Hating the Book Boyfriend (Book Boyfriend Builders)

1. JoJo

CHAPTER 1

JoJo

" C an I buy you a drink?" The fine as hell man with chestnut eyes finally asks as I finish my last sip of Pinot. We've casually exchanged stolen glances across the bar for thirty minutes.

"I'll never turn down a free drink," I say as he claims the stool beside mine.

I'm not looking for a relationship. If anything, I've sworn them off. More than not, the men I've let have a shot at the title have royally fucked it up. That could be more me than them. I tend to pick the ones that my momma warned me about. Gemma always tells me, "Pick a man with integrity. If he at least has that, you'll be able to get through the hard stuff." I know she's right, but a girl still has needs, and right now, Mr. Most-likely-wrong-for-me looks like he can satisfy them very well.

"Would you like another glass of wine or something else?"

"That depends. Are you looking for a night of conversation or something else?"

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and his cute-as-hell dimple makes an appearance as he reins in his smile. He rubs his jaw as he tries to regain his composure. "That…That was pretty forward of you." He takes a drink of the amber liquid he's been sipping on.

The man is right. It was forward and maybe presumptuous. But in all fairness, people do not randomly slide up next to each other in hotel bars to find their next girlfriend. Shooting my shot like this is very uncharacteristic of me. If anything, I've always been shy and reserved, but attending the book signing and being with the girls this past weekend filled my cup. It's currently giving me that badass FMC energy that tends to only exist in the fictional worlds we create. But why can't it be real? Why can't I live it for one night in a town where nobody knows my name with a man I will never see again?

I shrug. "Well, if I got it wrong and you're not interested, it's better to find out now than a tab full of drinks later."

Those warm eyes sparkle as he bites his lip, and the bartender asks, "Would you like another?"

He turns. "I'll have another Crown Apple on ice and bring her…" he gestures toward me for a response.

"I'll have a Paloma, please."

"You're a tequila girl?"

I roll my lips. "I am tonight."

He shakes his head at my antics. "So what's a pretty woman like you doing sitting alone at the bar? Are you here for work?"

"Actually, I wasn't alone. Three of my friends were here with me, but they all caught planes out earlier today to beat the weather."

"You couldn't get a flight out?" He tosses back the remainder of the drink he brought with him.

"No, I'm not leaving the state. I was here for a book signing and planned on going home to help my brother with the family farm for the holidays."

"Farming at this time of year?"

Even after proclaiming I'm a sure thing, this guy is putting in some real effort. Most men would hear drinks and a woman beneath them as an excuse to forgo any further meaningful conversation. The bartender returns with our drinks.

"A Paloma for the lady and a Crown Apple on ice for you, sir. Can I get the two of you anything else?"

I shake my head no, and my bedmate, whose name I've yet to get, answers for us. "We are good for now. Thank you."

I take a sip of my drink. It's stiff and delicious, the tequila instantly warming my insides. "My brother runs a Christmas tree farm. It's been in our family for generations."

"Fascinating," he leans in, resting his elbow on the bar, giving me his undivided attention. It figures the first guy I proposition would be into conversation.

"I suppose it is, to some?—"

"Who wouldn't be intrigued? It's not every day you run into someone in the business of tree farming, let alone Christmas trees, and right before the holidays. I feel like I'm talking to Mrs. Claus or something." My eyebrows rise in surprise as I take a sip of my Paloma. I'm not sure any woman wants to be compared to Mrs. Claus, especially before she's about to give away her cookies. He sees his misstep, and his hand reaches for my knee where he gives it a subtle squeeze before adding, "A sexy as hell, Mrs. Claus. One I'd like to see under my Christmas tree wearing nothing but a Santa hat and red lingerie."

I clear my throat, as my Paloma almost goes down the wrong pipe while visions of that scene flick through my mind. "That's very descriptive." Now I'm suddenly nervous. Frankly, I've never been with a man that knew what he wanted. One that had fantasies, or, if they had, they weren't man enough to express them. We only live one life. If you are with someone who makes you feel safe, why not try all the things? Here, I thought I was propositioning Mr. One Night but he's over here giving Pretty Woman vibes. One night could easily turn into a week with the right words. But that's the key. The right words. He might have them now, but will they still exist after our clothes have spent hours on the floor? I spin my glass on the wood bar top. "I just realized we haven't actually exchanged names yet."

"You're right," he removes his hand from my thigh and straightens, seemingly regaining his composure. The chemistry, or should I say lust, is clearly getting the better of him as well. "That was rude. A name usually comes right after I ask a woman if I can buy her a drink, but you threw me a curveball. Not that I'm complaining. I'm simply saying my game took a hit." His hand makes a motion like he's going to extend it, but then he purses his lips. "Shaking your hand feels out of place now, but for the record, if we could rewind, I would have done that, too. My name is Teddy."

"Do you have a last name, Teddy, or is that reserved for your two-night stands?"

He laughs. "I like you…" He runs his hand through his dark shoulder-length locks. "Let's keep it at just Teddy for now."

Hmm, there's something. I narrow my eyes as I reclaim my glass for a drink. I may have just found my first red flag. Too bad I'm a sucker for them. Hence, the single status. "Well, just Teddy. I'm JoJo."

"JoJo. Is that short for something?"

I don't miss the irony in his question, but I let it go. "Josephine. JoJo is short for Josephine."

