Guy Hater (Fisher Brothers 2)

She rested her head on my shoulder. “Now, tell me what Fuckable Frank said to you.”

I coughed and choked out, “Please. For the love of our friendship, don’t ever call him that again.”

“Fine. What did Freaky Frank say?” She glanced up at me and waggled her eyebrows seductively.

I shoved her head from my shoulder and turned toward her. “Please stop with the weird names. Freaky Frank is not sexy. It sounds creepy.”

“You’re no fun. What did No-Fun-Frank say to No-Fun-Claudia, then?”

“Nothing, really. He was flirting, I think.”

“You think? Of course he’s flirting. He’s been flirting with you since the first time he laid his stupid gorgeous green eyes on you.”

“It’s hard to tell with him,” I admitted.

Did I want Frank to be flirting with me? Hell yes, I did. But I couldn’t always tell if he was. I didn’t know him well

enough, and I found him hard to read.

“He’s so hot and cold. One second, I think he’s into me, and the next, he’s running away like I have chicken pox or something.”

“Chicken pox? Are we five?”

“You definitely are,” I teased.

“Don’t care. I’ll be five.” She shook her head. “But for the record,” she turned and glanced behind us, “he’s watching you. He’s always watching you.“

I looked in Frank’s direction and our eyes held for a moment longer than should be considered comfortable. My cheeks warmed and I looked away, feeling silly. I didn’t know what him watching me was all about. I knew what I hoped it meant, but had no clue if there was any significance at all.

“Now what?”

“You have to leave him your number tonight before we leave,” she stated, like it was the most obvious next step.

My eyes widened as I pulled back. “Leave my number? But he hasn’t even asked for it.”

“And he probably never will,” she said in almost a whisper.

“Then what the hell are you talking about?” I snapped out, sharper than I had intended.

Britney wanted me to leave my phone number for Frank, but she didn’t think he’d ever ask me for it? Why the heck would I give my number to a guy who didn’t want it, or wouldn’t ask for it?

She huffed out an annoyed breath. “I’m saying that if you wait for Frank to ask for your phone number, you might die first. And it’s not because he doesn’t want it.”

She wasn’t making any sense, but I played along anyway. “So I should just leave my number for him? Write it on a piece of paper like some . . .” I paused, annoyed at the stereotype I felt like I was so quickly becoming. “Like some—”

“Like some bar floozy?” Britney laughed.

I didn’t want to be a typical bar floozy. I was fairly certain that Frank got hit on all the time, and the last thing I wanted was to be like all the other women who came into his bar.

Not to mention that if I were the aggressor, it meant that Frank didn’t have to be. Just the idea of that turned me off. I wasn’t attracted to weak men, no matter how good-looking they might be. My heart required strength and confidence. A passive man would never do. I’d eventually eat him alive.

“He’s a grown man, Britney. If he wants my number, then he should ask me for it. Do I really want to be interested in someone who doesn’t even have the nerve to ask for my number?”

Britney belted out a loud laugh. “Do you really think Frank lacks nerve? Look at him. Honestly, I think he’s just the quiet type. He isn’t like Nick and Ryan, you know? He’s not overly in your face like they are, all charming smiles and flirtatious words. He keeps to himself, and I wonder if he’s trying not to cross a line with you for some reason.”

“Like because he’s not interested, maybe?” My heart stung a little just saying those words.

“No! God, you’re so annoying.” She groaned. “That man knows where you are in this bar at all times. If that’s not interested, then it’s just plain stalkery behavior. Not that I’d mind being stalked by him.”