Page 7 of Snake Eyes (Out of His League #2)

Charlie

M y eyes adjust as I wheel the pressure washer back inside Snake Eyes. It’s taken ten days of solid cleaning to get the bar back into a state where I don’t grimace as soon as I walk through the doors, but I think I’m there.

Although…

I eye the little beige puddles of drill shavings that reveal the path Garrett has taken while I’ve been pressure washing the patio area.

Oblivious to me standing in the doorway, he’s installing yet another wall anchor—but it’s not his work attracting my attention.

His dark blue shirt clings to the muscles on his back, outlining the topography of his form and shifting with him as he moves.

Biting my lip, I prop my hands on my hips. The day after Garrett and I agreed on our deal, I’d spent some time in the bar going through what could stay—the barstools, the tables, most of the stock—and what could go.

Most of the decorations landed firmly in the latter category, whether they were tired, broken, or just plain hideous.

Sorry, Chrissy, but those plastic tiki masks had to go.

Garrett agreed that a refresh was needed and had given me a modest budget to work with.

Consequently, I’d devoted several evenings to scouring around on second-hand sites to see what deals could be had.

The used pressure washer. A brand-new TV in the box it was sold in. A new dartboard. A chalkboard on which to write daily specials. Little tchotchkes here and there.

I’d been pretty pleased with my haul, excited to re-open the bar—until I found the snake .

Meticulously carved by hand, the detail on the wooden, twelve-foot-long snake was incredible. “How freaking cool is this thing?” I’d said upon finding the listing, tilting my phone for him to see. “It’d be perfect for the bar.”

“I dunno,” he’d replied, his lips scrunching to the side. “It’s cool and all, but where would I even put it?”

“Right along the back wall,” I’d told him, before scrolling down. The price deflated my excitement almost instantaneously, never mind the fact it was a four-hour drive away. “Oh man, never mind. False alarm.”

That had been the last I’d thought of the snake until Garrett hauled it into the bar an hour ago.

“You want to do the honors?” he asks, picking up the final four-foot-long section of the wooden snake, his calloused thumb nestled between the details. “It’s the last piece before we can officially re-open.”

I nod excitedly, bounding forward to take the section, feeling the indentation of each individual scale in my palm. Its eyes are frighteningly realistic, with bright orange plastic gems serving as eyes, and I have a feeling in the low light they will watch my every move.

A grunt escapes me as I try to lift it up onto the railing secured to the wall anchors. It’s heavier than I thought it would be, but then the winding body of the snake is as thick as my thigh. Of course it’s going to have some weight to it.

My arm twitches under the strain—but before I get a chance to abandon ship, I feel the warmth of a body behind me, engulfing me like a blanket.

Wordlessly, Garrett’s strong, calloused hands go on either side of mine.

His tattoos are exposed, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, as he easily relieves me of almost all of the weight.

“Don’t let go,” he murmurs, his breath curling around my ear, lighting up every damn nerve in my body. “I’ll do the work, you just guide it in.”

I exhale, teetering on the edge of an all-out sigh. Goddammit, this man is not playing fair. Does he know how suggestive that sounds? There’s a hitch in my breath as I feel the fastenings on the back of the snake lock into the railing.

“There,” I whisper, surprised by the sensual edge that’s entered my voice.

His hands fall away, and I mourn the loss of those exposed forearms. “What do you think?”

Instead of looking at the snake, I turn to face him. I think I want you to bend me over the nearest hard surface, please and thank you. “I freaking love it, but what do you think?” I ask, ignoring my wayward thoughts. “You’re the one who was unsure about it originally.”

Garrett’s eyes slide across the back wall, and he shrugs. “I trusted your judgment—and you were right.” He sends me a perfectly crooked grin. “It completes this place.”

It occurs to me then that this man went on an eight-hour round trip for décor that he didn’t like purely based on my judgment. My eyes sparkle as I return his smile, in danger of turning into a swooning mess. “Thank you for trusting me, Garrett.”

He dips his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you for this ,” he replies, gesturing to the bar around us. “For spending hours cleaning and mending and reorganizing. Thank you for bringing Snake Eyes back to life.”

“You helped with a lot of that too,” I remind him. There hasn’t been a single day this week he hasn’t been in here helping me, rolling up those bewitching sleeves and getting his hands dirty.

