Chapter 17
Oliver
When he made his way out to the kitchen the next morning, Declan was already leaning against the stove, morning workout forgotten.
Oliver circled the counter to stand directly in front of him.
Declan didn’t move. Oliver took a half-step closer and reached around him to grab the kettle.
Declan leaned in.
He could feel the heat of Declan’s body, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to press against him.
‘Has the usual tea order not been meeting your standards? Must you supervise?’ he quipped, retreating to the sink.
The sound of water filling the kettle echoed the blood rushing in his ears.
Declan grabbed two mugs out of the cabinet and placed them deliberately on the counter before crossing the kitchen and gently prying the kettle out of Oliver’s hands.
His heartbeat tripped over itself as he traced Declan’s features, sure he’d somehow be different now.
But no, the same blue eyes looked up at him from underneath bushy brows, his nose was still as crooked as ever, and he wore a hint of the lopsided smile that made the day before rush back to Oliver.
He leaned forwards instinctively, only for Declan to push him gently towards the counter.
‘Thought I could make you tea for a change.’
Oliver sat restlessly, his shoe tapping against the side of the cabinet as he watched Declan move around the kitchen.
He revelled in the quiet confidence of Declan’s mannerisms, strong and sure in a way Oliver only felt on stage, every movement mapped out and memorised.
His gaze drifted along Declan’s waist, up the muscles of his arms to his face, sticking on the pout of his lips.
He felt a low ache in his stomach.
His tapping became more rapid.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Declan asked, placing a mug in front of him and sitting beside him, his knee grazing Oliver’s leg and stilling its movement.
Oliver stared at him, wondering how he could not know, sure that all the confusion and panic and want must be showing clearly on his face.
Declan, in comparison, looked overly calm, eyeing Oliver with a wariness that made him wonder if this wasn’t the first time he’d kissed a man before.
He wished they could talk without the cameras around, felt foolish for walking out of that bathroom without discussing anything, but even more than that, he wanted to talk to Will.
‘Just missing my friends,’ Oliver said, and Declan’s eyebrows drew together in confusion.
Oliver tried to think of some way to explain in front of the cameras.
‘My mate Will gives the best girl advice. Ironic, since he’s gay.’
The final word hung between them.
Declan cleared his throat, staring at the steam rising from his mug.
‘What do you think he’d say to you right now?’
he asked neutrally.
‘If he could?’
Oliver laced his fingers together, frowning at the counter in concentration.
He closed his eyes, trying to conjure one of Will’s signature pep talks, and then glanced back at Declan, wondering what his friend would think of him.
‘He’d say to go with my gut.
That if things feel good, they are good.’
Declan cocked his head to the side.
‘So, you’re good?’
Though his tone hadn’t changed at all, Oliver could tell he needed to hear the answer.
‘Yes.’ He was surprised by how true that was.
‘Better than I’ve been in a long time.
And Will would be proud of me, making it this far.’
Declan nodded. ‘He sounds like a good friend.’
Oliver leaned back, the side of his arm brushing Declan’s in the process.
He didn’t move away.
‘Yeah, my mates are pretty solid.’
‘Tell me about them,’ Declan said, turning to face him.
He seemed genuinely interested, there was no ulterior motive or angle for the cameras.
‘They’re the best,’ Oliver said simply.
‘We’ve known each other since school, got our own sort of language.
It makes making new friends terribly hard, since no one else knows what we’re on about half the time.’
He felt an ache of longing – he had missed them, and not only in the weeks he’d been on the show.
He had missed them since the break-up, when he’d been barely there for months, despite their insistence that he wasn’t a burden, that he wasn’t making them choose sides, that they wanted to help.
Declan pressed his knee more firmly into Oliver’s thigh.
‘That sounds really nice,’ he said.
‘And what about your mates?’ Declan felt more real to him than ever, and he wanted to know about his life outside of the show.
He finally felt like he could ask.
