Page 21 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“No,” Peter says. And that’s all he says.

“Okay,” Eli prompts. “So what do you mean by you code stock?”

“For warehouses? And companies.”

Eli can’t help but feel that Peter’s own answer comes out more like a question.

“What does that mean?” Eli doesn’t want to sound frustrated, but the talking in circles is starting to get to him. The nervous act might be cute to someone else, but he’s already sick of it.

“I help design systems for warehouses, and how they stock well . . . their . . . stock.”

“You’re killing me here, Peter.”

“I run tests for customers and their databases.” Eli’s astounded that Peter actually managed to string together an answer longer than three words.

He does have a nice voice; it’s very smooth, almost like he’s singing.

“That sounds pretty interesting?” Eli says, still pretty unsure of what it is Peter does.

“It’s not,” Peter says. “My day is mostly running tests, figuring out what went wrong, running them again. Hoping my computer doesn’t crash while it does them.”

“What kind of tests?”

“Code tests.”

“Yeah, I figured that.” Eli doesn’t mean to snap, but his patience is wearing thin. “But what kind of tests are you running on the code?”

“Oh, I . . .” Peter blushes again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize again, dude. I’m begging you.”

“Sor—” Peter stops himself, his reflexes clear. “I have to run tests to make sure everything works. So, it’s just a lot of sitting around in front of my computer. We have team members all over the world, people who rely on me knowing what to do if something goes wrong.”

“Ah, I see.” Eli doesn’t, actually. But he figures it’s best to get the spotlight off the poor man. He watches as Peter tugs at the collar of his shirt before he pulls his arms through the sleeves of his hoodie, and Eli feels his tongue go dry. He’s wearing a black compression shirt underneath, one that perfectly wraps around his muscles as if it were painted on him, the fabric stretching as he moves. And there’s no missing the plump shape of Peter’s pecs.

Of course, that’s what they’re actually called, but Eli’s brain goes right to calling them boobs.

They look soft, squishy even. And Eli feels his face light up at the thought, but it’s true. It’s also been too long since he had anyone other than the silicone toys that sit in his nightstand.

Peter has the kind of body where it’s clear that he works out, but in the bulking sense, in a way where Peter still has a belly and fat. Eli could so easily picture himself taking a nap on Peter’s chest. He never realized he has a thing for men like Peter, men who never sacrificed their softness.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah . . . I’m fine.” Eli has to recover, feeling that warmth in his stomach. Peter might be a mess, but he’s an incredibly attractive mess.

“Can I have a pancake?” Peter asks him.

Eli scoots the plate toward him. He wants to call the night off. Being late was one thing, but it’s clear that he and Peter just aren’t a match for each other. It’s like pulling teeth to get a simple answer out of him.

Sure, the man is hot. Awooga hot, as Rose might say. But it’s clear that there’s nothing here. Peter might be fine for a good lay, if Eli thought that he could actually get him into bed without Peter apologizing, but would it really be worth it?

Peter pushes the empty kimchi pancake plate back toward Eli, not looking where it’s going or thinking about how Eli’s half-empty soup bowl is in its path. The plate collides with the bowl with a clink and just enough force to send it careening over the edge of the table.

And right into Eli’s lap.

“Ah, fuck!” Eli nearly stands in the booth, unable to react before Peter is squatted before him, a pile of napkins in his hand as he tries to soak up as much of the mess as he can.

“I’m so sorry!” Peter throws his arm out, as if he can prevent what’s already happened. Instead, he knocks over his own glass of water right in Eli’s direction, giving it just enough of a hit to spill onto Eli’s pants.