Guy Hater (Fisher Brothers 2)

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Ooh, big word,” she teased.

I wrote my name and number on the paper, thinking about how I was going to slip it to Frank without an audience.

“Are you ready to go soon?” I asked, more than a little nervous. I had always considered myself a confident woman, but when it came to that particular Fisher brother, I found myself questioning everything.

“Whenever you are.” She allowed her head to fall back onto the couch, as comfortable as if we were in our living room.

“I’m ready.” I didn’t want to close the bar down like we had the other night. If I was leaving Frank my phone number, I wanted to do it and then get the hell out. Why was my mind making this into such an ordeal?

Britney leaned forward, a little off-balance as she scooped the piece of paper from the top of the table and peered at it. “Just making sure you didn’t give him the wrong number.”

A laugh bubbled up. “Why on earth would I give him the wrong number?”

“I don’t know.” She waved my question off. “I’m drunk. I ask stupid questions when I’m drunk.”

“Can we go now?” I practically begged.

“Yeah. Go be bold!” she said way too loudly, and I covered her mouth with my hand.

“Seriously,” I hissed at her. “Be quiet or I won’t do it.”

I looked around at the small scene her shouting had created. Too many heads were turned toward us, watching us with curiosity. I was already nervous enough, wondering how to give Frank my phone number on the sly. The last thing I needed was all eyes in the bar on us.

r /> “Sorry,” she whispered.

I reached for her arm to steady her. “How many drinks did you have?”

How the heck could she be so much more inebriated than I was? In our hours at the bar, I’d only had three drinks, but Britney must have had more than that when I wasn’t paying attention. And normally, I always paid attention.

“It was those douchey guys. They kept giving me shots.”

Shit. I hadn’t seen that happen at all. “I didn’t realize. Are you okay?”

“I’m good enough to be your wingwoman!” She threw her arms out to her sides and pretended to fly as we walked.

I stopped short, pushing her in front of me before grabbing her arms and forcing them down to her sides. “Behave, or I’ll tell Ryan you’re pregnant with his love child.”

She spun around to face me. “Wouldn’t that be a dream? I wish I was pregnant with Ryan’s love child!”

Everything she said was too loud. The bar was loud on its own, but Britney was louder. I heard Ryan’s voice before I turned my head to meet his gaze.

“Who’s pregnant with my love child?” He laughed, and the people lined up the bar for drinks all turned around and stared at us.

When Britney waved both hands in the air, I wanted to die. I’m going to kill her.

Thankfully, Frank appeared at my side. “You ladies heading out?”

I looked up at him, appreciating the way his tall frame towered over my five feet five inches, thinking of all the ways he could use his height to his advantage. As my mind wandered, I almost forgot he’d asked a question.

“Gotta take the drunk one home.” I nodded toward Britney, whose arm was still in my grasp.

“I am not,” Britney said. “Okay, fine. I’m drunk. So what? I hope it doesn’t hurt the love baby.”

“On that note . . .” I tightened my grip and reached into my pocket with my free hand, pulling out the paper. “We better go. But I wanted to leave this for you.” I shoved the paper at him.

Frank looked down, his fingers folding as he palmed the small note.