LOVE IN LOCKDOWN: A Charity Anthology

by Tracy Lorraine

  His head snaps in my direction, his eyes widening in shock by my outburst and interference. Truth is, so am I, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to back down.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, Stewart, but maybe not everyone can drop everything at a moment’s notice,” he bites back.

  I don’t bother explaining that my life is far from whatever it is he’s assuming, because he’s right, his life is none of my business. And if he wants to throw away an opportunity of this magnitude, that’s none of my business either.

  Irritated with myself, I nab the folder off the desk and look directly at Mr. Reid. “Can I go now?”

  He purses his lips together and nods at me sympathetically, which makes me feel even worse. “Make sure you get those notes to me as soon as you can.”

  “I will.” Still seated, I bend over to shove the bunch of papers in my bag. I have no idea what urges me to do it, but I turn my head to sneak a peek at Oliver, but he’s already staring at me.

  It’s not a scowl, or his usual hostile glare. It’s unfamiliar and unguarded.

  His russet colored eyes, both transparent and vulnerable, showing me the flicker of interest I seem to have missed all these years.

  It’s the missing piece of the Oliver Benton puzzle. It’s the reason he’s always so awkward around me. Why he’s always so skittish after I catch him looking. Why he always pretends he isn’t.

  Swallowing hard, I look away. Not in a rush. Not in disgust. But just enough to hide my surprise. Not once, in all the years did I ever consider that Oliver could be gay.

  Wanting to test my theory, I turn to look at him and hold his gaze. I slowly rise off the chair.

  My movements are deliberate and filled with purpose, stretching out and showing off the length of my body. His gaze is glued to me, his eyes greedily taking me in, bouncing around every inch, unsure of where to look. Trying so hard not to linger.

  Someone clearing their throat reminds me we’re not alone. I straighten my back and awkwardly turn to look at Mr. Reid. The look on his face says, maybe, subtlety isn’t my strongest suit.

  “Are you guys both ready to leave?” he asks. “I’ve got to get back to my work, and I don’t want you two to miss what’s left of lunch.”

  I offer a quick nod and look back at Oliver. He’s lowered his eyes, his face now out of view, but the red tips of his ears give away his embarrassment at being caught out.

  It’s the sign I need to walk out of class without a second glance, because his interest in me may be appealing, but his reluctance to acknowledge it isn’t.

  The hallways are bustling with students, yet it’s not enough to drown out the new direction of my thoughts. When I really think about it, I don’t know how I didn’t pick up on it earlier. He’s the quietest guy with the loudest friends, the perfect cover up for the guy who’s trying to hide in plain sight.

  A little bit frazzled by the idea of Oliver being locked up in the proverbial closet, I drag my cell out of my pocket and message my best friend, Lux, who I usually meet for lunch.

  Me: Not hungry. Heading for the Library.

  Lux: Already here.

  After changing out some books in my locker and grabbing a granola bar, I race over to Lux, hoping to spend whatever’s left of our break catching up on the first half of the day.

  When I arrive at our usual study pod on the second floor, I’m a little surprised to see Jamie, Oliver’s best friend, and Lux hovering in the doorway.

  But I’m even more surprised to see Oliver farther in the room, sitting on the large desk, fidgeting with his cell, his legs resting on the seat of the chair.

  “What is he doing here?” I ask Lux, my annoyance at Jamie’s presence extremely obvious.

  At the sound of my voice, Oliver’s head snaps up. “I’m gonna go,” he mutters loud enough for us to hear, and my stomach drops at the idea of him leaving because of me.

  “Actually,” Lux’s voice interrupts. “Can you two keep each other company for a second?” She then turns to me. “Jamie and I got paired together on an assignment, and Oliver’s my insurance policy. If he stays, Jamie stays, and I’m not doing this assignment on my own for him to get all the credit. That fucker can work for it just as hard as I do.”

