Page 75 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t drink often?”

Peter shakes his head. “Not since college. It wasn’t pretty.”

“You, not pretty? I find that hard to believe.”

“Oh . . . uh . . .” Peter’s ears turn red again, and Eli’s realizing just how cute that is.

“See, that’s what flirting should sound like. Natural, a part of the conversation. Almost like you’re slipping in a compliment.” Eli peers over the bifold menu, trying not to react to the prices. “I don’t think I’ll bother asking them what’s on draft. What about whiskey? Do you like that?”

“Don’t know.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Eli smiles, waving down the bartender to order a whiskey sour. “So, is there anyone here who strikes your fancy?”

“Umm . . .” Peter spins around on the black leather stool. “I don’t really know.”

“What do you mean?” Eli asks. “There’s no one here that you think is cute?”

“Well . . .” Peter’s eyes find Eli’s before he averts his gaze again, peering further down the bar. Eli glances over his shoulder. There are a few people that Peter could be looking at, but he has to figure it’s the silver-daddy-looking gentleman, dressed in a deep gray button-up with the sleeves rolled to show off his strong-looking arms.

It dawns on Eli that he hasn’t even considered what Peter’s type might be. He went out with Eli, so he has to figure that bony little twinks who could be blown over by a stiff breeze are somewhere on Peter’s radar.

But Peter also has that bigger kind of beefy twunk vibe to him, so maybe he’s into stronger-looking guys as well?

“Him?” Eli turns back to Peter, nodding at the man.

“I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I mean, he’s handsome. Yeah.”

Eli sneaks another look; the scruff that runs across the man’s jawline paints a kind of maturity that even Eli has to admit is sexy. In fact, if he wasn’t so focused on Peter, Eli might’ve asked the man for his number himself, if only for a quick one-night stand.

The bartender leaves Eli his drink, and Eli pulls the cherry speared on the toothpick free before he passes it to Peter. “Here, take a few sips, it’ll help loosen you up.”

“Okay . . .” Peter puts his lips to the glass, downing half the drink in a single gulp. Peter’s face twists as he swallows, shaking his head. “Oh, ugh. I don’t like that.”

“That’s because you chugged that thing. You sip whiskey, Peter.” Eli takes the drink back, stealing his own taste. “Now, get over there and flirt your anxious little heart out.”

“How?”

“Pretend that he wants you. That’s all you need.”

Peter swallows, standing at Eli’s urging and walking slowly over to the older man at the other end of the bar, almost as if he’s approaching a wild animal.

Bless his heart, Eli thinks as he goes back to the drink, trying to make it not so obvious that he’s watching this unfurl.

The man smiles as Peter approaches, and Peter stands there awkwardly, looking for a place to fit into the conversation the guy was already having. Eli sees Peter jump in and say something to the man. At least, he tries; there’s visible cringing. As the seconds drag along like hours, Peter begins to relax. His shoulders become less stern, his posture unravels, and he actually makes the other man laugh, leaning on the counter, subtly flexing his muscles.

Eli chuckles to himself. He’s better at this than I expected. He watches, wishing that he could read lips so he knew what was going on, but sitting back will just have to do. Peter seems fine, maybe even great. The man laughs again, and there’s a strong hand placed on Peter’s shoulder, and Eli bites at his bottom lip. He wants to say he looks on with pride, but that’s not what he’s feeling, no . . . not with the way Peter looks at the older gentleman, his smile disappearing into adorable dimples.

No, pride isn’t what he feels.

Is it . . . No, it couldn’t be.

I’m not jealous, he reassures himself. What do I have to be jealous about?