know, I know.” I heave a sigh, which more than likely echoes across the connection. “I’ve been so busy.”

“You keep missing my calls,” Amelia states. There’s a hint of irritation in her voice, which I can’t blame her for. I haven’t spoken to her in over a week. “How was your Fourth of July?”

I bite down on my lower lip. Yesterday is what I’m calling to talk to her about, but her question leaves me a little tongue-tied. I somehow manage to muster up a quick, “Good,” between several uneven breaths.

“Just good?”

“Well,” I say. I bite even harder, my cheeks warming with a rose hue as I stare down at my comforter. “I got to ride in a cop car for the first time last night.”

There’s a long silence, like Amelia is waiting for me to yell “Just kidding!” at her. But I don’t. “What?”

I begin tracing circles on the fabric. “For trespassing.”

“Is this even Eden that I’m talking to?” There are some annoying thuds as she taps her knuckles against her phone. “Hello? Eden Munro, is that you?”

I let out a small laugh. “It wasn’t my fault. My ste—” I stop short as the words catch in my throat. I can’t bring myself to say them, because saying them only reminds me of the reality of the situation. “I mean, Tyler,” I correct slowly, “got us arrested. We would have been fine if he hadn’t opened his mouth.”

“That’s the oldest brother, right?” Her words make me cringe, and it takes me a few seconds to compose myself before I confirm.

“Did you go to the festival?” I quickly ask. My fingers tighten around my comforter as I listen for her reply.

“Of course,” she says with a sharp gasp, as though she’s appalled that I even needed to ask. We always go the Waterfront Blues Festival. “It felt so weird without you there.”

I frown as I run a hand through my hair. “Who were you with?”

“The usual,” she tells me, right before she begins to rattle off some of their names. “Chloe, Eve, Annie, Jason, Andrei . . . You know, just everyone.” Hearing the names of my friends from Portland casts a tidal wave of homesickness over me. I miss hanging out with them all, and it’s even worse hearing about them all spending the summer together while I’m stuck here.

But then a further thought crosses my mind. It reminds me of why I left Portland in the first place, why I finally gave in to coming here for eight weeks. It’s because some people in Portland aren’t worth missing. I take a short breath before quietly murmuring, “Alyssa and Holly . . . Were they there?”

“Yeah.” Silence ensues until I hear Amelia exhale, and when she speaks again her voice is soft and quiet. “Don’t make it awkward for me, Eden. All three of you are my best friends, but it feels like I’m supporting both sides of the warfronts. It feels like I’m committing treason whenever I talk to one of you.”

I try to ignore the pain in my chest by ignoring her. “So were the fireworks good?” The enthusiasm in my voice sounds fake as I force a smile upon my lips.

“They were amazing!” Amelia squeals. She’s always been hyperactive, always getting excited over the simplest of things. “We had a bonfire after it. We were out all night, making s’mores and drinking beer and listening to music. I’m half asleep right now, so I don’t know if I’m making sense.” She pauses. “I hope I am.”

“You are,” I confirm as I press my back harder against the wall. I try to keep my thoughts from wandering. “The bonfire sounded fun.”

“It was!” More squeaks, more squeals, more heavy breathing. “Landon Silverman took me home.”

My eyes widen slightly. Landon Silverman is pretty damn hot. “The senior?”

“Yeah,” she sheepishly admits. I can picture her blushing, blinking repeatedly like she always does when she’s embarrassed or shy. But the shyness disintegrates as quickly as it arrived, and she nonchalantly says, “We got to third base in the back of his truck.”

I almost choke. If this is a joke, it isn’t funny. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I wish I was,” she murmurs. “His package isn’t much of a package. And I had such high expectations. It’s a tragedy.”

“Sounds horrific, Amelia,” I say, stifling a laugh. She reminds me of Rachael. They have similar humor and similar hobbies involving males.

“What about you?” she pries, the curiosity dripping from her voice. “Canoodled with any Californian boys yet?”

“I did make out with this guy . . .” Off goes my pulse again, speeding up and beating rapidly beneath my skin. I take a deep breath. “Last night.”

Amelia almost bursts with excitement. “Oh my God, who?”

I hit a mental standstill. Do I tell her? Do I tell my best friend, the best friend who I tell everything to, about what happened with Tyler? I feel like I should fill her in so that I can hear her advice, but I just can’t force the words out of my mouth. This complication with Tyler feels too scandalous, too wrong. And I know that Amelia must surely feel my apprehension over the line, so I quickly blurt, “Some guy called Jake.” Nice save.

“Is he hot?”

I shrug to myself as I pull Jake’s face into my mind, analyzing his features and tilting my head while I decide. “Yeah. He’s blond.”

“Blond?” Amelia gasps in horror. “You’re canoodling with a blond guy?”

“Stop using that word,” I order through giggles. It is impossible to have a conversation with her without cracking a smile.

She takes a deep breath before yelling, “BUT YOU ARE LITERALLY CANOODLING WITH A BLOND GUY!”

“How shocking,” I remark.

“Is that Californian water beginning to affect you? You hate blond guys,” she states as though I’m not already aware of that. She’s the one who prefers blond hair. “Do you want me to call your mom, because I honestly think you need medical assistance. What happened to ‘dark-haired guys are better?’”

I roll my eyes. “Are you still drunk?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “Probably.”

And with that, I tell her to go get some sleep before bidding her farewell. She promises to drop by my house later to check on my mom, and I’m thankful. Mom’s probably feeling pretty lonely lately.

When I get off the phone, I decide to go for a run to clear my head. The weekend’s events with Tyler have left my head all over the place, and I feel an overwhelming sense of doubt. I don’t know what I’m doing and I really don’t know what I’m getting myself into. All I know is that it’s not simple.