‘Ah,’ Declan said, his voice low, looking into his mug again.
‘I have my best mate – we’re practically attached at the hip.
And, you know, my family.’
There was something in the hunch of Declan’s shoulders, an almost imperceptible tensing.
And Oliver understood, for the first time, that Declan’s loneliness wasn’t just for show, a ploy to ingratiate himself with the public and explain away his lack of romantic history.
Oliver grasped Declan’s shoulder, rubbing a soft circle across his spine.
‘And now… you have Jack,’ he teased.
‘Oi! Are you two gossiping about me?’ Jack asked, walking into the kitchen with Maeve.
Oliver dropped his hand, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.
Almost on cue, the production team walked through the gate.
‘Oliver was saying that he thinks you’re next on the chopping block,’ Declan said, so easily that Oliver felt whiplash.
Jack didn’t rise to the bait.
‘Everyone loves Maeve,’ he said, peeling a banana.
‘I think I’m safe.’
‘Oh?’ Maeve teased.
‘Is that what you’re doing with me, then?
Playing it safe?’
Jack smiled at her fondly, wrapping his arms around her.
‘I’m trying to woo the pants off you, is what I’m doing.’
‘Are you thinking about becoming a nudist?’ Stella said, as she and Niall joined them.
‘I tried that for a year or two, but England really isn’t the best climate for it.
I was cold all the time.’
‘Erm,’ Maeve said awkwardly.
Oliver shot Declan a grin, only to find him already watching him.
His cheeks flushed as Declan’s hand came to rest by his own under the counter, his hand inching closer until their ring fingers tangled together.
‘Actually, Jack was just revealing his master plan to win the show,’ Declan said, raising his eyebrows.
‘Surely you can handle a little competition,’ Jack was saying, but Oliver barely heard him, his ears instead seemingly calibrated to the rush of Declan’s breath, eyes trailing along the part of his lips.
‘I’m not one for competition,’ Niall said.
‘But I do believe that true love will prevail.’
Declan huffed out a laugh and Jack rounded on them.
Oliver tried to school his features, ducking his head and dropping Declan’s hand.
‘Who do you think will win? Us or them?’ Jack joked.
Declan slung his arm over Oliver’s shoulder, the heat of his skin radiating against Oliver’s neck.
‘I think it’s us, actually.’
When Darcy’s tinny voice called them to a recoupling ceremony at the end of the week, it was the first time Oliver hadn’t been nervous about staying on the show; he’d been too wrapped up in stealing heated glances with Declan.
‘This shirt?’ Oliver asked Declan, holding up a navy shirt with vertical stripes and trying to suppress a giddy smile.
Even surrounded by the other boys and the cameras, getting dressed with Declan felt like a moment just for them.
Declan gave a drawn-out look to Oliver’s bare torso, giving the impression of deep thought.
‘I’ve got one you could wear.
I think it’d look good on you.’
Oliver felt his cheeks colour.
‘Er – yeah, sure.’
Jack came over, slinging an arm over Declan’s shoulder.
‘All right, Decs? Remember what I said.’ He gave Declan a stern look, and Oliver was reminded that in his real life, Jack was a secondary-school teacher.
‘What’s that?’ Niall asked, looking up from buttoning his shirt.
‘If Declan’s going to punch someone, he needs to let me know first so I can join the fray.
No good men left behind.’
Oliver couldn’t guess the full story between Declan and James, but, like every other confusing aspect of their situation, it had faded into the background for the moment.
That feeling grew when Declan handed him a heather-grey shirt.
Oliver put on the shirt, inhaling the scent of Declan’s cologne lingering on the collar, as Jack and Declan continued to banter.
‘Glad you’re back to normal, mate,’ Jack said.
‘I was starting to worry.’
‘Things with Imogen must be going well for him to be looking that pleased with himself,’ Niall observed.
Jack frowned. ‘Have you two been sneaking off together? I haven’t seen any canoodling.’
