Page 130 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

He misses Peter.

And he doesn’t know what to do about it.

Eli: sooooooooooooooo . . .

how was the date?

He types out the text, praying that he comes off as more curious, rather than hoping the date was a disaster and Peter has no interest in Lucas.

He can’t do this.

This was never supposed to happen. Eli was never supposed to develop feelings for Peter. This was never on the table. Hell, they’d even established a clause just in case. So why hadn’t Eli pulled out?

Because he loves him.

He doesn’t want to admit it.

But Eli Francis has fallen in love with Peter Park.

He loves the smell of him, that goofy smile, that curl to his hair as it’s grown out. He loves the golden shade of Peter’s brown skin, and the deep color of his brown eyes. He loves how Peter’s two front teeth overlap in the smallest way. Eli loves his dimples, how large his hands are, how soft his skin is. Eli loves the mole on Peter’s neck that he can’t keep his eyes off of. He loves how brave Peter has been, how he always wants to care for others before he cares for himself, how he’s never quite gotten the hang of sarcasm. He loves how Peter felt the need to hide the best parts of himself, and how he slowly allowed Eli to see all the things he was afraid to show.

He loves that he got the chance to know the real Peter Park.

Eli starts to delete the text message, knowing in his gut that it’s the wrong thing to do, especially if Peter is still on the date.

The handle of their front door jiggles as the lock turns, and Patricia stumbles in, two bags strapped around her shoulders and holding another tote bag that she drops to the floor the moment the door closes behind her.

“Rough day?” Eli asks.

Patricia huffs, letting the other bags fall. “As if being called in on a Saturday wasn’t enough, my editor suddenly decides that blue isn’t the way to go for the new spread, so I had to rush new swatches, praying that she’d pick something. She didn’t, so I had to visit three other fabric stores. Then I found out that our photographer from the last shoot suddenly thought he wasn’t getting paid enough, so he’s holding our photos hostage.” Patricia strolls over to the couch, flopping down onto the cushions next to Eli. “Sidenote: his photos are not worth the extra grand that he’s asking for.”

“Didn’t he sign a contract?” Eli asks her.

“Something I reminded him of before he finally sent the photos along. Then I added him to our blacklist.” Patricia sighs, finally seeming to relax for the first time in days. “I need weed.”

Eli hands her his pen.

“Thank you.” She takes a careful hit. “What about you? It feels like it’s been days since I’ve seen you.”

“You saw me at lunch on Thursday.”

“Which was basically three years ago our time.” Patricia nudges him. “What’d I miss?”

“Well,” Eli starts to say, sitting up straight on the couch. “I’m going to be published.”

Patricia stares at him. “Shut the fuck up. Like . . . published published?”

Eli can’t help his smile, despite all his nerves.

“By Vent? Or did you finally go somewhere else?”

“Vent.”

“Eli!” Patricia almost leaps on him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were busy,” he tells her. That and he’d been busy with Peter.

“Wait, you’ve been writing something this entire time? What is it? What did you write about? Why didn’t you let me read it?”