  I can’t help but smile at her sass. “Go do what you need to do.” I give her a quick kiss on the forehead. “I’ll hold down the fort here.”

  She squeezes my shoulder. “Thank you, I owe you one.”

  In a hurry, Lux leaves the room, shutting the door and essentially locking us in. The air automatically feels thicker, the mood heavier. And from the look on Oliver’s face, this is the last place he wants to be.

  He’s no longer seated. With his backpack on his back and his cell in hand, he looks ready to run, and it makes me feel sick.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” I stupidly blurt out.

  The color drains from his face and I instantly regret opening my mouth. If I thought he was uncomfortable before, now he just looks down right angry.

  I watch his eyes darken to a muddy brown while his jaw works overtime, clenching and grinding. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he spits out.

  “You can talk to me about it,” I push, stepping a little closer “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  Just before I can argue and tell him I know what I saw, Lux and Jamie walk in looking like they want to kill each other. Something in the way we look has both their eyes narrowing at us in confusion.

  Reluctantly, I step away from Oliver to give him the distance I know he’s so desperately seeking. Jamie’s eyes dart between Oliver and me before he sneers and says, “You trying to have a go at my friend, Micah?”

  Stepping away from Oliver, a low-lying chuckle leaves my mouth. “Come on, Jamie. Everyone knows I don’t hit on straight guys.”

  3

  Oliver

  The weeks following Mr. Reid’s announcement and Micah’s attempt to confirm or deny my sexuality have passed in what can only be described as the slowest blur of my life.

  The days are going fast, but the hours in school, where Micah now watches me like a hawk, have been painfully slow. I feel his eyes on me at all times, no matter where I am.

  It’s an unexpected turn of events, and I hate how his attention both lights me up and scares the absolute shit out of me.

  And now that we’re both standing in the school office waiting for Mr. Reid to arrive so he can drive us to the University of Washington, I can’t work out if I’m coming or fucking going.

  With my hands in my pockets, I do my best to appear nonchalant, to look somewhat comfortable in my own skin and comfortable being this close to Micah.

  “Micah. Oliver,” Mr. Reid greets. “I’m so glad you’re here on time. Everything is ready for us to go, and Mr. Grayson is waiting for us at the front gates. Do you guys have everything you need?”

  I look down at my duffel bag and back up at Mr. Reid. “Yes, sir.”

  “Micah?” he queries.

  When Micah doesn’t answer, Mr. Reid reaches up and tugs an earphone out of his ear, startling Micah. “Sorry, what?”

  “Are you ready to go?” Mr. Reid repeats.

  “Yes, sir. Sorry about that. I’m all ready to go.”

  “Okay then, let’s get this show on the road. We’re anticipating it will take us just under two hours to get there.”

  We follow Mr. Reid for the short walk, and by the time we reach the car, I realize Micah and I will be sitting next to one another in the back seat. A lot closer than I anticipated.

  As if he can read my mind, Micah places a hand on my shoulder, stopping me from walking any farther.

  The small contact blindsides me, and my breath hitches in my throat. I look over my shoulder at him. “Is everything okay?”

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to sit next to me,” he says sympathetically. “I can tell them I get car sick and need to sit in the front.”

  Cou
rage I didn’t know I had has me shaking my head. “Don’t do that. I want to sit next to you.”

  If my words surprise him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he gives me a small nod and continues with his walk to the car.

  Once all our bags are packed in the trunk, we climb into the car, and I do my best not to focus on how close we really are in this back seat. Both Micah and I are tall, and my athletic build takes up way more than my allotted half of the space.

  If either of the teachers were concerned by our discomfort or proximity, they don’t say a word.

  We leave the school in no time, and the tension I thought I would feel doesn’t materialize. There’s an odd sense of comfort and giddiness when sitting next to Micah, like for a few small moments I can just be me.

  Mr. Reid and Mr. Grayson fill the silence with their own chatter, trying to include Micah and me wherever they can. And like the dutiful student he is, Micah animatedly chimes in with his thoughts and opinions whenever he wants.