Declan’s smile faded minutely, and a pang of anxiety hit Oliver; he’d been so caught up in his new-found sense of security he hadn’t even considered the possibility of Declan going home.
He had forgotten that Declan was no longer secure, that he was supposed to be finding someone to couple up with.
Declan cleared his throat, his eyes on Oliver.
‘We talk. And I, uh, would say that the date went well. Imogen had a good time.’
Strangely, Oliver couldn’t definitively say that it was a lie, remembering Imogen’s contentment in the chaos of the afternoon.
‘No wonder you’re so confident,’ Jack said, slapping him on the shoulder.
‘Good on you, King. Recovering with ease.’
Declan shot a worried glance at Oliver.
Oliver couldn’t think of anything useful he could do or say, running through all the scenarios in which Declan could be saved and coming up blank.
‘Okay, Wright?’ Niall said, frowning at him.
‘Er – fine,’ he said.
‘This should be the easiest one so far for you. Eavie’s a sure thing.’
‘Yeah. I’m grand, just typical nerves.’
Brian poked his head through the door.
‘Ready, lads? The ladies have you beaten this evening.’
Darcy was already beside the firepit when they walked out, lecturing Paige.
The women were lined up next to the couch, and Eavie flashed Oliver a smile as he approached.
‘Sorry,’ Paige said, having seemingly been dismissed as Darcy’s attention moved to her phone.
‘I’m ready. Brian, you’ve prepped the new folks?’
‘Yes,’ Brian said, chest puffing out slightly, as though doing his job was a great feat indeed.
‘Roll,’ Darcy said in a bored voice, stashing her phone.
Oliver hardly listened to the first few speeches, his eyes boring into Imogen, trying to figure out what she was thinking.
She had been interested in Declan from the moment she walked into the villa, but he doubted it would be enough for her to choose him over Rhys, who probably hadn’t hit on another woman in front of her.
He kept trying to meet her eye, but she wouldn’t look at him, staring straight ahead with an annoyingly serene air.
‘Eavie,’ Darcy said, snapping Oliver out of his reverie.
Eavie was frowning at him in confusion, he supposed because he’d been staring at a different woman throughout the whole recoupling.
‘The boy I’m choosing to couple with is just the sweetest. He says I remind him of his best mates, and he already feels like one of mine.
I’m choosing to couple up with…
Oliver.’
The ringing in his ears got louder.
He tried to remind himself to smile, but it felt impossible to get his muscles to obey.
‘Oliver,’ Darcy said loudly, looking at him as though he was thick.
‘Could you walk over to Eavie?’
‘Right,’ he said.
He focused on Eavie’s face, putting one foot in front of another, not letting himself look back at Declan.
When he reached her side, she pulled him into a hug, whispering, ‘Nerves?’
He gave a slight nod before sliding onto the couch, facing the two remaining boys, Declan and Rhys.
Declan was staring at Oliver in a way that made it difficult to breathe.
He tried to present a calm front, but he knew his face was probably anything but helpful at the moment.
‘Imogen,’ Darcy was saying.
‘You have the final choice of the night. Will it be Declan or Rhys?’
Imogen gave a satisfied, cat-like smile.
‘Tonight, I am pleased to be choosing a boy who is clever, handsome and everything I could hope for in a boyfriend. I hope that’s what he’ll be one day.
Tonight, I’m choosing to couple up with…
Declan.’
Everything around Oliver froze for a moment, and then Declan smiled wide.
He walked over to Imogen and embraced her, looking so at ease that Oliver considered that he had imagined their earlier panicked glances.
He caught Imogen’s eye over Declan’s shoulder and she winked.
After Rhys’s departure, the contestants were allowed to file back into the villa.
Declan came up beside Oliver, slapping him on the shoulder.
The brief touch snapped Oliver out of his reverie.
‘All right?’ he asked, as Declan’s eyes met his.
‘’Course,’ Declan said.