“Still.” He softens, reaching out to take my hand. My breath hitches as his large, roughened fingertips touch mine. Those exquisite eyes of burnished umber draw me in closer. “My dad would have loved it, Charlie. Thank you.”

My lips part, but it isn’t because I have anything to say. My brain is spellbound by the feeling of his skin against mine.

But then his gaze drifts lower, until it settles on my lips. The response from my chest is immediate, until my heart’s racing faster than a hummingbird’s wingbeats. Ohmygod it’s finally happening. I lift my chin, leaning in as—

Three quick knocks against the glass of the open door yank us both out of the moment. “Hey, Garrett,” a voice roughened by years of cigarette smoking says.

The change in Garrett is remarkable—and instantaneous.

Eyes that called out to me seconds earlier transform into unyielding bronze, glaring at whoever dared to interrupt us.

Any evidence of softness vanishes beneath the mask, and suddenly I realize why he’s seen as closed off, as guarded among the townsfolk.

This is the Garrett they know, which begs the question…

Why does he lower that impenetrable drawbridge just for me ?

“Andy,” Garrett bites out, throwing the word out like a blade. He couldn’t sound more standoffish if he tried.

Andy hovers at the open front entrance, a surprisingly tall man with the thickest moustache I’ve ever seen. “Uhh, is the bar open again?”

Garrett softens as his focus lands on me, and it strikes me how lucky I am to witness this side of him. The tenderness hiding beneath the mask. “What do you think?” he murmurs, so quietly that I alone can hear it.

I glance back at the enormous wooden snake crawling along the wall. The final piece is up. “Sure,” I say excitedly, practically bouncing over to stand behind the bar. “Come on in. What can I getcha?”

“So,” I say, my voice ducking beneath the music flowing through Snake Eyes. With twenty minutes until we close, I decide to take advantage of the drowsy lull and work on a few tasks I’ve been eyeing during opening weekend.

Namely, decorating the snake sculpture with a dash of greenery, as though it really was slithering through the leaf litter of an untouched forest. I noticed the staff at Shane’s Diner trimming back the trumpet vine—to ensure it doesn’t go onto neighboring shopfronts—and asked if I could have the excess, netting me a whole bunch of pretty orange flowers to work with .

Even if faint period cramps start to gnaw at me on and off throughout the day, but they’re easy to ignore.

“So,” Garrett repeats, one eyebrow raised.

He sits at the table holding my pile of foliage and trumpet flowers, his powerful thighs spread wide.

Hunter lurks beneath, almost invisible in the shadows.

Garrett had originally been helping me secure the foliage to the snake, but the floral perfectionist in me had won out and I’d insisted on taking over.

The man had never made his own Christmas garland before, and it showed.

“I’ve been thinking,” I tell him, briefly looking up at the twinkling sea of fairy lights we installed on the ceiling, shining bright in the darkened bar.

“It’s coming up to Halloween soon, right?

Why don’t we have a big Halloween party?

” Movement in my peripheral vision has me glancing over to where our last two customers of the night—Andy and his drinking companion, Sal—are packing up.

“Night guys.” I give them a wave and a smile.

“Night you two.” Andy waves back, holding the door open for Sal before the two of them disappear into the night.

“A party.” Garrett grimaces, as though I’ve just suggested firebombing the place.

“A party,” I confirm, subtly bouncing from foot to foot to try and breathe through the pain.

“We can show Cedar Hill that the bar is retaking its rightful place as a cornerstone of the community. We can go all out. A costume contest, bobbing for apples, Halloween-themed drinks, live music, dancing, the whole nine yards.”

There’s an incredulous shake to his head, but even he can’t stop himself from smiling. “Dancing? ”

A snort leaves me. “You’ve never danced in your life, have you?”

Now that we’re alone, I watch that wall he keeps around himself disintegrate, brick by brick, until the real Garrett is staring back at me with those glittering eyes. “I don’t think I need to answer that, do you?”

“That ends tonight, mister. All the curtains are closed—it’s not like anyone is going to see.

” I wrap my hand around his tattooed forearm—or as much of his muscular wrist as I can—and tug.

He doesn’t move, the immovable object to my unstoppable force, but I know what will get him to shift.

“Don’t worry.” I smirk, biting my lip. “I’ll go easy on you for your first time. ”

As expected, he fires into life, slowly climbing to his feet to tower over me. “Will you now?”