Page 86 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“You okay?” a voice asks, one that might normally sound low and mysterious but, thanks to the volume of the music, is booming. And yet, somehow, still sensual. A firm hand grips Eli’s bicep in an effort to keep him from totally falling to the sticky floor.

“Yeah!” Eli shouts back. “Thanks. The glove makes it hard.” He sets Patricia’s drink on the counter and reorders Rose’s, deciding he doesn’t need that whiskey sour, pulling off the knife glove while he’s at it and abandoning it on the bar.

“Do you need any help?” the mysterious man asks.

That’s when Eli sees the man truly for the first time. Strong, taller than Eli by at least a foot, and dressed in a black jumpsuit, his cherub mask pushed to the top of his head so that Eli gets a full look at his handsome face, a line of scruff running along a jawline that Eli’s sure would cut him if he traced it.

“Are you the killer from Valentine?” Eli can’t help but ask.

“Oh, yeah!” The guy seems surprised. Eli swallows when he realizes just how pretty the man is. It seems so unfair, with his neat hair, eyes as sharp as his nose, plump lips. “You’re the first person to get that.”

“I love that movie.”

“Me too. I mean . . . you probably could’ve guessed,” he says with an awkward smile.

Eli feels that fluttering in his stomach. Despite the jumpsuit covering 90 percent of the man’s body, there’s no doubting that underneath he’s strong. Almost as if the outfit would rip if he flexed the right way. And it’s so easy for Eli to pictures the muscles, glistening with sweat from the heat of the packed club.

“So . . . do you need help carrying those?” The man nods to the two drinks. “Unless you don’t want to share them.”

“Oh, I mean . . . they’re for my friends. Not for me.” He puts out the feelers. Okay, so maybe he didn’t want to come out tonight, but if it means he gets to leave with a beefy guy like the one in front of him, he certainly won’t complain.

At the very least, that means he gets to leave the club early.

One eyebrow goes up. “Just friends?”

Eli nods, biting at his bottom lip. “Yep. Just friends.”

“Well, let’s go meet them.”

The man takes the drinks for Eli, following as Eli navigates around the dance floor again, finding their table miraculously still free, which is impressive considering that Rose and Patricia are nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, well . . . they were here,” Eli says, his voice a little softer now that they’re further away from the speakers.

“That’s okay,” the stranger says. “Now I get you all to myself.”

“Someone’s a flirt.” Eli sets his hand on the table.

And the man puts his on top of it, wrapping Eli in this safe web. “Only with guys as cute as you.”

“Pfft, I bet you say that to everyone you meet.”

“No, I don’t,” the man dares to say.

For a moment, Eli weighs his options. He hadn’t even wanted to come out tonight, and yet, here he is, standing in front of a man who is very interested in him. And Eli’s just as interested. He’s always had a thing for men bigger than him, who look like they could throw him around given the opportunity. Hopefully in a sexual context. Though he’s never gone on the internal journey to really parse out what that means exactly.

So why is there this voice at the back of his brain that he doesn’t have the time to listen to, not when a strong hand is placed at the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss? The stranger’s lips taste like honey and whiskey, the flavor bitter on Eli’s tongue as it slips so easily into his waiting mouth.

He leans against a nearby column, letting Eli fall forward, almost into his lap where he can feel the growing erection underneath the jumpsuit.

The same hand along his neck drifts up, tangling in Eli’s curls, scratching at his scalp slowly, comfortably, luring Eli in as Beyoncé sings about a boy blowing up her phone, and the song pauses to play the call between Drew Barrymore and Ghostface. Eli barely has time to consider where the man’s other hand is going as it leaves his cheek before he feels it firmly on his ass.

He also can’t help the gasp that escapes past his lips.

“I wasn’t lying,” the man says, his voice warm in Eli’s ear.

“What?”

“When I said I don’t call just anyone ‘cute.’”