Page 101 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“Never settle for a life that you don’t deserve, because a boy like you deserves everything he’s ever wanted.”

“I don’t know if that’s true, Dad.” Eli had tried his best to wipe his tears away.

“It doesn’t matter what you know. This is what I know.” His father pointed to himself. “And I know that you’re a brave boy. And you deserve to be happy.”

“Dad . . .”

“Do that for me, Eli . . .” His father’s voice was rough, scratchy. “Just live your life in a way that makes you happy. Please.”

“I will, Dad.”

If only he could see Eli now.

He’d be so disappointed in me. How had he lived his life happily? How had he made his dad proud? He’s basically lived paycheck to paycheck, worked a job he hates, held on to the heart of a man who’d crushed his. All in exchange for helping another man find the person he’s meant to be with.

In what world had Eli respected his father’s dying wish?

He’s not happy, that much he can admit to himself. He’s not proud of the work that he does, he’s not proud of how he lost himself in his relationship with Keith, he’s not proud of how he’s spent weeks misleading Peter. Even Michael, whom he’s been lying to under the hope that he’ll be given even a crumb of a chance to make something of himself. He can’t even pretend to be brave enough to share the real article with Michael.

Eli keeps the hoodie on as he crawls into bed, that ache stirring in his stomach again. Eli pulls his thighs closer toward himself, his fingers slipping so easily past the waistline of his underwear.

He’s not proud of how easy it is to imagine Peter on top of him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear as he works himself inside of Eli. He’s not proud of how he imagines that it’s Peter’s fingers instead that find his clit, rubbing softly at first, his chest rising and falling slowly. He’s not proud of the way he wants to taste Peter, to pull his hair tight, to run his hands along that strong back, his fingernails leaving crescent shapes on Peter’s soft skin.

If nothing survives what they have together, Eli could only hope that the marks would remain, as a reminder of just how grateful he is. To have had the privilege to live alongside someone as honest and as kind as Peter is a luxury that few are afforded.

And as Eli’s back arches off the bed, his hand wet with release, his nose buried in Peter’s hoodie, breathing in the smell that he prays is etched into his memory, he mutters a name that does not belong to him.

One name. The name of the man who took his heart without permission.

“Peter . . .”

The euphoria of his climax washes over him before dissipating in an instant, the shame settling in as he realizes just what he’s done. Eli stands and washes himself off in the bathroom before he hides underneath the covers once again, unable to let go of Peter’s hoodie even in the spell of embarrassment that he feels dragging him down.

It’s that scent that lulls him into an uneasy sleep.

One where he dreams too much about a sweetly shy Korean man who deserves more than Eli could ever give him.

Chapter Twelve

But I’m a Cheerleader, dir. by Jamie Babbit

“This is boringgg . . .” Les groans, rolling off the couch.

“The Hunchback of Notre Dame is a classic! The backgrounds and art direction, the voice acting, the songs!”

“You would’ve made an amazing theater kid.”

Eli shakes his head, turning off the movie. It might’ve been a selfish decision to throw on one of his comfort films. Though he’s not sure what it says about him that one of those movies is a historical animated drama about religious crusades through Paris. Or that his favorite song from the movie is about lust and Catholic guilt.

“What do you want to watch?” Eli asks.

“I don’t want to watch anything,” Les says.

“Okay, well . . . did you do your homework yet?”

Their silence is enough of an answer.

“Go get your books.”