Elijah stared wordlessly across the room for a beat and then shook his head ruefully. “I think he’s already half in love with her.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I got the same impression. He gave me this big old speech about being here for the right reasons.”
Elijah twisted in his seat to face me, resting his elbow on the back of the sofa. “And are you?” A raised right brow punctuated the question.
I’d felt guilty when Brett had asked me that same question, but now that I knew for certain Allie was in no great danger of falling in love with me, the feeling had abated somewhat. Still, I needed more camera time if my brother’s plan was going to work. Admitting my reasons for coming on the show weren’t entirely on the up and up—even to someone I was quickly forming a friendship with—wasn’t the best idea. Instead, I turned his words back on him, right down to an identical wry smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Elijah’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and if I thought it was weird that my eyes ate up the movement, I didn’t dwell on it. “You know what? I really think I would,” he answered, his voice sounding for all the world to me like the smokiest whiskey in my cabinet back home.
3
Elijah
I’d nearly choked on my own saliva when Oliver asked if my conversation with Allie had included any bombshells. I wasn’t an idiot; I knew why I’d been cast. A bisexual man pursuing the heroine of Happily Ever After could be a ratings juggernaut for the network—especially if someone blindsided her with my sexuality while the cameras were rolling. Frankly, I didn’t put it past the producers to try and paint me as the villain of the season.
Which was why I’d told Allie everything.
While the truth about my sexuality had taken her by surprise, she had recovered quickly, even going so far as to thank me for having the courage to be vulnerable with her. By the time the next contestant had come to claim her, I’d felt really good about where we left things.
And now, here I was a week later, flirting with Oliver Cooper. Which made me wonder if maybe I was the villain of this story after all.
What was worse was I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
Of course, I’d recognized Oliver immediately. I’d only been lusting after the quarterback ever since he’d appeared naked on the cover of the body issue of Sports Chronicle magazine, stripped down to nothing but a pair of cleats and a strategically-placed football. That had been almost a decade ago, and like a fine wine, he’d only gotten better with age.
“So why are you here?” I asked again, curiosity getting the better of me. I wouldn’t have thought a man like Oliver needed help finding love, but he’d been vague about it anytime we’d spoken. His gaze darted away. “I imagine I’m here for the same reason most of us are,” he said at last.
“Most of those guys are here to get famous, which you already are,” I pointed out, canting my head in the direction of the formal parlor where the majority of the guys were gathered following the crowning ceremony.
The mansion’s ground floor was broken up into two wings—on one side were all the public spaces, while on the other were our bedrooms. Separating the two wings was a large, formal space where our cocktail parties and crowning ceremonies took place. Through a set of wide double doors at the back of the room was a more relaxed area that served as our living room. The only time the crew stepped foot in there was during specified filming hours; the rest of the time it acted as our private hang out space. I knew, however, there were hidden cameras set up strategically around the room to capture all the action during off hours.
Currently, Oliver and I found ourselves tucked away in a cozy alcove across a wide hallway from the parlor. I wasn’t sure the other guys even knew it was here, since most of the time the heavy velvet drapes that separated it from the other room were pulled shut. From our vantage point, we could just make out which men hadn’t yet retired to their bedrooms for the night, but not hear their conversations. Personally, it was my favorite spot in the house, so I was glad it had remained a secret—especially since it meant I could hang out here with Oliver without his fan boys harassing him.
“Ugh, not that again,” Oliver said, taking a sip from his glass. I recognized it as a Waterford knock-off. Not expensive, but designed to look it on camera. No point investing in heavy crystal when most of it would wind up broken anyhow.
“Face it, Oliver. You’re kind of a big deal.”
In the week we’d lived in the mansion, word had spread about who he actually was, and when they weren’t trying to impress Allie, a few of the other contestants had taken to following him around like he was their personal Pied Piper. Was it any wonder he’d taken to hiding out in an alcove with me cocooned from the rest of the world?
Oliver’s cheeks flushed, and he ran a hand through his thick blonde hair. He’d started the evening with it pushed back off his face, but now a few long strands flopped lazily against his forehead. “Not famous enough,” he muttered under his breath.
From the outset, Oliver had been reluctant to discuss his feelings toward Allie, and my spidey-senses had been telling me he wasn't being completely truthful about why he’d signed up for the show in the first place.
“So you’re not here for the right reasons,” I said. It wasn’t a question so much as a statement of fact.
Oliver fidgeted and lifted his drink to his lips again. “What are the right reasons anyway?”
“To fall in love?” That I had to point this out only served to confirm my suspicions.
“And you believe that can actually happen here?” Oliver asked, his eyes darting around the small space. He seemed intent on looking anywhere but at me.
“Maybe not right here in this exact spot,” I said, trying to inject a note of levity into our conversation, “but on the show as a whole? Absolutely. The question is, my friend, why do you think it can’t?”
“Because no one falls in love in six weeks. Because there are like a billion of us and only one of her. Because the cameras are always rolling. And even though this is reality TV, nothing about this even comes close to being real.” It was the most Oliver had spoken at once since I’d met him, and I briefly wondered how many drinks he'd had. I’d noticed over the last couple of nights that the more he imbibed, the looser his tongue became.
Everything he said was true, and yet I still held out hope. I’d seen firsthand that love didn’t have to follow a specific timeline or exist according to someone else’s rules of what was proper or right. “My parents fell in love the first night they met,” I explained. “Married forty years next month. So yes, it can happen.”
Oliver smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but detected a note of pity in the gesture. “You’re a romantic,” he said.
“Fuck yeah, I am. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” I didn’t try to hide my annoyance. I hated all that macho bullshit that prevented men from showing emotions or being vulnerable. “And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, either. Frankly, if more men nurtured that side of themselves, the world might be a better place.”