Page 89 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“Well . . .” Eli leans further onto the toilet, preparing himself in case he might have to throw up. “No, he’s not my boyfriend; we weren’t even friends until weeks ago. But I’m helping him learn to date.”

“Oh, that seems . . .”

“Complicated?” Eli finishes for him. “Yeah.”

“You’ve got feelings for him?”

“No! God, no!” Eli says, a little too quickly for his own comfort. “Well, I . . . I don’t know.”

“You think these feelings you were faking might’ve become real?”

Eli knows it’s the truth; he’s known this for days now. Maybe he’s even known it since that first redo date with Peter, when they kissed that first time.

But knowing the truth and admitting it to yourself are two entirely different things.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” the man says.

Eli shakes his head slowly. “Am I that easy to read?”

“I have to have something to show for those eight years of medical school,” he says. “You care about this dude?”

It’s such a simple question, and yet, the answer is even simpler. “Yeah, I do. He’s a good person, and I guess in another world . . . I’d want to be his friend.” There’s something left unsaid, though. Even to Eli’s own ears, he can hear it.

“You could try telling him the truth.”

“Right,” Eli scoffs, the realization of just how ridiculous his current situation is dawning on him. “That’s so easy.”

“If you care about him, it should be,” the stranger says.

If only life were so simple. Eli could have his cake and eat it too.

“Thanks . . .” Eli sighs, standing. “I’m sorry again, for the, uh . . .”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” the guy says. “I’m probably going to jerk off the second you leave.”

“Oh, well . . .” Eli doesn’t really know how to respond to that. “Enjoy?”

“Thanks.”

“And if you haven’t, check out The Prowler, it’s a good slasher.”

“Right, yeah.” The man gives Eli an awkward nod.

Eli doesn’t whisper a farewell or wave goodbye to the guy. He just opens the door as carefully as he can, as if he’s afraid of being seen in the bathroom with another person, then closes the door once he’s back in the hallway. A second later, the click of the lock makes him smile briefly, and then remorse settles into his stomach like a rock.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” He pushes his hair out of his face, pulling out his phone and sending a text to the apartment group chat.

Eli: i’m going to head back home

Eli weaves his way through the people still filing in, growing more and more desperate to get out the closer he gets to the door, his breathing becoming labored in a way that chills his throat, making it harder and harder for him to do anything at all besides push costumed people out of his way in a frantic attempt to reach the door tucked under the bright red exit sign.

Eventually, he breaks through, stepping out into the cold night, the rush of air coming as a relief to his warmed cheeks, grateful for the sweater of his costume. Eli takes his time, walking toward the bus stop down the block. The bus arrives just in time, the doors hissing open. Eli stands there, staring at the bright yellow rails and the blue plastic seats. Then he steps away from the door, back toward the stop so the driver knows that they can continue along their route.

Maybe he doesn’t want to go home, not yet, at least. Of course, there’s really no walking all the way home; the bus ride alone took half an hour.

A walk will be nice, though.

So that’s what he decides on, tucking his cold hands into his pockets. But it’s pleasant enough out, despite the breeze. He wishes that he knew what just happened, why the last twenty minutes feels like a total dream, why he feels like he needs to tell Peter the truth even though there’s no reason for Peter to care about what Eli does with his free time. Or who he does.