Page 119 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“I don’t think it works for everyone, but I didn’t have a choice. I had to get over my fear of public speaking in college when I had to present my papers.”

“I like that.” He looks toward the end of the nearest lane, watching whatever music video the bowling alley is playing on one of their huge screens. “Oh, what are we celebrating?”

“Celebrating?”

“You said in your texts?” Peter makes it sound like a question.

“Oh!” It hits Eli suddenly. “Sorry, I was so worried about your dick I forgot to tell you.”

Peter blushes. “Sorry.”

Eli grins at him. “I, uh . . . the article, the one I wrote about you. I turned it in.”

“Yeah?” Peter smiles slowly as he realizes what Eli’s about to say. “Your boss liked it?”

“Yep!”

“You’re going to be a writer?”

“Professional, baby!”

“Eli, that’s amazing!” Peter wraps him in a quick hug. It’s a little awkward thanks to the angle they’re both sitting at. “Wait, can I read it?”

“Of course, duh!” Eli reaches into his pocket to fish out his phone, going to the Google Docs app. Michael doesn’t seem to have had the time to make any real substantial edits, so it’s mostly untouched from the last draft. “Here.”

Eli tries not to stare as Peter reads through the article. “‘Alex’?” he asks.

“Well, I couldn’t call you ‘Peter’ in the article. All the names were changed.” Not that Eli even brought Peter up that often. His story was just the framing device for what Eli really wanted to write about.

Peter keeps reading, and Eli watches for any subtle movements in his face, the twitching of an eye, the sinking of a smile. Anything that might tell him what Peter really thinks about the article. He doesn’t realize just how fast his heart is racing, how his right leg begins to bob up and down from the nerves.

Peter’s fingers scroll all the way until he finally reaches the end.

“So . . .” Eli can’t stop himself from blurting out. “What did you think?”

“It’s wonderful, Eli,” Peter says slowly. “I’ll admit, when you first told me about it, I really wondered why you’d want to write about something like this. But actually reading it . . .” Peter pauses, grinning. “You got the jazz festival in there. And my parents. The garden.”

Eli couldn’t avoid all the personal details.

“Is it good, like truthfully? Do you really think that it’s good?”

It’s a moment he’s been dreading. No matter what Michael thought of the article, Peter’s opinion always mattered more to Eli.

“It’s amazing. It really is, Eli.” Peter’s smile falters for the briefest of moments, just long enough for Eli to recognize it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Peter assures him. “It’s nothing.”

“Did I get something wrong? Because there’s still some editing that needs to be done. This isn’t going up tomorrow or anything.”

“Nothing’s wrong with the article.” Peter smiles again, the uncomfortable kind, like when people laugh to fill a silence. “I think . . . I think I’m jealous of you.”

“Jealous?”

“I guess reading the article, and seeing you finally go for something. I don’t know . . .” Peter sinks into the seat. “I’m almost thirty and I don’t really know what I’m doing at Zelus, let alone with my life.”

“Well, you know life doesn’t end at thirty, right?”