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.
