Chapter 2: Snake Tactics

I don’t get it.

Seriously. I’d set my alarm for sunrise, tiptoed through the apartment, zipped my bag as quietly as I could, and closed my door with the softest click. So how did Jason’s snake still manage to get in? I mean, did it open the door like a cat?

“Whoa—nope, stay right there. Seriously.”

I backed up until my knees hit the wall, clutching my phone like it was a magic wand. The little snake, black as midnight, paused at the doorway, tongue flicking in and out, letting out a persistent hiss—ssssss. There was something about the way it watched me, like it was judging my life choices.

It seemed to eye my suitcase, gaze as sharp as a TSA agent at LAX. The way it coiled, I could swear it was annoyed—like it was offended I was leaving.

I waved a hand, hoping for a truce: “Just stay there, don’t come any closer, okay? Don’t move.”

The snake froze. Obedient, but intense. Like it was waiting me out.

Its glassy, black eyes didn’t budge. Not even a blink.

I tried to exhale slow, to calm my racing heart, and went back to quietly stacking my t-shirts and socks, pretending not to notice.

“So early—where are you going?”

The door creaked and Jason leaned in the frame, all cool, casual mischief. He drawled each syllable with that lopsided grin: “Fi-an-cée.” He dragged out the word, making it sound both teasing and annoyingly official.

I must’ve looked like a cartoon bunny caught mid-scamper. “G-going out to travel, for fun,” I blurted.

“With who?”

“My friend—you don’t know them.”

He narrowed his eyes, the way he does when he’s not buying it.

Then he started walking toward me, slow, like he was approaching a wild animal.

I took a step back, heart hammering.

He frowned. “It’s bad enough you’re scared of snakes—are you scared of me too?”

Actually, no. I’m not scared of Jason—never have been. But lately, with Brooke popping up in his reptile room, giggling at his jokes, it’s like I’m the punchline in some private joke I never got.

So I turned away, teeth digging into my lower lip, hoping he couldn’t see my eyes stinging.

“Fine.”

Jason knelt and scooped up the snake, the way a parent would pick up a fussy toddler. The snake slithered around his wrist and lifted its head, hissing like it was proud of itself.

He met my gaze, voice suddenly firm: “Touch it.”

I froze, eyes wide. My hands shook, useless at my sides.

The air between us got chilly, like someone had cracked the window in January. Jason’s jaw clenched as he repeated, “Touch it. Keep it for one night. If you do, I’ll let you go out.”

He’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide. But he never lies about this stuff. If he says it, he means it.

So I sucked in a breath, closed my eyes, and reached for the snake. Just as its slick head nudged my hand, my nerves got the better of me. My hand jerked, but the snake had already started climbing up my wrist.

“Ah—!”

I shrieked, high and panicked, heat racing up my arm. The little black snake twined itself greedily around my wrist, its tail rubbing insistently back and forth like a cat kneading for attention.

“Mmm.”

Jason let out a tight, muffled groan. His expression was strained, cheeks tinted red. Was he…embarrassed?

I peered at him, confused. Jason looked away, his voice rough: “Go. Give it back to me tomorrow.”