Rating the Book Boyfriend (Book Boyfriend Builders)

3. Riggs

CHAPTER 3

Riggs

I s Libby Cox staring at my dick? I beg the fucker not to put on a show for her as I stow my bag and sit down.

She’s stunning. I’d never met the woman in person, though I saw her yesterday at the book signing and noticed how attractive she was. Today her long hair is wavier, and she’s not wearing a bit of makeup, but I think I prefer her this way.

The flight attendant brings our drinks, and I smile when Libby thanks her and calls her by name. She seems really sweet and treats people with respect, unlike…

Fuck . I rub a hand over my face and lean my head back, staring at the round air vents above me. I’ve really got to do something about this situation with Lucinda. It’s becoming untenable.

The flight attendants begin their safety talk, and I prepare myself to zone out like I usually do. But the woman beside me is listening attentively, nodding and smiling at Cara as she goes through all the motions that I’m sure she gets bored with after doing it numerous times a day.

When she’s done and picking up the glasses from the first-class passengers in preparation for takeoff, Libby reaches out and touches the woman’s hand.

“Cara, I’m in awe of how you buckle that safety vest around your waist during your presentation without even looking. I’d look like a bumbling fool.”

Cara literally beams at the praise. “Thank you, Ms. Hill. I feel like no one even pays attention anymore.” Yeah, dickheads like me. “It’s nice to know someone does.”

“No problem. I just wanted to make sure you know how much I appreciate you and the crew. I know it’s a hard job.”

Jesus, who is this woman? She’s got a face and body that won’t quit, and she’s kindhearted?

“Did she call you Ms. Hill?” I ask, turning to look at Libby.

She blinks a few times with those hazel eyes before speaking. “Oh, yes. That’s my real surname. Libby Cox is my pen name.”

“And is Libby your real first name?” I ask and then catch myself. “Sorry, that’s a bit personal.”

“No, it’s okay,” she says, tilting her head and allowing all those wavy locks to spill over the shoulder of the sunshine-yellow sweater she’s wearing. “My full name is Liberty Hill, but most everyone calls me Libby, in real life and in the book world.”

“Liberty Hill.” I let the name slip from my tongue. “I like it.”

She rolls her eyes and giggles, and I’m captivated by the sound. “It sounds like somewhere Custer would surrender the troops.”

A rush of laughter bursts from my lips as she joins my hilarity in a completely self-deprecating way. I adore a woman with a sense of humor, but I don’t have many of them in my life.

Except for my sister, Silvia, and my grandma, who are my two favorite people in the world.

I smile just thinking about my grandmother. Viviana Romero was a renowned ballbuster in her day, breaking through glass ceilings and running my grandfather’s business with an iron fist after he passed away at age forty. But to me, she’s just Nana Viv, the woman with a wicked sense of humor and a deep love of family.

“What about you?” Libby asks, smiling at me with brilliant white teeth surrounded by full pink lips. “Is Riggs Romero your real name?”

“Yes, though when I started doing cover modeling, my sister, Silvia, decided to try and come up with a stage name , as she called it.”

“You didn’t like any of her suggestions?”

Closing my eyes, I shake my head. “Nope. We couldn’t get on the same page, so I decided to just use my real name.”

Libby’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “What were some of the names Silvia came up with?”

“She wanted the first name to start with an R like my last name. Said she liked the alliteration.” I pull out my phone and scroll to my notes app before lifting a challenging eyebrow her way. “I have a list, if you’d really like to hear some.”

“Ooh, I love lists,” she says with an enthusiasm that makes me laugh. “And I’d love to hear.”

“Okay, here we go. Prepare yourself, Liberty Hill. Some of these are doozies, but I’ll start you off easy.”

She points a finger gun at me. “Shoot. I can take it.”

“Remus.”

Her nose scrunches adorably. “All I can think of is Professor Lupin from Harry Potter . You’d need a sketchy porn star mustache to pull off that name.”

A snort escapes from my throat. “These next ones aren’t too bad. Roman, Rufus, and Rogue.”

“Rogue is trying too hard, and Rufus is a hard no, but Roman is nice. Not as sexy as Riggs Romero though.”

Her eyes widen, and she smashes her lips together while red spots darken her tan cheeks, as if she’s embarrassed she said that out loud. Meanwhile, I’m trying not to preen like a fucking peacock that she thinks my name is sexy.

“All right, we’re about to dive into the deep end, Libster. Hang on tight.” She makes a show of clenching the armrests of her seat, and I lean forward to whisper, “Romeo.”

Her eyes go skyward as she mouths, “Romeo Romero.” Then she shakes her head and tosses a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “Not terrible, but with your last name, it’s too busy. What else ya got?”

“Rocco.”

Libby inhales a wheezing breath and holds it, and I become concerned that she’s sucked a piece of popcorn down her throat. Just as I’m about to pound her on the back or perform the Heimlich maneuver, she expels the air with a cackling hahaha sound, and I’m pretty sure it’s the weirdest—and cutest—laugh I’ve ever heard.

“Oh. My. God. Does your sister think you’re a meathead?”

“Apparently,” I chuckle, still amused at her exuberant laugh and wanting to hear it again. “You ready for the final and most ridiculous one?”

“Hang on.” She holds up her hand and takes a long swig of her drink. “I have a feeling I’m going to need alcohol to hear this one.”

“Wise choice,” I say before spreading my hands dramatically. “Rocket.”

Libby freezes for a long beat, and then she does that completely adorable wheezing laugh again, waving one hand at me. “Oh shit,” she gasps when she’s finally able to speak again. “That’s classic. Can you just imagine the pocket rocket jokes?”

