Rating the Book Boyfriend (Book Boyfriend Builders)

1. Libby

CHAPTER 1

Libby

“ G em…”

I hear movement from the bed beside me. “What the fuck is that?”

“Gemmmmm…”

“Libby?” Her voice is muffled. “Why does your voice sound like my Uncle Louie? He smoked three packs a day and has one of those voice box thingies. Did you get one of those implanted?”

My brain aches. Did I? “Not that I can recall.”

“Well, stop talking. Your voice is freaking me the fuck out. It’s like you swallowed about thirty frogs while you were asleep.”

Still not opening my eyes, I call out, “JoJo, is there a frog epidemic in Colorado?”

“No. Shut the fuck up! I’m trying to die in peace,” comes a voice from the other room.

Convinced I hadn’t inhaled any amphibians, I rest my head back on my pillow and hear Gemma groan.

“Who are all these people in our room?”

“That’s what I was trying to ask you a few minutes ago when you started talking about frogs and Uncle Louie. They seem to be members of a demonic marching band.”

“Uncle Louie is a demon?”

I huff out a sigh of frustration as my head pounds. “No, the ones playing the bass drums in our room.”

“And cymbals. So many fucking cymbals,” she whines. “It sounds like they’re inside my head.”

“Literally the worst marching band ever.”

“They’re demons. What did you expect?”

I lay silent for a few seconds as the booms and crashes escalate, making my head hurt even worse. “We should try to get rid of the evil drummers,” I suggest. “We need to do one of those things like in that movie.”

“An exorcism?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Mmkay, go ahead.”

“Okay, here goes.” I clear my throat and struggle to remember the words the movie priest used to expel the demons. “By the power vested in me, stop fucking playing percussion,” I call out. Gemma laughs, and our noise prompts another response from JoJo through the wall.

“I swear to god, I’m going to stab you both if you don’t shut up.”

“Libby is getting rid of the demonic marching band,” Gemma calls back.

“You bitches are still drunk. That’s not a marching band; it’s the vodka pounding your pointed little heads.”

“Huh,” Gemma muses. “That actually makes more sense.”

“I’m going to open my eyes and check for evil fiends anyway,” I say, creaking open one reluctant eyelid and then the other. The room is mostly dark, but I can see a bit of light peeking through the floral drapes.

“Anything?”

“Nothing except those hideous curtains. Who thought it was a good idea to combine orange and chartreuse?”

“Oh, your ass knows chartreuse but can’t tell the difference between hot-pink and fuchsia?”

An image of me with sex lube on my arms and hands somehow filters through the Jell-O mold that is my brain, and I giggle through the throbbing pain in my head.

“Chartreuse should seriously be banned from the color wheel. It serves no purpose and reminds me of vomit.”

As soon as that last word passes my lips, my stomach does a backflip, and I slam my hand over my mouth. Oh shit! Scrambling from the bed, I sprint to the bathroom, wobbling a little until I fall to my knees in front of the toilet.

I lean against the cool wall and watch as Gemma enters the room, looking more disheveled than I’ve ever seen her. Her silky top is mis-buttoned, and for some reason, she’s wearing Ava’s floral shorts, one thigh-high stocking, and some kind of odd belt. Dark strands stick out of a raggedy bun on one side of her head, and the other half of her hair is fashioned in a french braid.

“You done calling Uncle Ralph?” she asks, wetting a white washcloth and handing it to me.

I wipe my face and nod. “Are you feeling sick?”

Gem’s face crunches into a look of misery. “Yes, but I’m trying to hold it in.”

Pressing the cloth against the back of my neck, I say, “Get it over with. I feel better already, and you look like shit.”

“You’re one to talk. What is that hat you’re wearing?”

Rising up on my knees, I look in the mirror. Some kind of pillbox hat with multicolored feathers is sitting askew on my blonde head. “Where the fuck did I get this hat? Is it yours?”

Gemma throws me a flat look. “As fetching as it is, no. Also, your breath smells like ostrich ass.”

“How do you know what ostrich ass smells like?”

“Long story. Don’t ask,” she mutters.

JoJo stumbles in, and we both gape at her. She’s wearing a bright-orange construction vest. “What in god’s name is that?” I ask.