‘Were you worried?’
Oliver heard a quiet cough and turned.
Paige was standing behind him, bright eyes trained on the space between the two men.
‘Oliver, could I pull you for a chat?’
Oliver groaned.
‘It was too much to hope for sleep this early, I suppose.’ He glanced at Declan.
‘See you later, King.’
‘Looking forward to it,’ Declan said, nodding to Paige and continuing down the hall.
When they entered the Love Shack, the red light was already on.
Oliver slid onto the stool.
‘Hit me.’
Paige raised her eyebrows.
‘You looked stressed during the recoupling – did you think there was a chance of you being dumped?’
‘Well… there’s always a chance.
And you know how I get, I never feel safe.’
She nodded. ‘But things are going well with Eavie?’
Oliver had prepared for this question.
‘Things are great. I like Eavie a lot. I know I’ve had a tough go of it, but I feel like I’ve found my person now.’
‘So, how did you feel about Declan flirting with her on your date?’ Paige asked.
Oliver frowned – he and Paige had already discussed the date extensively in the days prior.
‘Well, I wasn’t pleased.
But he was in a vulnerable position, with Zoe choosing James, and I guess he felt like he had to do anything he could.
No harm done, ultimately.’
‘You were pretty angry with him,’ Paige said neutrally.
‘That’s not a question,’ Oliver joked.
She rolled her eyes.
‘Okay, why were you so upset? It seemed to me like it started before he was flirting with Eavie.’
Oliver shrugged.
‘He was being a prick, wasn’t he?
Nothing more to it.’
‘Specifically,’ Paige pressed on, ‘when Declan punched James, some contestants came to his defence. You stayed out of it. Why?’
‘Er…’ Oliver had no idea what she was getting at, asking the same questions he’d already answered.
‘I don’t like to get caught up in feuds that I don’t know anything about.’
‘And yet, it’s quite clear whose side you’re on,’ she said, with a glance to his shirt that made the blood rush to his cheeks.
He crossed his arms self-consciously.
‘Yeah, Declan and I are mates. We had a bit of a row, and he apologised to me. It’s all good.
Sorry I can’t give you more drama than that.’
Paige pursed her lips.
‘I’m trying to get to the root of the conflict, that’s all.
No need to get defensive.’
Oliver hadn’t felt like he’d been acting defensive, but he tried to soften his posture.
‘What exactly do you want to hear, Paige? I’m shattered.
I’ll give you the clip if you ask nicely.
Playing coy doesn’t suit you.’
‘Nor you.’ She paused before asking, ‘Why do you think Imogen chose him tonight?’
‘Dunno,’ Oliver said, relaxing slightly.
‘She’d always thought Declan was fit; she flirted with him even when he was still with Zoe.
So it’s not shocking she’s gone for him again.’
‘All right,’ Paige said.
‘I think I’ve got enough to cobble something together.
Thanks, Oliver.’
The red light flicked off, and Paige tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
‘One more thing, before you go.’ Something about her manner made him relax – it was clear the questioning was over.
‘Yeah?’ he asked, standing.
‘How are you feeling about being this far along? There’s only a couple weeks left.
Do you think you have a shot at winning?’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘you’d know that better than I would.’
‘Do you still want it like you did at the beginning?’ Her expression was unreadable.
He was surprised to catch himself genuinely considering her question.
He’d been so distracted the last few days, he’d almost forgotten about the competition, about the whole reason he’d come on the show in the first place.
If he won, the prize money would upheave his whole life.
He wouldn’t have to worry about staying afloat in his crappy flat, wouldn’t have to make difficult decisions every day.
And, amazingly enough, it was within his grasp.
Oliver was sure he could find a balance between stolen moments with Declan and his performance on the show.
If he stuck with Eavie, committed to her on camera, they had a possibility of making it to the end.
He looked at her. ‘Yes. I still want it.’
She nodded.
‘Good. I’m rooting for you, Oliver. ’