Page 90 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

It’s fine, it’s fine. It’s not like any of it matters. In a few weeks, the article will be ready, it will be published, Peter will be “fixed,” and Eli will have his staff job. They’ll both have the things that they want.

The problem, he realizes, is that he never asked himself what happens after.

“Fuck . . .” Eli whispers to himself.

He walks and he walks and he walks. He considers dipping into a bar to grab a drink, or a nearby diner to get dinner. He even thinks about going into another club he walks by, the glowing red lights painting an image in Eli’s head that might just lead to another bathroom rendezvous where he could fuck these feelings out of himself. He’s depressingly horny enough to consider it for too long before he starts to feel sick again.

His eyes breeze past the still-open businesses until they start to peter out, Eli stumbling into a more residential area of the neighborhood until he realizes that he’s just a few blocks away from Peter’s apartment.

And then he sees an all-too-familiar face.

Well, an all-too-familiar back of the head.

He isn’t sure at first, as he stops in front of a laundromat, but there’s no mistaking those expansive shoulders and the way they slump forward. He considers walking away, finding the next bus stop. Peter’s busy, reading a book with a bright orange cover while waiting for his laundry to finish.

But there’s that pull, that urge. He wants to be around Peter.

And oh boy, does that feel so incredibly dangerous.

Eli walks around the corner, finding the open door, sliding right onto the bench that Peter’s sitting on without much effort at all.

“Come here often?” Eli asks, trying to tease Peter.

“God!” Peter jumps, his book flopping to the floor with the cover on display. Eli doesn’t look at it, not directly, but from the cover alone, he can tell it’s one of Peter’s hidden romance novels. “Eli! Holy crap . . . you scared me.”

“I can tell.”

“What are you even doing here?” Peter asks, snatching up the book and hiding it in his empty laundry bag.

“I was out with my roommates, but . . . I wasn’t feeling it. So, I left the club to take a walk.”

“Oh . . . where’d you go?”

“Mulholland Drive. They were doing a Halloween thing, as you can tell.” Eli motions to his costume.

“Are you . . . dressed as someone?”

“Freddy Krueger? Hello?”

“Who’s that?”

“You really haven’t seen any movies, have you?”

“Guess not.”

“It’s okay,” Eli promises. “Most of the Nightmare movies aren’t that great. You’re not missing out on much.”

“Huh.”

“I’d ask what you’re doing here,” Eli says, relaxing into the pretty uncomfortable bench, “but I guess it’s obvious. Unless you’re some kind of weirdo who gets off on camping out in laundromats.”

“Yeah . . . right.” Peter forces a laugh.

And Eli can’t help but recognize that something is different; something’s changed. Maybe that’s fair, considering it’s been a week since they had a real conversation.

“So . . .” Eli taps on his knees.

“So?”