Page 3 of Snake Eyes (Out of His League #2)

Charlie

W hen I open my eyes, it takes me a minute to remember where I am.

I’m in a stranger’s house. A stranger I met in the middle of the woods in the dead of night.

How have I managed to stay alive for twenty-eight years without being murdered?

Clearing the sleep from my eyes, I pick up my phone.

I see a text from my best friend, Nicole, sitting in my notifications, so I quickly explain the situation to her and let her know I’m fine, but I send her my location just in case I end up at the bottom of a dry well being told to put lotion on my skin.

Nicole’s in the Caribbean, but at least this way someone knows where I am.

The hotel bar I used to work at provided me with a stream of regulars, but I wouldn’t exactly call anyone a friend —and I trust Nicole with my life. We grew up together.

Weathered wooden beams stretch across the ceiling above me, sharply contrasted by the long white curtains falling over the window. There’s a clean, masculine scent surrounding me from every angle— Garrett’s scent—and I find myself pulling it into my lungs like it’s the very oxygen I need to live.

But there’s another faint scent layered on top of it— bacon .

No wonder I woke up. I truly think the smell of bacon could raise me from the dead.

I cross the rustic sweep of Garrett’s bedroom, pulling open my duffel bag to retrieve a change of clothes and delicately swipe a hairbrush through my blonde hair, avoiding the tenderness on my left temple before tying it up into two matching space buns.

The moment I step out of my stolen bedroom, the hypnotizing aroma of bacon hits me like a brick wall, luring me through the living room—past the sofa on which Garrett insisted he sleep—and into the kitchen.

My chest does a little flip as I see him standing with his back to me, his broad shoulders perfectly filling out his shirt.

His dark hair is delightfully tousled, the ends still wet from the shower.

Both of his arms are plastered with tattoos, and I can just see one peeking out above his collar.

My front teeth sink into my bottom lip, wondering how much of his body is covered in tattoos.

I mentally slap myself. It’s eight o’clock in the morning, and I’ve literally just got out of a relationship. What the fuck is wrong with me?

It doesn’t matter that he’s kind, or gentlemanly, or absolutely freaking gorgeous, or that I want to climb him like a tree.

I am off the market .

“Morning,” he murmurs, pulling me from my internal lecture. His chestnut eyes are soft beneath his perfectly messy hair, the corner of his lips curving up into an affectionate smile. “Pancakes? ”

“I…Yes, please.” I blink, sitting at the breakfast bar he directs me to, noticing Hunter reclining over by the back door, looking down his long nose at me like the interloper I am.

Garrett slides a plate in front of me brimming with pancakes and bacon. It’s joined by a glass dispenser full of maple syrup. “Want anything to drink?”

I still haven’t stopped blinking. I was sure I’d imagined how nice he was last night. I hit my head, right? It’s understandable I’d be a little confused, but this man really is that nice. “A glass of water would be perfect, please.”

He places one in front of me seconds later.

“Thank you for everything,” I say, smiling up at him. “For dinner last night, for letting me stay in your bed, for breakfast this morning. I honestly don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.”

Leaning against the steely gray countertop, he slowly sips a mug of coffee, and I try not to notice the outline of his muscular torso through his shirt.

“Then I’m glad I was able to help,” he says, before a disembodied buzz attracts his attention.

He pulls out his phone, his eyes flicking across the screen.

“I called the mechanic in town—Kurt. He’s just got back to the shop with your car.

Says he’ll have an estimate on the repairs in a couple hours. ”

“Thank you,” I say again, simultaneously thanking my lucky stars Garrett came along.

I’m not used to this kind of treatment. Aside from the destruction of my plant room, Joey wasn’t exactly a terrible boyfriend, but he didn’t spoil me either.

The most I ever got from him was cheap gas station flowers on my birthday—in the evening, after he’d been reminded that it was actually my birthday. He certainly never cooked me dinner .

Especially nothing as absolutely divine as these pancakes, holy shit.

“I never asked what you did for a living,” I realize, helping to load my newly empty plate into the dishwasher.

“You don’t have to do th—” Garrett begins to protest.

“It’s the least I can do,” I wave him off. “I literally would have been sleeping in my car in freezing temperatures, fending off bears and serial killers, if it wasn’t for you.” Thank god you weren’t one of them.

