Page 9 of Snake Eyes (Out of His League #2)

Charlie

T he Halloween party is only days away, but I still haven’t got Garrett to agree on the finer details.

“But you have to dress up,” I say to him as I approach the bar, quickly lining up yet another load of glasses to go through the ancient washer.

Back at my old bar, we’d put on a great spread for football nights—including a happy hour just before the game started.

It had been my idea originally, so I didn’t feel too bad about replicating it here.

I hadn’t really expected too many people to show up. I’d seen it as more of a trial run for the Halloween party. Garrett said Shane—who was apparently a huge football fan—would get the word out, and I’d put an ad on social media on a whim.

I didn’t know which one brought in the most people, but holy hell, I was not prepared.

“I’m not dressing up,” Garrett protests, unloading the clean glasses and stacking them under the counter.

“You don’t have to do that.” I smile, looking up at him with heavy affection. God he’s been such a gentleman over the past few days—barring the occasional make-out session on the sofa. And, let’s be honest, I initiated most of those. “It’s your day off. ”

He’d only stopped in to bring me a hot lunch, and that was three hours ago.

“Doesn’t matter,” he clips out, the heat in his eyes simmering as he gives me a stubborn glance. “I’m not just going to sit at the bar and watch you do all the hard work. This is chaos.”

“It is a lot busier than I thought it’d be,” I admit, looking over to the crowd of people swarming in front of the huge TV mounted on the wall.

I catch sight of Kurt watching the game like his life depends on it, his wife Josie sitting next to him, her shoulder-length blonde hair framing her face.

Shane is here too, of course, talking to a blonde woman whose leather bag has a small “Locke” logo between the handle straps.

“But there’s always a lot less work when play is in session.

People are glued to the screen. Gives you a chance to catch up.

And it wouldn’t be so bad if Snake Eyes had more glasses and a bigger, more modern glasswasher. ”

Garrett shakes his head, his eyes softening briefly—a glimpse of who he is when we’re alone. “I don’t know how you do this every day.”

“It’s not always this busy in bartending,” I reassure him, smoothing down my skirt. “But busy does make the day go quicker. That said, I think it might be a good idea to hire a second hand for the Halloween party.”

He nodded. “Sure.”

“Which you are going to dress up at.”

A snort leaves him as he restocks the speed rail, a collection of all the most frequently used liquors, kept just below the bar for quick and easy access. “Not a chance.”

“Come on, man.” I wave a hand toward Hunter curled up at the far end of the bar, his enormous ears listening to our every word.

“You and Hunter could even do coordinated costumes. He could be the Mario to your Luigi, the Sven to your Kristoff, the baby Yoda to the Star Wars babysitter guy. He’s already got the ears for it. ”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fine, you don’t have to include Hunter, but there must be something .

What did you dress up as for Halloween when you were a kid?

” I hear a car pull up outside and automatically look over to the door.

I’ve just got myself back up to speed after the mad rush from earlier; another crowd on top of that would probably level the building.

Instead of a crowd, however, a single man exits the station wagon.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t think he’s a local, judging by the suitcases stacked high in his trunk.

Either way, I offer a welcoming smile as he approaches the bar.

There’s a niggling sensation that I know him from somewhere, but perhaps I’ve seen him around town.

“Welcome to Snake Eyes! What can I get you?”

“Just a Coke,” he says, his voice heavy with fatigue. “You guys know if there’s anywhere to stay other than the Cedar Hills Motel?”

Garrett catches my eye with a momentary glimmer of amusement. He clears his throat. “Not in Cedar Hills. You heading north or south?”

“South,” the guy answers, accepting the Coke I hand him with a nod of thanks.

Garrett thinks for a moment. “Heading south, the nearest place to stay would be a hotel in Bluewater about thirty miles down Highway 47. ”

“Ah, shit.” The man closes his eyes like it’s the last thing he wants to hear. When he opens them again, he gives us a pained smile—although his eyes flicker to me for a second longer than necessary. “Guess it’s just the one for me then.”

When Garrett says nothing, I decide to give the poor man some sympathy.

“Sorry to be the bearers of bad news.” I look over to the spread of hot food I’d ordered in advance from Shane’s Diner , securely nestled in warming trays just to the side of the crowd.

Before the bar opened, I thought we’d have heaps left over, but now I’m not so sure.

