Page 15 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

Then countless meetings followed about IT issues and a few budget discussions, during which Eli was fairly certain Michael admitted to committing tax fraud. And it was all capped off by Eli having to explain to one of his older coworkers what Ctrl+F does. Needless to say, by the time five came around, he was ready for the day to be over.

But it couldn’t be. Not until tonight was done and he’d proven Patricia and Rose wrong.

The entire bus ride home was spent doing math in his head to figure out if he had enough time to shower, brush his teeth, do his hair, and pick out an outfit he’d actually want to wear tonight.

Despite it all, there’s this desire to impress. Eli’s mother had instilled in him the belief that you only get one first impression, and while he tended to disagree with just how often she considered other people’s opinions of her, he was inclined to agree.

It’ll be fine, Eli tells himself. He can’t even explain the anxiety; it’s not like he’s worried about impressing Peter, not at all. He keeps telling himself that it doesn’t matter, that tonight doesn’t mean anything, that he’s just doing it to get Rose and Patricia off his back.

Even if he does want it to go well.

He doesn’t like how often his eyes have drifted to his phone over the past few days, silently hoping to see a notification from the newest addition to his contacts. Just standing here trying to tame his hair, he’s stopped every time the screen lit up, only to be disappointed.

The first time, it was Rose in their apartment group chat, asking Patricia what their dinner plans were. The next three times were all emails from Michael about things that certainly could’ve waited until Monday.

He’d talked to Peter just long enough to decide on a place to eat and something to do. After that? Radio silence.

Eli wants to text Peter. Ask him about his day, his family, his interests. Though he supposes that would defeat the purpose of the blind part of this blind date. Not that it matters anyway. But Eli’s last message is the one that hangs there, unanswered.

Eli: have you seen knives out?

The AMC Kabuki in Japantown decided to bring the movie back as a Fall Vibes celebration, complete with $5 tickets, and Eli’s been dying to see it on the big screen again. He figures it’s funny enough to be a good first date movie.

But there was no answer. The text had been read. Because Peter is apparently masochistic enough to leave on his read receipts. He just didn’t bother to answer it.

It’s okay, he repeats to himself. That’s the point of the blind date. To get to know each other. To start from zero and work our way up. Why am I worried?

Tonight’s going to be okay, he’s just catastrophizing.

It’s going to be fun, dammit.

Which Eli would feel so much more confident about if he could just get his hair to cooperate. Frustrated, Eli yanks on the cord of the hair dryer so quickly that the plug comes free of the outlet, flying right into his face.

“Shit!” he hisses, almost dropping the hair dryer on the floor and then going to the mirror to make sure he isn’t bleeding. Thankfully, only the plastic part seems to have struck him, which causes a pink mark to appear right in the middle of his forehead, but his hair is long enough to hide it.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Patricia rushes over, bracing her hands on either side of the doorframe.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Eli promises her. “I just can’t get my hair right.”

“You’ve been in here for like an hour. I thought you didn’t care about tonight.”

“I don’t,” he promises. Eli picks up the hair dryer and plugs it back in. “I just want to make a good first impression. Plus you and Rose seem to want this to go well, so . . .”

“Just me and Rose?” she asks with an eyebrow raised curiously.

“Shut up.”

It’s been years since he felt those first-date jitters, that weird fluttering in his stomach that makes him cough to the point that he wants to vomit. Like his body is searching for an excuse to not go out. For all he knows, Peter is a serial killer, and this is all some elaborate scheme to kidnap and butcher Eli.

It was easier with Keith because their relationship began with a hook-up first, and nerves couldn’t be as bad after they’d already seen each other naked. What else is there to hide at that point? Keith knew what he was getting into; he’d seen the faded scars on Eli’s chest, Eli’s vagina, the bottom growth that had resulted from being on testosterone.

There was a moment, shedding his clothing that first night, where he considered being ashamed of his body, worried that Keith might be grossed out.

But Eli had spent too much time as a teen hating every photo of himself. After he’d spent all of his own savings paired (generously) with help from his mother and stepfather, and their insurance, he knew he should never look at his body as anything other than a work of art. Because it was, because he’d gotten the chance to make it himself.

Of course, he could do without the body hair that sprouted along his stomach, chest, and ass. God, the ass hair. But he liked it, in an odd way. It made him feel more . . .

More like Eli.