He holds his hands up in appeasement. “I’m a leatherworker, to answer your question.” He wiped down the countertops. “Although I own the commercial unit next door too. What about you?”

“Bartender.” I look at the clock again. It’s half-past eight. “So I’m very used to cleaning. When do you need to be at work? I don’t want to make you late.”

Garrett scrubs a hand through his dark hair, giving a pained huff. “I need to open at nine, although today’s going to be a complete clusterfuck regardless of when I turn up.”

Shit, that doesn’t sound good.

Last night, I had been so close to arriving at the town, and yet so far.

Cedar Hill turns out a rural haven nestled between acres and acres of farmland, populated, according to Garrett, with corn and soybeans, predominantly.

As we drive, I catch sight of a field of fat pumpkins, rotund splashes of orange illuminated by the morning light—preparing for the upcoming excitement of Halloween.

The town itself is small, a few blocks gathered around a central square lined with huge cedar trees. I sigh as I see the Cedar Hill Motel surrounded by scaffolding, with a sign declaring it would be reopening in the new year.

Would have been nice to know that before I set it as my destination, but whatever.

The sight of the little town brings a smile to my face. In Long Lake, the view out of my window was a garbage dump, but Cedar Hill is so…picturesque.

“This town is gorgeous,” I say, gulping down the view from the car. There’s the cutest little diner I’ve ever seen, the exterior framed by a wide floral arch. A bookstore sits next to it, proudly proclaiming its independence.

My heart jumps as I recognize my car in the mechanic’s forecourt, the hood open and a man examining the engine. I wince at the sight of the crumpled door panel, remembering just how violent the collision was.

Please don’t be too much money.

I withdrew my savings before I left Long Lake, giving me a grand total of $900 to my name. I thought it was plenty to get me home. Ryan isn’t going to charge me rent, so I’ll have plenty of time to find a new job. Besides bartending jobs are hardly few and far between .

I just didn’t foresee me crashing halfway there—and while Ryan is away on a job to boot.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I try and concentrate on the pretty town of Cedar Hill. There’s no point in panicking now; I’ll panic after I get bad news, and not before.

Even at this hour, people meander down the streets, from groups of moms meeting in the diner to pet owners walking their dogs across the square.

Garrett smiles at the compliment, pulling us into a parking lot next to a bar.

There’s a pretty patio area surrounding it on two sides, but the patio itself looks like it belongs in the “before” section of those pressure washing videos on my social media feed.

A large sign sits out front, displaying a snake encircling a dark bottle, its eyes a vivid orange.

Snake Eyes , declares the writing beneath it.

“That’s an unusual name for a bar.”

Garrett merely shrugs. “My old man chose it. He was originally a herpetologist.” At my blank look, he continues, “He studied reptiles and amphibians, although his primary love was snakes.”

“I’m amazed that that’s even a job.”

A short laugh. “It is. Growing up, we even had a boa named Victor. But actual paying herpetology jobs are hard to come by.” He gestures to the bar. “So he bought a bar instead, and eventually passed it down to me. Didn’t see a reason to change the name.”

“So you own the bar?” I ask.

“I do, but the leatherworking shop next door is where I work.”

I lean back slightly to catch a glimpse of it. “Locke,” I read out, noticing the outline of a tree in the logo. Was that his surname? “You must be on the go at all hours of the day and night.”

“I don’t do anything for the bar except collect the rent. A woman named Chrissy has been operating the business side of things for the last decade. Or at least she was until yesterday.” He pulls up the parking brake, letting out a long breath.

I mimic him as he gets out of the truck. “What happened yesterday?” At this time of day, the parking lot is empty—it’s one of the few businesses not buzzing with activity.

“We were supposed to sign the contract to renew the lease, but she decided to retire last minute. Apparently, she’s moving down to the coast.” His voice is a grumble as he unclips Hunter from his seat belt harness.

The Shepherd looks me over as he jumps down, but there’s nothing but judgment in those caramel eyes of his.

Garrett says he’s like that with everyone, but I do feel a tad disappointed.

I just want dogs to like me. What can I say, I crave canine approval.

There’s a jingling of keys as Garrett unlocks the bar’s door. The familiar scent of well-used hardwood hits me, followed by something more subtle, more…alcoholic. Like the ghost of every beer ever drunk here still haunts the place.