Page 6 of Snake Eyes (Out of His League #2)

Charlie’s silence is somehow even more noticeable beneath the busy chatter of the diner around us.

My ears prick at the sound of Shane’s laugh from somewhere behind the counter, but it’s the woman in front of me I’m focusing on.

There’s a divot between her brows as her fingers circle the lip of her coffee mug.

All at once, she jerks into motion, as though some timer has run out. She gives me a nod and holds out her hand. “When do I start?”

“Go on. I insist,” Charlie says, a knowing smile playing on her lips. The ends of her hair are still wet from the shower. The soft glow of sunset travels through my kitchen windows, making the air itself shimmer. “You cooked dinner last night.”

I lean against the wall. In the corner of my vision, Hunter stands over his dinner, skirting around the probiotic supplements I try and hide in here. Little bastard.

No one ever warned me about how difficult it would be to hide tablets from a dog trained to sniff out explosives.

“You’re my guest. Plus, you’ve been cleaning the damn bar all day. Sit down and rest.”

“You paid for lunch,” she throws back, with the air of someone not about to take no for an answer. “And you saved my ass with the bar cleaning. That’s gotta be worth a couple dinners, don’t you think?”

Her ass is definitely worth more than a couple dinners.

“Fine.” My shoulders dip as I exhale. “But I’m cooking dinner tomorrow.”

“Understood.” She winks, turning away from me to peruse my fridge. “Go have a shower or watch TV or something. Dinner will be ready in twenty.”

The suggestion stokes the fire that’s been simmering in my veins all day. God damn, I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off her. Even when I was working, I propped open the interior door to the bar just to get an occasional glimpse of her walking past.

This isn’t normal, surely.

I’ve had one-night stands before—more than I care to think about—but never a proper long-term relationship. Sure, I had a fling or three with servicewomen over the years, but it never lasted beyond a few nights. I’ve never wanted more than a few nights. Hell, most of the time one night was enough .

Even after I discharged, I never dated . Whenever I needed to travel for work—picking up orders from leather wholesalers—and I had an itch to scratch, I’d stop off at a local bar and find a woman to go home with.

Not once did I ever take them back to my hotel room, let alone my home.

I don’t want people up in my shit. Never have. Yet here I am, welcoming her with open arms.

I don’t know what it is about her, but god help me , I think I like having her here.

Telling Charlie I’m hopping in the shower, I give her a soft look before closing the bathroom door.

I huff out a breath, bracing my hands on the sink. My eyes are locked onto the mirror, but it’s not my reflection I’m focusing on. It’s the woman out in the kitchen, humming to herself as she cooks.

I want to hate it. I want to hate the fact that there’s another person in my home. I want to hate the fact that I’m sleeping on the couch for the next few weeks. I want to hate that Charlie’s toiletries are sitting next to mine like they belong there.

But I can’t.

This is the first time I’ve been properly alone all day, and now I realize what I’ve done. I like Charlie—far too much, and by offering her the deal with Snake Eyes, all I’ve done is delay her leaving.

Meaning I’m going to get more attached to her than I already am.

My eyes are pulled toward the bathroom door as Charlie’s humming morphs into singing. I can’t get that picture of her out of my mind. The ends of her hair still wet, her hips swaying to the music, as she cooks us dinner.

Her flowery scent pervades the bathroom, the droplets of water still clinging to the tiles after her shower.

And suddenly my mind seizes upon the image of Charlie standing under the showerhead, warm water slinking over her curves in rivulets. My grasp on the sink turns my knuckles white, even as my dick hardens in my pants.

Get a hold of yourself.

Wait, no. Not that sort of hold.

With a soft grunt of dissatisfaction, I tear my hands away from the sink in favor of wrenching my clothes off. I have every intention of chasing away thoughts of a naked Charlie with an ice-cold shower, but as I step into it—I can’t.

That flowery fragrance is even stronger here, and I draw in deep, ragged breaths of it, slapping a hand on the tile to steady myself.

Fuck it.

I can’t ignore my cock anymore, wrapping my hand around the shaft and swiping my thumb across the head.

I almost shudder with relief, slowly stroking my length as it curves upwards.

An image of Charlie at lunch is at the forefront of my mind.

The soft hum that left her as she ate, her eyelids fluttering at the taste.

Would she make that same hum in the bedroom?

Now that I’ve begun to indulge myself, my mind needs more. The way her hips move when she sings, swaying from side to side, hypnotizing me like a damned cobra before a snake charmer.

I want to ease her out of her clothing bit by bit, tracing her curves with my tongue and slipping my hand between her legs. Fuck, I want it all. The moans, the gasps, the cries, the sighs. My hand works over my cock faster and faster, and I’m lost to my desires.

My lips part as my orgasm hits me. I lose myself in pleasure as my cum hits the tiles in wave after intoxicating wave, and it’s all I can do to stay on my feet.

When it’s over, regret hits me even harder than my release.

What the fuck have I just done? She’s out there cooking us dinner—a dinner she insisted on making as a thank you —and I’m in here stroking my fucking dick at the sound of her voice, like some sort of pervert.

I can’t wash my cum off the tiles fast enough, keen to erase any evidence of it.

I can’t do this again. I can’t let myself get lost in my attraction to her. She’s fresh out of a relationship, stuck in a town hundreds of miles away from her family. She’s vulnerable right now, and the last thing I want to do is make her feel uncomfortable because I’ve got a major crush on her.

Stepping out of the shower, my resolve hardens as I catch sight of myself in the mirror.

That’s all I can ever be to her: a friend.