Page 76 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

He has to remember that he’s here for Peter, not for himself. Sure, there are the articles, but tonight is about Peter, and Peter only.

Then something odd happens. Peter stumbles, catching himself on the man he’s been talking to.

It’s not in an “I tripped” flirty kind of way. But more in an “I’m so drunk I can’t stand up straight” kind of way. Eli braces himself against the bar, standing slowly. Concern washes over the other man’s face as well, and his friend tries to help Peter sit down on a stool.

Eli chooses that moment to intervene. “Hey, Peter, buddy. You okay?” he dares to ask.

The Peter he sees is a version of Peter that Eli’s yet to have the chance to meet. His face is bright red, and not because he’s embarrassed. His mouth is painted in what looks like a permanent smile as he giggles at a joke only he knows the punchline to.

“Eli!” Peter throws his arms out, wrapping them around Eli and pulling him in so tight that Eli thinks he might suffocate.

“I think your friend here can’t handle his alcohol,” the man Peter was flirting with says.

“I’m fine, I swear.” Peter reaches for . . . something, Eli can’t really tell, but he knocks over the silver daddy’s glass, pouring the drink out onto the bar. “Oh, I’m sorry, let me get you some napkins.” Peter reaches for the napkin dispenser on the bar.

“It’s okay.” The guy reacts quickly, picking up his glass before too much of a mess is made.

“I’m so sorry,” Eli apologizes on Peter’s behalf, taking him by the shoulder. “Come on, stand up slowly,” Eli urges. “What could’ve happened? You didn’t have that much to drink.”

“If he’s anything like my brother-in-law, he can’t metabolize his alcohol,” the silver-haired daddy says to Eli. “He’s close to black-out after a single drink.”

“Ding-ding-ding!” Peter sings, pointing to the man.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Eli asks.

“You wanted me loosey-goosey,” Peter says proudly, the Georgia of his accent on full display now that he’s good and intoxicated. “So, I’m loosey-goosey!”

“Oh, Jesus . . .” Eli tries not to feel guilty as he takes Peter by the hand again. “Okay, let’s get you home.”

“Okay!”

“Do you want help?” the silver-haired daddy asks.

“No—thank you, though. I’m really sorry about this.”

“Get him some water and Tylenol and he’ll be fine.”

Eli loops Peter’s arm over his shoulders, slowly leading the much heavier man through the lounge, avoiding the cutting gazes of people who want to judge Peter. Jaz asks about Peter as they make it outside, the night getting chillier. She helps Eli sit Peter at a bench on the corner before she returns to her job with Eli’s promise that they’ll be okay.

“I’m drunk!” Peter giggles.

“Yeah, that much is obvious.” Eli sighs, doing his best to catch his breath.

Peter frowns, his drunken mood suddenly shifting.

“But it’s not your fault,” Eli admits. “I’m really sorry, Peter,” he says, knowing that he’ll want to make another apology when Peter is more sober. “I didn’t realize this was a problem for you.”

“No, I’m sorry . . .” Peter says, and there’s no way for him to say the words without sounding like a child who did something wrong.

“It’s okay,” Eli stands, looking at the drunk man swaying in front of him, wondering what to do. Obviously he has to get Peter home, but how difficult is that going to be if Peter won’t cooperate? “Do you think you can walk back to your apartment?”

“Mm-hmm . . . not that far,” Peter says, his voice more tender, as if he’s already on the other side of drunkenness where he’s regretting his decisions.

“Okay, well. Let’s go.” Eli takes Peter’s hand and helps him stand up. They barely make it around the corner before Eli has to stop because Peter keeps wobbling back and forth.

Eli leaves him for just a moment to buy a bottled water and a bag of Hawaiian rolls at a corner store, grateful that Peter hasn’t run off by the time he makes it back outside.

“What’s the bread for?” Peter asks, taking the rolls and resting his head against them.