Her laughter is contagious, and I join in… until the flight attendant walks over. “S-sorry, Cara,” I stammer through my chuckles. “Are we being too loud?”

She smiles. “Not at all. I wanted to see if you two needed more beverages.”

Noticing both our drinks, as well as Libby’s popcorn bag, are empty, I circle my finger in the air. “Bring us another round, and can you hook Liberty up with more popcorn?”

“Certainly. It would be my pleasure,” she says, returning a few minutes later with two full glasses and another bag of Skinny Pop.

“Jackpot,” Libby whispers, holding her bag toward me, and I take a couple fluffy kernels.

“Not terrible, but not as good as movie theater corn drenched in butter.”

“Agreed,” Libby says. “Did you give your sister atomic wedgies or something when she was a kid? Is that why she hates you?”

I chuckle yet again. What is it about this woman that makes me want to laugh constantly? “No, she actually adores her older brother. She honestly thought she was being helpful, though I think she threw a few of those names in there just to fuck with me.”

“What’s your age difference?”

“Six years. I’m thirty-three, and she’s twenty-seven.”

“Oh, I’m the same age as your sister. Where did you get the name Riggs?”

“My mother was a big fan of Mel Gibson when Lethal Weapon came out. How did you get the name Liberty? It’s very unique.”

“You should meet my sister, Freedom, and my brother, Second Amendment.”

I literally choke on my bourbon, covering my mouth to keep from spewing the dark liquid against the back of the seat in front of me. “Seriously?” I cough out, and her wide grin tells me she’s joking.

“No, I’m an only child. I honestly don’t know where the name came from. I was adopted. My birth mom and I were in a car accident when I was only two years old, and she didn’t survive.”

“Libby, I’m so sorry. That must have been hard.”

She shrugs but never quite loses her smile. “It’s okay. I went into the foster care system and then was adopted by the Hills when I was eight. They were unable to have children, so they doted on me.”

I want to ask why someone as charming as her wasn’t adopted before age eight, but that seems awfully personal, so I veer the conversation a bit.

“And where did you come up with your pen name?”

“Cox was my birth mother’s last name. I guess she and my sperm donor weren’t together because I never found out who he was.

“I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”

“Not really. My adoptive parents were awesome.” Libby holds out the popcorn bag, and I absently reach for another bite, fascinated with her story. “I did find some family on my mother’s side though, after going through her things when I was a teenager. Like her sister, Nancy.”

“And you’ve met her?”

“Yes, I met Aunt Nancy. She was a sweetheart.”

“Was?”

“She recently passed away.”

“Damn, I’m sorry. Are your parents still alive?”

Her smile turns sad for the first time, and I mentally kick my own ass for prying. “They were a little older when they adopted me, almost in their fifties, though you’d never know it because they were as active as the twenty-something parents. They both died when I was twenty.”

“Shit,” I huff out, “so you had no one?”

Her full-wattage smile returns. “No, Aunt Nancy had a daughter named Gianna.”

“So, your cousin?”

“Yes, we’re super close. She and Aunt Nancy actually lived only a few miles from me when we found each other, though Gia recently moved to New York.”

I feel the plane begin its descent, and Cara comes by to pick up our glasses and trash. Where the hell did the time go?

As soon as we land at DFW airport, Libby checks her phone. “It’s been so nice talking to you, Rocket Romero, but I have a connecting flight to catch from Terminal E in less than an hour.”

I laugh at her Rocket joke. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Libby. My flight leaves from E as well.”

Her smile is brilliant. “Okay, I’ve never had to switch terminals in this airport. What’s the fastest way there?”

“Stick with me, Lib. We’ll take the Sky Tram.”

We walk swiftly down the concourse, and I notice her long legs have no trouble keeping up with mine, even though she’s around six inches shorter than me. “I didn’t realize you had a connecting flight. I just assumed by your accent that you live in Texas.”

“I used to,” she says, but doesn’t expound on that.

Libby checks her phone again. “I’m at gate thirty-three. Where are you?”

My heart thumps in my chest. I can’t believe this. “I’m at thirty-three as well.”

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Oh, you’re going to Northwest Florida Beaches International?”

I’m as surprised as she is. NFBIA isn’t a huge airport like Miami or Orlando, mostly serving the Panama City area.

“That’s exactly where I’m going. Do you live in Panama City?”

She hesitates, and I mentally kick myself. Of course she wouldn’t tell a virtual stranger where she lives, doofus. She’s smarter than that.

“Sorry, that was rude of me to ask. You don’t have to answer.”

Libby shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. It’s just… complicated. I’m in the process of moving.”

“Oh, gotcha.” We start walking again and finally reach our gate. The sign over the counter informs us that boarding will begin in eleven minutes. “We made it,” I say, finding two chairs beside each other, and we sit.

My phone pings, and I check it to find a text from Lucinda, my girlfriend.

Lucinda: I signed you up for this. I think it will really help you.

There’s a link attached, and I click on it and begin reading. Before I reach the bottom, I scroll back to the top and start again because I absolutely can’t believe what I’m seeing.

“She has got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter, and Libby looks at me with concern.

“Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not. My girlfriend has signed me up for… something. I don’t even know what the fuck this is. It’s the most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“Like the Pickle of the Month Club? Because a friend of mine bought me a subscription for that once, and I actually enjoyed it.”

My laughter breaks free and soothes a little bit of the anger that’s boiling in my veins. “No, not the Pickle of the Month Club. I would like that a lot better than this bullshit. It’s called the…”

I look down to see the name again and shake my head in disgust. “The Book Boyfriend Builders. Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard?”