Page 116 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“So, it’s not that much of a costume, is it?” Peter laughs softly.

Eli just gives him a sad smile. Gray sweatpants might defeat the whole objective of hiding Peter’s dick, but they’re baggy enough in the inseam that they do a decent enough job at disguising Peter’s embarrassment.

“Can I ask what you are?” Peter throws the jacket onto the bed, stepping into the sweatpants as Eli gives him some room.

“You can’t tell?” He spins around in his red nylon short-shorts that might show off a little too much of his ass, his calves costumed under bright white socks with black stripes near the top, and black Converse sneakers. He thought that the gray shirt, stained with red food dye and the words camp crystal lake counselor across it, would be self-explanatory.

He’d even bought a plastic machete meant to fit over his head like he’d been sliced, but wearing it would mean not fitting through most doorframes all night.

“Is that from a movie too?”

Eli nods. “Yes, but don’t worry, I won’t put you through all twelve of them.”

“Thank you.”

“So where are we going? The bowling alley in the Mission?”

“No,” Peter says, pulling his arms through the jacket. “The one in the Presidio; apparently it’s nicer?”

“Is now a good time to admit that I’m not a good bowler?”

“Only if you’re okay with me being bad at it too.”

“What was your last score?” Eli dares to ask, falling onto the bed and getting a full look at Peter in the new-ish costume. There shouldn’t be something so attractive about gray sweatpants and a green jacket, and yet.

“Seventy-four?” Peter admits.

“I’ve got you beat,” Eli tells him. “Fifty-three.”

“So, I don’t have to try and impress you?” Peter holds out his hand, offering it to Eli.

And Eli gladly takes it. “Not tonight at least.”

* * *

“Fancy . . .” Eli says as he steps into the bowling alley, Peter right behind him. He’s heard of this place before, when he, Patricia, and Rose wanted to go bowling one night. They took one look at the hourly rate of two hundred dollars and stuck with bowling on Patricia’s Wii.

It’s a fairly small bowling alley, with only a dozen lanes. There’s the counter where you exchange your shoes, and even a little area filled with claw games. The real draw seems to be the other half of the building where the adjoining bar is packed with people dressed in their own costumes; celebrating, shouting, watching some game on one of the huge televisions mounted to the wall.

“Do you know who we’re looking for?” Eli asks.

“Uh . . .” Peter shoves his keys into his jacket. “Actually . . .”

“You don’t know what your coworkers look like, do you?”

“I’d recognize their profile pictures on Slack,” Peter admits. “But it can’t be that hard to find them.” He walks right up to the front desk. “Excuse me? Is the party for the Zelus company here?”

“I think so,” the woman—dressed in goggles, blue overalls, and a yellow sweater—says, checking her computer. “Yep! They’re lanes one through four. What size are you guys?”

With their shoes exchanged, Eli trails behind Peter as they walk toward the reserved lanes.

“You at least know Francine, right?”

“Yeah, yeah . . . she’ll recognize me.”

“And she’s here tonight . . .” Eli pauses. “Right?”

“Yes! I think . . .”