Page 121 of Forever We Fall

I slam my laptop closed before he can see what’s on my screen.

“Sorry.”

When I turn around, he’s wincing and starting his retreat.

“No, it’s fine. I wasn’t…” I let the sentiment fall away. It would be better for him to think he’s interrupting quality time with my ever-expanding porn categories and my right hand. “Never mind.” I wave it all away. “What’s up?”

His cheeks are pink.

For the five thousandth time, I fantasize about him catching me mid-stroke and telling me to keep going. I want him to tell me to carry on with it while he sits in his chair and watches.

Say it. Say it. Please.

It’s the eighth time he’s been in my room since our letter-opening session two Saturdays ago. Yes, I keep count. Every time is a surprise and a treasure. No matter how long, what we talk about, or what we do.

“The guys and I are heading to the field to play some footy.”

“Footy?” I smile. “Look out. Pretty soon, you’ll pass for a real British boy.”

“Bite your tongue.” He grimaces, toeing the floor. “I called a cookie a biscuit last week.”

I almost laugh, and it’s enough to lift the weight from my shoulders for just a second. It allows me to drag in a full breath for the first time in weeks. And in that breath, Arlo’s heady scent flows.

“Anyway, do you want to come?”

Fuck yeah, I want to come…all over your abs.

It’s official, I’m going straight to hell. If it exists. I’ll put my hands up and squeal all the way down. Might as well enjoy the ride.

Arlo’s cheeks go pink again. “With us.” He slaps his hand over his face and groans. “Do you want to play soccer with us?” he asks, finally looking at me.

Yes, I want nothing more than to play footy with him. I look at the clock, and it’s my turn to grimace. I’m waiting for a call that’s supposed to come sometime this afternoon. This afternoon that is quickly dwindling.

“Can I meet you out there?”

He nods, his growing locks falling over his forehead and into his eyes. My cock stirs. “Sure.” He waits there in the open doorway for me to say more.

The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I bite them back. He is in no position to help me. It takes everything he has just to help himself. Look how well that’s working out.

No, I refuse to burden him with my problem. I refuse to allow him to put himself in jeopardy to try to help me.

“Okay.” He grabs the handle and pulls the door. “See you down there.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Arlo goes, and my heart flinches. It’s the third time I’ve had to turn him down since he stopped pushing me away. I hate that it might seem like I’m pushing him away, but I can’t miss this call. I just hope they make it quick. I don’t want to miss the games either.

I reopen my laptop and glare at the Harvard website. Of all the faculty and staff listed on the directory page, I’ve spoken to more than half in the last two weeks, in my fruitless search for a way in, with a full ride, not a partial, plus room and board.

My inbox is full of thank you for trying, but nope responses.

The head of mathematics had spoken to me the longest, mostly because he was able to geek out on the twin prime conjecture. In the end, the math department doesn’t have any money for undergrad students. Any funds are earmarked for master's studies or doctoral candidates. Of which, he’d love to give me after I receive my Bachelor’s degree of Science in Mathematics.

Gee, thanks for nothing.

I sift through the already picked-over list, looking for anyone who might be able to help me. Fuck, I’ll become a rocket scientist if it’ll get me what I need, which is money to be able to go to school there.

The phone rings, my only phone, the landline, and I dive for it.

---