She shrugs. “You gave it to me. You went downstairs about two in the morning to get a bag of Doritos, and you came back with that hat and this vest.” She points at me and then herself.

“What the hell happened last night?” Gemma whispers.

“We drank all the alcohol in Colorado,” Ava moans, stumbling into the room, and we all burst out laughing. Her hair is done in Pippi Longstocking braids. She holds up her middle finger and waggles it at all of us.

“Did you get sick too, Ava?” Gemma asks, and our friend nods.

“Yes, I just tossed my fortune cookies, and I feel a little better.”

I frown. “Isn’t the phrase tossing your cookies ?”

“Yes, but we had Chinese food, so I improvised.” Ava flaps her hand. “Stop overanalyzing my euphemism. I’m trying to remember what we did all night. Something with our computers, I think. I definitely remember that.”

“Writing exercises?” Gem suggests. “Can you just imagine what we wrote while drunk off our asses?”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up as vague images flash through my mind. “Umm, I think we started some kind of website. Like, a business or something?”

JoJo’s eyes widen. “We did. The thing where we decided to help guys be more like the men in our books.” She stares up at the corner of the room in thought. “What did we name it?”

“The uhhh…” Gemma scratches the back of her neck. “Wasn’t it The Man-Training Book Sluts?”

I shake my head. “That was Ava’s suggestion, and we were so drunk, we actually considered it for a few minutes.”

“I still think it’s a solid business name. Very descriptive,” our friend argues.

“Book Boyfriend Builders!” JoJo crows, scrolling through her phone, and we all wince at her volume.

For a long moment, four sets of eyes dart to and from each other in a bit of panic as the memories truly begin to sink in. “Shit, we were going to delete it,” Ava reminds us, “before too many people saw it.”

“Libby needs to do that. She set up the website,” Gemma says quickly, reaching out a hand to help me off the floor.

“Crap,” JoJo spits out, staring at her phone. “I hate to tell you this, but I just got an alert that the winter storm is moving in faster than anticipated. You ladies need to try and move your flights to today unless you want to be stuck here for a week.”

“Libs, I’ll work on your flight. You just get that fucking website taken down. JoJo and Ava, find us Advil, lots of water, and something to eat that will absorb all this damn liquor.” Gemma is now in full crisis-management mode as I run for my laptop in the living room.

“Fuck! It’s dead,” I curse, scrambling around on the floor, searching for my charger. I look under the coffee table and scoot the couch over, but it’s nowhere to be found.

“Yes, my name is Liberty Hill,” Gemma says, zooming past me, as she pretends to be me on the phone. “I don’t care what you have to do. Get me on a flight today .”

JoJo hands me a bottle of water and three tablets as I move things around on the desk against the wall.

Where the fuck is my laptop charger?

Gemma paces back the other direction, doing that fast-walk thing she usually reserves for work at her law firm. And that’s when I see it. Her “belt.”

Stopping her with my hands on her shoulders, I untie my charging cord from around her waist, earning me a confused look before she begins barking into the phone again.

Once I get my laptop plugged in, I wait impatiently as it powers on. Quickly pulling up the Book Boyfriend Builders website, I take a second to admire the setup, logo, and graphics. It really does look wonderful.

That’s when my eyes drop to the counter at the bottom of the page.

What the ding-dong hell? Almost half a million hits? In only a few hours?

Navigating to the sales page, I’m surprised once again.

Payment received.

Payment received.

Payment received.

Those words are repeated hundreds of times. Hundreds! I check the accounting numbers and almost fall off the damn couch. The balance is $8550. And that’s just the deposits people paid to retain our services. It doesn’t include the exorbitant fees we planned to charge once we begin with a client.

Apparently, vodka gives you a false sense of confidence that you can actually pull off a man-training business. But… these numbers…

Excitement bubbles in my stomach. Or maybe that’s still the vodka talking.

“Y’all, I think you need to come look at this,” I call, and everyone wanders over to look at my screen.

“Holy shit,” JoJo whispers as Gemma and Ava shake their heads in awe.

Gem says something into the phone and hangs up, jamming her hands on her hips as her green eyes sparkle. Then a crafty smile curls her lips upward, and she points a finger at the screen.

“Liberty Hill, don’t you dare fucking delete that website. We’ve got some book boyfriends to build.”