  I let myself get lost in the sound of his voice and the heat of his body so close to mine. Every so often, his thigh brushes up against mine, and my mind doesn’t even falter about whether it’s on purpose or not. Because truth is, I don’t care. I let myself enjoy the contact and the way every single one of my nerve endings responds to it.

  The drive passes with me focusing on the view outside. The constant run of greenery outside brings me the right amount of calm to soothe my rapidly beating heart. When a hand unexpectedly lands on mine, my head snaps around to Micah.

  The simple touch is like static, the after effects lingering in my veins. Unable to utter any words, I look down and then back up at him.

  “You do that a lot,” he explains nonchalantly.

  “What?”

  He gives my hand a little squeeze. “I noticed your leg bounces when you’re nervous, but the tapping of your fingers on your knee seems to be today’s tell.”

  Like a trigger, I feel myself wanting to resume the motion the second he mentions it. “I’m not nervous.” It’s half a lie, and I seem to be more stuck on the fact he noticed.

  He raises a knowing brow. “Do you want me to move my hand to prove it?”

  My eyes dart around the car out of habit, always checking to see who’s around and who’s watching. Assuring myself that neither Mr. Reid or Mr. Grayson are paying attention to us, I drag my hand from underneath his and lean closer so he can hear me.

  “Can you keep your hand here?” I ask, my voice only a smidgen higher than a whisper.

  He doesn’t answer, but the small amount of pressure he applies to my thigh is proof that he heard me.

  I don’t let my eyes linger on where he’s touching me, or how it feels like his handprint is searing itself into my skin. Instead, I return to the view outside, concentrating on the lush, green surroundings on the other side of the window.

  The signs every few miles tell me we’re getting closer, but as Micah’s fingers begin to trail up and down my thigh, lazily drawing shapes over the denim of my jeans, a huge part of me doesn’t want this exquisite torture to end.

  My dick thickens uncomfortably behind the zipper of my jeans, serving as a reminder that this is real. It isn’t my imagination. It isn’t a fantasy. Micah Stewart is teasing me with his touch, and I’m losing my mind.

  I try to discreetly shift in the seat and ease my discomfort, but when I hear a chuckle close to my ear, I realize everything I’m feeling is on full display.

  “You okay there?” Micah breathes in my ear.

  I offer a quick, hurried nod and turn back to face the window in embarrassment. I can feel my face heating up, and I don’t need to give Micah any more proof of how much this is affecting me.

  He doesn’t say another word for the rest of the drive, but his hand loyally stays where I asked it to. Eventually, we pull up and park at the front of the main building, and the loss of Micah’s touch is immediate.

  As he steps out of the car, talking to the teachers and collecting his things, he falls into every single role effortlessly. Like he didn’t just have his hand on me, and like he didn’t know my dick was getting hard for him.

  I stay back in the car for a few extra minutes to regulate my breathing and slip my mask of indifference back where it belongs. When I step outside, Micah is holding my bag.

  I tip my chin up at him. “Thank you.”

  He winks at me, and I’m sure his intention is to make the flush in my cheeks a permanent fixture by the end of the week.

  Micah and Mr. Grayson walk ahead, making small talk about other colleges, while I hang back a little to compose myself.

  As we get closer to the entrance, I notice Mr. Reid’s pace is slowing down, his steps syncing with my slower ones. When there’s a significant distance between us and the other two men, he places a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

  I give him a tight, questioning smile. “Is everything okay, sir?”

  “Yeah. Yeah,” he repeats more confidently. “I just wanted to say I know how brutal your running schedule is, and I really do appreciate you making the time to come out here for the week. I know it wasn’t easy, but I think you and Micah will really benefit from this.”

  Silently, I raise my eyes to the guy in front of me, not sure if my teacher wants to know the real reason I made the impossible happen.

  “Thanks for the opportunity, sir,” I tell him instead.

