Page 71 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project
Eli lets out a tsk tsk, surveying the rest of the club’s clientele. Most people seem to be on their own date nights, laughing at jokes, telling stories, clinking their glasses together while they eat from the small bowls of pretzels.
“What?” Peter asks.
“I don’t think she was just doing her job,” Eli tells him. But he decides to drop it. “Have you ever flirted with anyone?”
“I don’t think that Jaz is flirting with me,” he says. “I mean, she’s a lesbian. And I don’t think I’m her type.”
Eli shakes his head, laughing. “No, I was just asking, I wasn’t trying to imply that Jaz was flirting with you.”
“Oh.” Peter blushes. “I don’t think I have, no. I mean, maybe with Mark? I don’t know, there was never a lot of talking when we did what we did.”
“Never a little playful banter between you and a guy on Hinge?”
“It’s never really gotten that far.”
“Can I see your profile?” Eli asks.
Peter hesitates, reaching for his phone. “You have to promise not to laugh.”
“Why would I laugh?”
“Because it’s embarrassing?” Peter pleads with the soft gaze of his eyes.
“I swear to you that I’m not going to laugh, Peter.” Eli swallows, taking the phone after it’s unlocked and offered to him slowly. Eli finds the Hinge app, but not before noticing that Peter’s home screen is hectic, apps everywhere, completely disorganized. Though Peter seems to know exactly where everything is.
“Okay, okay, decent picture up top,” Eli says, though it looks a little too much like a school photo for his comfort. Peter’s very face forward at a three-quarter angle in the picture, an awkward smile on his lips.
It’s unfortunate that that’s the last good thing he has to say about Peter’s profile.
The rest of the photos were obviously taken on the same day because Peter’s in the same outfit. They were probably taken minutes apart too, Eli thinks. And they’re all the same—all five pictures are nearly identical. Whatever hope Eli has that his answers to the prompts might save the profile are lost when he actually reads the answers.
“‘We won’t get along if . . .’” Eli begins to read. “‘We don’t have the same interests.’”
Eli looks at Peter.
“It’s true.”
“You got me there. ‘I’m looking for . . . a boyfriend.’”
“Again, true.”
“‘My favorite dish is . . . mugs.’ What does that even mean?”
“Mugs, they’re good for hot things. You’ve got the handle there, they’re comfortable in your hand.”
“Oh, you sweet, sweet man.”
“What?”
Eli feels his heart melt. “So . . . there’s a lot to fix here.”
“You think the pictures are that bad?”
“Only if you’re not trying to attract a victim to murder.”
“Okay, well . . .” The disappointment is obvious in Peter’s voice. “Use the ones that we’ve taken.”
Eli thinks for a moment. “Stay like that.” He points the camera toward Peter. While it only lasts for a second, the image painted by Eli’s phone is a gorgeous one. The cool dark blue lighting of the club contrasts with the lit candles decorating each table, painting Peter’s face in the same warmer undertones of his skin.