“We’ve still got hot dogs, wings, and fries left if you’d like to refuel beforehand. ”

He nods listlessly, downing what little remains of his drink. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

As the man makes his way over to the food trays laid out on a table near the crowd, I turn my attention to Garrett, arching a brow at him.

“What?”

“Didn’t feel like inviting him to spend the night?” I ask, struggling to bite back my grin. “The way I remember the evening we met, you’d already offered me your bed at this point in the conversation.”

Wry understanding clicks in Garrett’s expression. There’s an arrogance to his smirk as he leans in, closing the gap between us until it was almost extinguished. “ Obviously I was going to, but I thought I’d check in with you first.”

“About what?”

Garrett cocks his hip against the counter, a dark heat simmering in his eyes. “About whether you wanted company for the night—now that your cramps have stopped. ”

Against all odds, I manage to keep breathing. Need flushes my cheeks, loud and insistent and impossible to ignore. I want to lose myself in the sensation, but at that very moment my ears are assaulted by a triumphant roar from the other side of the room.

The noise is deafening, a chaotic mixture of yelling, whooping, and whistling high enough to make me wince.

The last time I looked over, the patrons were still, with all eyes glued to the game.

Now, though, the crowd was close to boiling.

I could see Shane clapping the guy next to him on the back, a broad grin on his face.

The commentator’s voice booms through the TV speakers. “ Touchdown!”

Keeping one eye on the game, several break off from the rest to approach the bar, including Kurt and Josie. “I think that’s a question I’ll have to answer when we’ve finished work,” I say to Garrett, biting down on my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling.

Before he can reply, Kurt reaches the bar. “Hey Charlie, how about another beer? And a cosmo for Josie.”

“Sure thing,” I say, picking up one of the freshly-cleaned glasses. My dark brown skirt swishes around my knees as I move. “How’s the car repair going?”

He pulls out his leather wallet—embossed with Garrett’s logo in the bottom corner. “The CV boot’s all fixed. Did have to wait a while for the part, mind you, but once it arrived, we were able to sort it out in a few hours.”

I pass across his beer before starting on Josie’s cosmopolitan, pulling out the vodka from the speed rail. “That’s great.” I nod, feeling Garrett pass behind me as he sorts out a customer order. Is that disappointment curling in my chest? “So the car’s all repaired?”

“Not quite,” Kurt replies, scrubbing at his brow. “The transmission is causing some hassle. We don’t stock the parts to repair it, but it’s taking a hell of a lot longer than usual for them to come in. Hopefully it’ll arrive by the end of the week, but I can’t make any promises.”

“That’s okay.” I finish making the cosmopolitan almost on auto-pilot. That means my car could well be fixed around the time of the Halloween party.

The warmth inside me begins to flicker like a dying lightbulb. It’s been easy to get lost in the day-to-day operations of the bar and the planning of the party. Garrett’s been at my side more often than not, even on days like today, when he’s out of his comfort zone amidst the heaving crowd.

I get lost in the taking of orders and pouring of drinks. Somewhere in the midst of it all, I catch the eye of the lone traveler as he’s leaving and wave him farewell, knowing that before too long it’ll be me leaving Cedar Hill, leaving Garrett .

And, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not entirely sure that I want to go.

Finally closing the curtains, I turn to scrutinize the deserted bar.

If I’d been alone, it would have taken me six months to put Snake Eyes back in order.

With Garrett’s help, however, it gets done in record time.

The floors are mopped, surfaces wiped, restrooms cleaned, trash cans emptied, speed rail restocked, upholstery de-crumbed.

Exhaustion sits heavy on my chest as I approach where Hunter is lounging, reaching down to pat hi—

With a canine huff, Hunter climbs to his feet and pads away.

“I just wanted to give you some love,” I explain, watching him fold his furry legs to take a seat next to the door. “It wasn’t an assassination attempt.”

Hunter looks away, instead choosing to focus his attention on the staff door next to the bar—the door Garrett disappeared behind a minute ago.

“I just need to lock up my shop,” he’d said. “I won’t be a minute.”

The minute me time to reflect on what a success my little football event turned out to be. In the days since the bar had reopened, the profits had covered the rent—the same rent Garrett was charging Chrissy, as agreed—in addition to the utilities.

Meaning tonight’s profits were all mine.