Guy Hater (Fisher Brothers 2)
My mind spun, going over our evening together, but nothing popped out. Frank Fisher was an enigma, and I had no clue how to figure him out.
Crossing Lines
Frank
Claudia drove away, and I knew she was confused. She had expected me to kiss her. Hell, even I hadn’t known if I was going to or not until we were in the moment and it was happening.
At the last second, I’d gathered my wits and kissed her cheek instead of her gorgeous fucking lips, fighting against my wants and needs the entire time. Every step outside the bar with her was another step into a moral minefield, where mentally I knew I was doing the wrong thing, but emotionally I couldn’t find the strength to stop it.
I wanted to kiss her.
I wanted to take her into my arms and feel her tongue on mine.
I daydreamed about what her beautiful mouth would taste like. And I knew it was wrong.
This entire situation was a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode. There was no way around that. Wrong and right existed in this world, and I was currently on the wrong side of things.
The only questions left were: How badly did I want to make things right? And more importantly, could I?
Walking back into the bar, I braced myself for Ryan. I figured he’d launch in on me the second I came through the front door, but he only gave me a questioning look before stacking some clean glasses. His silence unnerved me more than his blabbering ever could.
Sidling up next to him, I said, “You aren’t even going to ask what happened?”
“You’ll tell me later. After we close.” He gave me a curt nod, and I was thankful for his discretion.
I washed the few glasses left in the sink as Ryan chatted up the handful of customers in the bar. When I finished, I fished my cell phone out of my pocket and fired off a quick text to Claudia, then stared at the screen, waiting for a response.
Frank: You get home safe?
Claudia: Yep. Thanks again for a nice night.
When her response came right away, I tried to decipher it.
What did yep mean, exactly? Was she pissed? Was she being sarcastic? Had she really had a nice night, or was she mad that I hadn’t kissed her like any normal man would have?
She didn’t know my situation, and if she did, she’d never speak to me again. That wasn’t something I was willing to risk. Not while I felt the way I was feeling about her. Not while I was blatantly aware that there was some crazy connection between us that you didn’t find every day.
Shaking my head, I told myself to stop wallowing in my emotions like Ryan, a fucking chick.
I refilled a guy’s beer and made a Guy Hater for another as I tried to clear my damn head. It was no use. Nothing I did worked, because no resolution I came up with felt right.
In order to make myself happy, I had to hurt Shelby, and she didn’t deserve it. But she also didn’t deserve the way I was disrespecting her and our relationship. Guilt was quickly becoming my best friend, my closest acquaintance, my partner in crime.
After closing and locking the bar doors behind our last customers, I headed toward the tables to clear them off and wipe them down while Ryan worked on the rest of the remaining glassware and the bar. He eyed my every move, and I waited patiently for the inquisition to start. I knew he was dying to give me his input, or at least say something. But for whatever reason, he was holding back, maybe waiting for me.
“Just say it already,” I yelled from across the bar.
Dishes clanked, and Ryan tossed a towel over his shoulder. “How are you?”
How was I? I stopped wiping the table, tossed the towel on its wood top, and shrugged.
“How am I? Fine, I guess. How are you?” I said in my best smart-ass tone.
He rolled his eyes and groaned out loud. “I’m fine. But I’m not the one inviting girls over to the bar while my girlfriend sits at home waiting for me to get there.” When my hands fisted and I looked down to see them clenched, my knuckles white, he said, “Sorry, bro, I’m not trying to piss you off.”
“Could have fooled me,” I said, slowly unfurling my fingers.
“So, how was Claudia? Is she still cool?”