Page 38 of The Love Hypothesis

“Here,” Adam told Olive, making to stand from his chair. “Take my seat.”

“Oh.” It was nice of him to offer. Not fake-dating-to-save-her-ass, spend-twenty-bucks-on-junk-food-for-her nice, but still very nice. Olive couldn’t possib

ly accept. Plus, Adam was a professor, which meant that he was older and all that. Thirtysomething. He did look fit, but he probably had a bum knee and was only a few years short of osteoporosis. “Thank you, but—”

“Actually, that would be a terrible idea,” Anh interjected. Her eyes were darting between Olive and Adam. “No offense, Dr. Carlsen, but you’re three times larger than Olive. If you stand, the room’s going to burst.”

Adam stared at Anh like he had no idea whether he’d just been insulted.

“But,” she continued, this time looking at Olive, “it’d be great if you could do me a solid and sit on your boyfriend’s lap, Ol. Just so I don’t have to stand on my toes?”

Olive blinked. And then she blinked again. And then she blinked some more. Near the podium, Dr. Moss was still introducing Tom—“Got his Ph.D. from Vanderbilt and then moved to a postdoctoral fellowship at Harvard University, where he pioneered several techniques in the field of imaging”—but her voice sounded as if it was coming from far, far away. Possibly because Olive couldn’t stop thinking about what Anh had proposed, which was just . . .

“Anh, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Olive mumbled under her breath, avoiding glancing in Adam’s direction.

Anh gave her a look. “Why? You’re taking up space we don’t have, and it’s only logical that you use Carlsen as a chair. I would, but he’s your boyfriend, not mine.”

For a moment, Olive tried to imagine what Adam would do if Anh decided to sit on his lap, and figured that it would probably end up involving someone being murdered and someone doing the murdering—she wasn’t sure who’d be doing what. The mental image was so ridiculous that she almost giggled out loud. Then she noticed the way Anh was looking at her expectantly. “Anh, I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because. This is a scientific talk.”

“Psh. Remember last year, when Jess and Alex made out for half of that CRISPR lecture?”

“I do—and it was weird.”

“Nah, it wasn’t. Also, Malcolm swears that during a seminar he saw that tall guy from immunology get a hand job from—”

“Anh.”

“The point is, no one cares.” Anh’s expression softened into a plea. “And this girl’s elbow is puncturing my right lung, and I have about thirty seconds of air left. Please, Olive.”

Olive turned to face Adam. Who was, very unsurprisingly, looking up at her with that nonexpression of his, the one that Olive couldn’t quite decipher. Except that his jaw was working, and she wondered if maybe this was it. The last straw. The moment he backed out of their arrangement. Because millions of dollars in research funds couldn’t be worth having some girl he barely knew sit on his lap in the most crowded room in the history of crowded rooms.

Is this okay? she tried to ask him with her eyes. Because maybe this is a little too much. Way more than saying hi to each other and having coffee together.

He gave her a brief nod, and then—Olive, or at least Olive’s body, was stepping toward Adam and gingerly sitting on his thigh, her knees tucked between his spread legs. It was happening. It had happened already. Olive was here.

Sitting.

On.

Adam.

This. Yep, this.

This was her life now.

She was going to murder Anh for this. Slowly. Maybe painfully, too. She was going to be jailed for bestfriendicide, and she was a-okay with it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Adam. He was so tall, her mouth was not quite level with his ear. She could smell him—the woodsiness of his shampoo, his body wash, and something else underneath, dark and good and clean. It all felt familiar, and after a few seconds Olive realized that it was because of the last time they had been this close. Because of The Night. Because of the kiss. “So, so sorry.”

He didn’t immediately answer. His jaw tensed, and he looked in the direction of the PowerPoint. Dr. Moss was gone, Tom was talking about cancer diagnostics, and Olive would have gobbled this up on a regular day, but right now she just needed out. Of the talk. Of the room. Of her own life.

Then Adam turned his face a little and told her, “It’s okay.” He sounded a bit strained. Like nothing about this situation was, in fact, okay.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea she would suggest this, and I couldn’t think of a way to—”