  “Nothing to thank me for,” he says, starting to walk again. “You’re the one who did all the hard work.”

  When we step inside the building, I’m taken aback by the grandeur of it all. The history of the place is all over the walls. Pictures, plaques, cabinets full of trophies; there’s nothing that doesn’t ooze professionalism and prestige. And my obsession with Micah momentarily slides to second place on my priority list, because a life here, being the only person in my family to go to college, is an option for me.

  Seeing it in the flesh, the realm of possibilities feels more tangible than ever.

  “I can’t wait to see the rest of this place,” Micah says, expressing my own thoughts aloud.

  “Are you guys from Greensday?” a female voice interrupts our ogling.

  Four sets of eyes turn, and a young woman, not much older than Micah and me, stands there smiling at us, overflowing with a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm.

  “You must be Miranda,” Mr. Grayson says. “Guys, this is your tour guide for today. After you settle in your makeshift dorm, Miranda will show you around to all the main buildings around campus.”

  “The university has decked out one level complete for what they call the weekly intern program,” Miranda informs us. “So all year around they offer students from schools around the country to stay here for a week at a time and show them how great UOW really is.”

  “Do you like it here?” I find myself asking her.

  “Definitely.” She nods. “It’s even better than I anticipated.”

  “If you guys want to get going, I can show you both your room.” She turns to our teachers. “The teachers’ rooms are located on the same level if you want to follow me too?”

  “Of course,” Mr. Reid responds. “Either one of us can come back down if we need to.”

  “Okay,” she claps her hands together excitedly, “let’s do this.”

  Surprisingly, the building where our rooms are, isn’t near as far as I anticipated. There’re swarms of students everywhere you look, both an exhilarating and encouraging view. There’s a sense of weightlessness in the air around me, a feeling of freedom I didn’t even know I was chasing.

  We walk up four flights of stairs, and Miranda leads us down the narrow hallway. Pointing to the last three doors on our right, Miranda explains our sleeping arrangements.

  “These are your teachers’ rooms.” She hands Mr. Grayson and Mr. Reid a key each. “And this is your room,” she squeaks out.

  “Room?” Micah queries.

  “Yeah,” she answers with a smile. “Unless specified, same ge
nders from the same school usually share a room. Just like the normal university set up,” she adds, just as if to remind me I’m a complete idiot for not thinking of this sooner.

  “So, we’re sharing a room,” I say, more like a statement than a question.

  “Is there a problem?” Mr. Reid asks cautiously.

  A million of them.

  Micah’s questioning gaze meets mine, and I know this is the moment that will change everything for me. Because on the other side of that door there’s no hiding. There’s no retreating into my shell.

  It’s me and Micah and my biggest secret.

  “No,” I rush out in a quick breath. “There’s no problem.”

  4

  Micah

  Leaving Miranda and our teachers outside, we’re now alone, and I’m jittery as fuck. In the last few weeks, I’ve gone from Micah, the guy who doesn’t fuck with straight guys, to Micah the guy who wants to see how far he can push Oliver till he cracks.

  Because he will.

  Because pretending you’re not gay doesn’t work. It doesn’t miraculously go away because you ignore your needs. Your wants. Your truths.

  And maybe it’s naive of me to think a week with me could change that for him, but after watching him for the last few weeks, and watching him so desperately try to hide himself in his own skin, I want to find his middle ground.

  I can’t explain why, but I want to be his middle ground.

  There’s a twin bed on either side of the room, a small kitchenette, and one bathroom to share. It’s not bad enough to complain, but close enough to be an issue if getting along doesn’t seem like a possibility.

  “Which bed do you want?” I ask him.

  “This one is fine.” He drops his bag on the bed closest to the door, and before I can suggest laying some ground rules, there’s a loud knock on the door.

  We both turn around, staring at it, as if it’s going to open up itself. When the knock sounds again, I push past him in a hurry and pull open the door.