Page 72 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

He looks stunning.

“What? No. Please don’t.”

“Come on, you need decent pictures for your profile.”

“Ugh.” Peter pulls his jacket around his face.

“Okay, okay. I’m putting it away.” Eli puts the phone under the table.

“Thank you.”

“Psych!” Eli whips the phone back out, snapping a picture of Peter before he can hide himself again.

“Eli!”

“Relax, relax. I was too quick with it anyway.” Eli shows him the screen before he deletes the blurry photo. “But if you want to do this, pictures are a necessity.”

“I guess.”

“Do you have pictures of you rock climbing? That’d get some of your hobbies across.” And prove to any potential suitors that Peter doesn’t just spend all day in his apartment.

“Who could’ve taken them?” Peter asks him, the pointed frustration in his tone abundantly clear.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry, I just . . .”

“Iced Americano?” Eli asks him.

“I don’t want to use that every time I’m not feeling comfortable.”

“That’s the exact reason to use the signal, Peter. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” Eli pauses. “Fine. Iced Americano.”

“Did I—?”

“No, Peter. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just want you to communicate with me a little more.”

“I guess I . . .” Peter hesitates, picking at the fabric of the tablecloth. “I guess I don’t like having my picture taken.”

“That’s perfectly okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Peter. If you’re not comfortable with something, then it’s okay. You’re not comfortable. I’d consider not using Hinge if you don’t want to post your picture, though. Or any other dating app, for that matter.” Eli knows the struggle all too well of anonymous profiles on Grindr and Tinder, most of whom loved making the bold demand that Eli send nudes before they even showed their faces.

“I guess I’ve just never liked looking at myself like that. I don’t feel . . . attractive.”

“Well, like I said, you don’t have to be comfortable with anything. But speaking from an outside perspective, you’re a very attractive man, Peter.”

“It’s just . . .” He continues to pick, this time at the skin on his finger. “Never mind.”

Eli reaches forward, taking Peter’s hand in his slowly. “I used to hate having my picture taken too, you know.”

“Really?”

“My mom would take ones of me at family dinners or outings or whatever, and I just . . . I knew that person in the photos wasn’t me. I mean, it was, obviously. But it wasn’t at the same time. And they believed that it was, and that was enough for them. But I knew the truth.” Eli lets out a careful breath. “Even after I started testosterone, even after I changed my clothes and my hair, even when my voice began to change and hair began to sprout up in places it didn’t used to . . . Even after I started to feel a little more confident, I always wanted to hide my face. And the acne didn’t help.”

“Jeez, Eli . . . I’m . . .”