Page 120 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“It’s not so much about life ending at thirty, it’s just . . . it’s more that . . . I’ve had this image of having things figured out by then, that I’d be confident in my career choice, my relationships, my dreams. And so far, it just . . . hasn’t happened.”

“Huh.” Eli pauses. He’s familiar with those desires, that specific brand of jealousy knowing that Patricia and Rose—and even his parents—are capable and confident in what they do, that they have actual careers they’re—mostly—happy in. “All I can say is that you definitely aren’t alone in those feelings.”

“Yeah, I’ve tried to get over it, but it’s like it’s ingrained in my brain, and the thoughts always pop up at the worst time.”

“This is about your writing, isn’t it?” Eli asks.

Peter sighs, his gaze focused on the floor. “I just don’t like thinking about it,” he says. “It’s scary. That’s why I chose comp sci instead of a BFA program. Writing . . . there’s no guarantee in it. I don’t know if I can find an agent, get published. Hell, I don’t even know if I’m any good at it.”

“Have you ever shared your writing with anyone before?”

Peter shakes his head.

“What about with me?”

“You’d want to read it?”

“Duh.”

“You said that you don’t read romance.”

“Then I must really think that you’re talented if I’m willing to read fiction for once.”

“You don’t have to,” Peter tells him.

“You’re right, I don’t have to,” Eli says. “But I want to.”

Peter closes his eyes, but he can’t stop himself from smiling.

“Do you have any of it on your phone?” Eli asks.

“Yeah.”

“Gimme.”

“Eli . . .” Peter huffs.

And Eli huffs right back, mocking the tone of his voice. “Peter.”

“You really don’t have to do this.”

“Feedback and critique partners are a key part of any writer’s repertoire. My roommate Patricia reads all my stuff, even if it’s never published. And when I get the staff job, then I’ll have a whole team of people checking my work.”

Peter must realize there’s no getting out of this, since he digs his phone out of the pocket of his jacket, unlocking it and navigating to the bright white screen of the Google Docs app. He doesn’t have to scroll far to tap on a document that he opens before handing the phone to Eli.

“‘Untitled.’ It doesn’t have a title?”

“Not yet,” Peter admits.

Eli goes back to the screen, scrolling to the next page where “Chapter One” sits proudly before he starts to read. There’s something about Peter’s prose, simple yet connective all at once; even just ten pages in he’s laughed quietly, the smile never leaving his face as he scrolls and scrolls.

“You don’t have to read the whole thing,” he hears Peter say.

“I’m enjoying it,” Eli says, but he hands the phone back to Peter because he can tell that Peter’s getting uncomfortable. “I can stop, though.”

“Do you really think that it’s good?” Peter takes the phone, staring at the face reflected back from the empty screen.

“Yeah, maybe there were some grammar mistakes, but coming from someone who will literally toss a semicolon anywhere I feel like it, I’m certainly not the authority on punctuation,” Eli says. “Will you let me read more one day?”