Page 18 of Rating the Book Boyfriend

Asshole.

As I’m getting ready, I wonder, not for the first time, what’s wrong with Riggs Romero. Why did his girlfriend feel the need to sign him up for the Book Boyfriend Builders?

Aside from sticking his foot in his mouth about the BBB business, he was perfectly sweet and very easy to talk to yesterday. And I can’t see where any woman would have a single complaint about the man’s looks. He’s completely drool-worthy. There’s got to be something I’m missing.

After dressing, I pack up my toiletries and stow them in the box labeledbathroombefore sealing it up. I still have aboutfifteen minutes before Riggs is scheduled to arrive, and I pull out my laptop and create a spreadsheet titled “Book Boyfriend Ratings.”

Hmmm, what should I put in each column?A few are obvious: attentiveness, sensitivity, flirting, protectiveness, romantic, complimentary, thoughtfulness, honesty. Tapping my lips with an index finger, I envision what I would like to have in a man, and then I smile and add two more columns: dirty talk and generous in bed.

Seriously, what kind of book boyfriend would he be if he didn’t have a mouth on him? I was tempted to add penis size, but I was pretty sure that wouldn’t be very professional.

Excuse me, sir, but I’m going to need you to drop your pants so I can rate your penis on a scale of one to ten. Or if your girlfriend is really lucky, on a scale of six to twelve.

Yeah, probably not the best idea.

Hearing a knock, I cross to the door and open it, trying to hold back my giddy smile when I find Riggs Romero standing there. With his jet-black hair, straight Roman nose, and piercing blue eyes, the man looks like a god among humans.

He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a trim waist, and his legs seem to go on for days. Muscular arms and legs are shown off by a tight white tank top and black athletic shorts with a white stripe down the sides. I do my best not to drool at the tattoos that cover his upper arms.

Riggs has the dark Italian looks of a wealthy mafia don, which is why most of the covers he graces are mafia or billionaire romances. He’s got brooding down to a science, but when he smiles like he’s doing right now? Good lord almighty, I’m not sure how my clothes haven’t completely melted from my body.

“Libby, you look great,” he says, glancing down at my butter-yellow tank and black Nike Pros. “Yellow is definitely your color.”

Well, he gets a ten so far in the compliments category.

“Come on in, and thanks for doing this. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you spending your day off helping some crazy lady you met on a plane.”

His laugh is low and deep and makes me have tingles in places I ought not think about. “Definitely better than going to work,” he says, entering the living room.

“You said you work for Mercato?” I ask, remembering our conversation from yesterday.

Riggs nods. “Yes, my grandfather, Luca, and his best friend, Salvatore Farina, emigrated to the U.S. in the sixties and started a single grocery store in Tallahassee. Then it grew into a chain from there. Sal’s son is currently the president of the company, and I’m the VP.”

“Oooh, look at you being all corporate,” I say, poking his bicep and practically breaking my finger in the process.Damn, that’s hard. I wonder what else is?—

Stop it, Liberty Hill! He has a girlfriend!

His smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes as he runs a large hand through black hair that’s so thick, it should have its own zip code. “Yeah, it’s great.” He takes in the room, squinting at the light neon-green walls. “This is… lovely.”

“Oh, don’t even try to be nice. I wanted to paint the walls a kind of airy blue, but Logan insisted on green. I thought maybe a soft sage green wouldn’t be too bad, but then I came home to this.” I wave my hand around. “It’s like living in a giant Gatorade bottle.”

That makes him smile even wider, his straight, white teeth shining between lips most women would kill for. “It’s definitely bright. I’m pretty sure I now have retina damage,” he remarks before clapping his hands once. “So, put me to work, Liberty.”

For some reason, I like when he calls me that.

Gesturing toward the couch, I say, “Well, this is the only big thing. Everything else is packed in boxes.”

He bobs his head up and down, surveying the couch. “Okay, probably best to put this in the truck first, and then we can fit the boxes around it and in the back seat.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I say cheerily, picking up the blanket and pillow. “Let me just move my bedding.”

I carry it to the bedroom, and when I return, Riggs has a scowl on his face. “Did you sleep on the couch last night?”

“Yes, for the past two weeks, actually. I told you Logan and I broke up.”

Ice forms in his narrowed eyes. “He makes you sleep on the couch?”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t sleeping in the bed with his stupid ass,” I retort.

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