"Josephine, that's a name you don't hear?—"

"Josie Posey!" A voice reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard sounds behind me. "Is that you?" I close my eyes when I feel his heat on my back. I haven't heard that voice in years, and it's one I'd be thrilled never to hear another day in my life. I count to five and pray it disappears. Why, of all the hotel bars on the planet, is he at this one, and on tonight of all nights? His thumb brushes over the scar on my bare shoulder. "It is you. You still have the scar you got from falling out of a tree your freshman year of high school," he says, a sneer in his tone that brings my blood to an instant boil.

"You would know, considering you're the reason for its existence," I bite out before taking a long drink of my Paloma. Long enough, I down half my glass in one go.

"Ha, it is you. What are the odds? You running up a tree was hardly my fault. If anything, I saved you," he says as he unwelcomely sidles up to my left.

Unable to help myself, I turn to him with a scowl. "Are you saying it wasn't your fake snake wrapped around my ankle?

"You walked into the trap. It wasn't set for you. We set that for Corey Potts. He was probably the only other person on the planet that would have been capable of giving us a better performance than you."

My eyes narrow on his as a flashback to the day crosses my mind.

It was the summer before my freshman year of high school, and my brother Archie had all his friends over for one last party before school started. Our parents were converting what had been a storage barn into an event space, and the boys were up to no good per usual while I was helping Mom and Dad. Mom asked me to run out to the barn to take a second measurement of an old storage room that was to be converted into a bride's suite. I knew they were outside, the laughter could be heard throughout the house. Whenever Archie had friends over, it was a non-stop party, at least for him. For me, it was a reason to hide, but there was no way to escape this request. Mom had sprained her ankle the day before, and Dad was in town, which meant I was the only one within earshot to answer her request. Looking out the kitchen window, I tried to determine the best route possible to get to the barn quickly and unnoticed. Archie's friends weren't mean per se, but they weren't exactly pleasant either. More than not, I was at the dumb end of some stupid joke or asinine comment.

They had just abandoned their spot on the back porch to head down one of the tree trails when I decided to make my move. I'd get in and out before they got back. Or so I thought. I was nearly halfway to the barn when I felt something graze across my ankle. Of course, in my haste to avoid Archie and his friends, I didn't slip on my boots. My eyes immediately darted to the ground, where I caught a glimpse of what I could have sworn was a prairie rattlesnake. I fucking hate snakes. I screamed like I was getting chased by Micheal Myers and darted to the oak tree, where I made it up a few branches before my brother and his friends came to see what all the commotion was about. All I remember is Corey Potts walking out the back door of my house and the limb I was standing on snapping before I fell out of the damn tree.

"Wait, did he just call you Josie? I thought you said your name was Josephine," Teddy says at my back.

I roll my eyes and spin back. "I didn't lie about my name. The knob behind me has always been a dim wit. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't know my real name."

Teddy’s eyes flick between me and my brother's best friend, who I hear ordering a drink behind me. "I don't think I caught your name. I'm Teddy," he says, extending his hand.

Colton's piercing dark eyes hold Teddy’s for a beat before he gives him a once over and says, "That's because I didn't offer it."

"Once a prick, always a prick," I mumble before signaling the bartender for another drink.

"Do you want to grab a table?" Teddy asks.

"She can't," Colton answers for me.

"Why can't I?" I turn to him, outrage clearly written across my face.

"For starters, he's wearing a fake Armani coat, and second, he wouldn't give you his last name."

Damn. How long has he been standing behind me? Never mind that. The better question is, why does he even care? I'm not a teenager anymore. There is no virtue to protect like the time he caught me kissing Hudson Crais behind the bleachers sophomore year.

"In case you haven't noticed, Callahan, I'm not sixteen anymore. I couldn't care less about a fake Armani coat; I hoped he wouldn't be wearing it later anyway." The beer he ordered spews out of his mouth as though what I've said is outlandish. "I'm not a prude. I'm more than capable of choosing who I let in my bed, so you can be on your way now." I flick my wrist and shoo him off like a fly, but when I turn back to Teddy, he's halfway to the exit. Seriously! I can't believe he just walked off like that and in front of Callahan, of all people. I steel my spine as I shift back toward the bar. "Happy?" I mock right as the bartender slides another drink in front of me, one I'll now be paying for myself.

"Now, I am," he says, his eyes doing a slow perusal over my form, which only makes me sit straighter. Out of all of Archie's friends, Colton's stare has always affected me most. His cryptic gaze always lingered the longest. Always sending a misplaced shiver down my spine, like now. Nothing in our exchange suggests he genuinely cared if I took Teddy to bed. Just like when we were younger, this was all a game to him. Pissing in my Cheerios is his favorite pastime. Josie Posey can't land a boyfriend. She's not pretty enough, too awkward, with her head always buried in a book, and her tomboy outfits only make her more of a spectacle worth poking fun at. It's why I expect his next words to be another barbed jab, just like when we were kids, but instead, he says, "Have a good night, Posey."

"Ass," I mumble as he walks away. I was supposed to be playing Mrs. Claus tonight. What's fucked up is I'm not sure if I'm more disappointed I'm not going to get laid or that I won't get the chance to ask Santa to put a lump of coal in Callahan's stocking. No, forget a lump of coal. He deserves the whole damn mine. I hate Colton Callahan.