Guy Hater (Fisher Brothers 2)

“Probably not very long.”

“No shit. So, what the hell are you going to do?” When I merely shrugged my shoulders, he said, “Just tell her. Tell her you’re in a relationship, but it’s over. It’s been over.”

A cough bubbled up and escaped, and I pounded at my chest. “You want me to tell Claudia that I have a girlfriend? But not to worry, because it will be over soon? She’d probably rip off my head with her bare hands and spit on my corpse. Both pieces.”

Ryan laughed. “I was just thinking that a little honesty might be your best option at this point, but you might be right. Maybe it’s too late to tell the truth.”

His words struck me like a sucker punch. Was it ever too late to tell the truth? Was there a line you crossed where the truth was no longer relevant, or no longer mattered? Or was honesty always your best option, your best bet?

I downed the rest of the new drink he had made as the door swung open and Claudia walked in. When my eyes met hers, she gave me the most genuine and beautiful smile as her long legs propelled her toward the bar. She was wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a fitted white tank top. Her outfit might be simple, yet the woman wearing it was anything but.

The moment I saw her face, I forgot what I’d been thinking about. I swear, I might not have been able to remember my own name if anyone asked.

“You look gorgeous,” I said as she took a seat in front of me, resting her elbows on top of the bar.

Her face crinkled for only a moment before she thanked me. “You look all right,” she said, her lips lifting into a half smile.

“What about me?” Ryan jutted out his hip and struck a ridiculous pose like a runway model.

“Oh yes, Ryan. You look magnificent. Utterly perfect.” She brought her fingers to her lips and kissed them with European flair.

“I knew it,” he said in a horrible British accent. “Can I get you something to drink, milady?”

She glanced at me, almost as if she was waiting for a sign as to whether she should order something, and my stomach rumbled. It was in that moment when I wished our bar had a kitchen.

Food was pretty much the only thing missing from Sam’s, but we’d decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. Yes, people did leave the bar when they were hungry, but they always came back. Plus, not having food hadn’t hurt our sales in the slightest, so there wasn’t any real incentive to add a kitchen, to get licensed and deal with additional staff and food. It would only add a whole new level of things to manage, and the three of us weren’t very interested in the dining side of things.

Except apparently my stomach. It growled again, and Claudia laughed.

“Hungry?” she asked.

“A little.”

“I’ll hold off on that drink, Ryan. We should probably get some food into this guy’s tummy,” she teased, batting her eyelashes at me.

Ryan immediately perked up. “Pizza. Definitely pizza. And bring me back some.”

I turned toward Claudia. “Do you eat pizza?”

She scoffed at me, offended. “Do I eat pizza? Oh, because I’m Colombian, I don’t eat Italian food? Is that what you think?”

I held my hands in the air and grinned. “Calm down, feisty. I was just asking. Maybe you hate cheese? Maybe you have a gluten allergy?”

“No and no. I love cheese. I could live off pizza. Feed me pizza or lose me forever.” She gave her long black hair a dramatic toss, and I couldn’t get around the bar and over to her quick enough.

“I was serious about bringing me back some. Don’t forget,” Ryan called out as we headed toward the exit. “Don’t forget!” he shouted again, and I stopped and turned back.

“Jesus, Ryan, we won’t,” I told him as I placed my hand on the small of Claudia’s back.

God, it felt good to touch her, to feel her warmth underneath my palm. She leaned into my touch, pres

sing harder into me than she had a second earlier, and I wasn’t sure if she even realized she was doing it.

Once we were outside and in public, I dropped my hand. I wanted to lace my fingers with hers but stopped myself from being that forward, from crossing that particular line.

Smiling at her, I pointed toward the pizza place across the street, and we walked there side by side. Every few steps, her hip would brush against my leg, making my dick twitch. My mind ran wild with want, my body hummed with desire, but some sliver of self-control remained. Thank God we only had a few feet left to go, or I was certain I would have lost my mind and mauled her up against the brick wall beside us.

I held the door open as she walked through it, and we stopped to check out the chalkboard menu just inside the entrance.