I get myself dressed and tell Ella that I’m heading out, and I begin my jog south across the city for a change, instead of west to the coastline. The weather is gorgeous and the city is busy, but I don’t pay too much attention to the details. Normally I steal glances at people’s faces as I pass; I read license plates; I notice small independent stores that look interesting. But not today. Today, my thoughts are all about Tyler.

So while my mind processes one hundred and one fleeting thoughts at once, I somehow manage to conclude some specific facts about him: (1) Tyler is a jerk; there is no doubt about that one, (2) he is a jerk who has serious anger issues alongside possible behavioral issues, (3) he’s only a jerk because he wants to be a jerk, because (4) he’s definitely hiding something, (5) his favorite hobbies include getting wasted and getting high, (6) he has nice abs and I like the color of his eyes, (7) sometimes he can be really sweet, like when he’s joking around with his brothers, (8) he can annoy the hell out of me occasionally, but it’s okay, because (9) he is a great kisser. And finally, (10), I’m attracted to him much more than I’m willing to admit.

Over the sound of my music I hear the honk of a car, which crashes my train of thought. My eyes flash to my left as a vehicle pulls up by the sidewalk, so I slow to a halt and pull out one earphone. It’s not until I take a few steps closer that I realize I recognize this car—it’s Dean’s, and he’s not alone.

As the window rolls down, Tyler offers me a small smile and raised eyebrows. He purses his lips and then says, “I knew it was you.”

“What gave it away?” I ask as I pull the other earphone from my ear and lean down. I press my hands on the car door, my breathing heavy. I don’t know how long I’ve been running for.

Tyler’s eyes light up for a moment, and he laughs under his breath and glances at his lap. “We just got outta the gym,” he tells me, but it’s not the reply I’m looking for. I was expecting an answer to my question. “We’re heading back to my place and you look like you’re about to die, so you may as well just get in the car.”

My eyes drift past him to Dean. His cheeks are flushed red from working out and he gives me a quick nod.

“I am not dying,” I protest indignantly, panting. I’m insulted that he said such a thing. “I can run for miles, okay?”

“Okay,” Tyler mimics, but his tone is playful. His smile turns lopsided and suddenly he reaches for the car door and pushes it open, forcing me to remove my hands and take a step back. He gets out of the vehicle and straightens up next to me on the sidewalk. For a long moment, he holds my gaze. “I’ll jog back with you.”

“But I like to run on my ow—”

He steps in front of me and leans through the car window to grab his bag, cutting me off mid-sentence as he says, “Bro, you don’t mind, right?”

Dean shakes his head and then asks, “Another session on Wednesday?”

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees. “See you then, man.”

As the window rolls back up, Dean drives off, leaving me alone in the blistering heat with Tyler by my side. I can see the sweat on his biceps and the way his tank top clings to his toned chest, and I can’t help but gulp.

“Just so you know,” he says as he begins to walk, and I follow suit, “it was your ass that gave it away.”

My lips form a surprised “o” and I automatically glance down at my attire. Maybe today was a bad day to wear my fitted boy shorts. I feel self-conscious all of a sudden. “Um.”

He ignores me, quickening his stride as he stares at me from the corner of his eye. “I can probably walk faster than you can run,” he taunts.

“I highly doubt it,” I murmur. I take a quick swig of my water and place the earphone back into my ear. Lately, I’ve been a little obsessed with La Breve Vita after Jake took me to their gig.

“I bet I can beat you back to the house,” Tyler says, his eyes narrowed playfully as he swings his gym bag from his fingers. His tone is challenging. “Are you game?”

I snort. “I’m totally game.”

Before he can say anything else, I cheat and burst into a sprint the moment the words leave my lips, my breath regained again from the short rest, and I feel fit and healthy and strong as my feet hit the concrete, the sun against my face, the breeze cooling my legs. I feel confident in myself for the first time in a long while. And it feels nice.

“Sucker,” Tyler calls as he races past me, but I only laugh and speed up until my pace matches his. And then our silly race seems to get forgotten about as we slow ourselves back down to a gentle jog.

“You sure do run a hell of a lot,” he says between breaths as we cross over an intersection, tracing a route back to Deidre Avenue. “Do you do cross-country or something?”

“No,” I say, keeping my eyes trained on the road ahead. “I just like running. It’s the best way to work out.”

“Personally, I prefer lifting,” he comments. I glance over and catch him casting his eyes in the direction of his arms. It’s ridiculous how cocky he can be sometimes, but I’m getting used to it. “Alright,” he says, and then throws up a hand as he brings himself to a stop. “I give up. I’m not a runner.” He exhales a few times and presses his palm to the brick wall of a building as he tries to catch his breath. “You win.”

Triumph washes over me. A wide grin captures my lips as I cock my head, studying him. “You’re damn right I won.”

“That sounds like something I would say.” He laughs as he lifts his head, his eyes locking onto mine. Neither of us wants to be the first to look away, so neither of us do. “We’re hanging out tonight,” he states. I get the feeling that I wouldn’t be able to object even if I wanted to, and I stand there, my eyes dilated with attraction as I listen to the words roll off his tongue. “Let me take you out. Have you been to the pier yet? Pacific Park?”

“No,” I admit a little sheepishly. How have I been here for three weeks and not yet stepped foot onto the pier? The closest I’ve been to it is when I’m at the beach. But it looks amazing from afar.

“Then we’ll go to the pier,” he decides.

A lump rises in my throat as his lips curl up into a mysterious smirk, his emerald eyes sparkling, an untold story hidden within his eyes.

And it occurs to me exactly then that I am entirely on point.

Dark-haired guys are so, so much better.