Page 54 of The Love Hypothesis

“Might also tell her about the kisses you’ve been extorting, and the fake-dating scheme you roped me into, and above all about the sunscreen—”

“Oh God.” Olive hid her face in her knees, arms coming up to wrap around her head. “God. The sunscreen.”

“Yeah.” His voice sounded muffled from down here. “Yeah, that was . . .”

“Awkward?” she offered, sitting back straight with a grimace. Adam was looking elsewhere. She was probably imagining it, the way he was flushing.

He cleared his throat. “Among other things.

”

“Yep.” It had been other things, too. A lot of things that she was not going to mention, because her other things were sure to not be his other things. His other things were probably “terrible” and “harrowing” and “invasive.” While hers . . .

“Is the sunscreen going in the Title IX complaint?”

His mouth twitched. “Right on the first page. Nonconsensual sunblock application.”

“Oh, come on. I saved you from basal cell carcinoma.”

“Groped under SPF pretense.”

She swatted him with her Twix, and he ducked a bit to avoid her, amused. “Hey, you want half of this? Since I fully plan to eat what’s left of your chips.”

“Nah.”

“You sure?”

“Can’t stand chocolate.”

Olive stared at him, shaking her head in disbelief. “You would, wouldn’t you? Hate everything that is delicious and lovely and comforting.”

“Chocolate’s disgusting.”

“You just want to live in your dark, bitter world made of black coffee and plain bagels with plain cream cheese. And occasionally salt-and-vinegar chips.”

“They are clearly your favorite chips—”

“Not the point.”

“—and I am flattered that you’ve memorized my orders.”

“It does help that they’re always the same.”

“At least I’ve never ordered something called a unicorn Frappuccino.”

“That was so good. It tasted like the rainbow.”

“Like sugar and food coloring?”

“My two favorite things in the universe. Thank you for buying it for me, by the way.” It had made for a nice fake-dating Wednesday treat this week, even though Olive had been so busy with Tom’s report that she hadn’t been able to exchange more than a couple of words with Adam. Which, she had to admit, had been a little disappointing.

“Where’s Tom by the way, while you and I slave our Friday night away?”

“Out. On a date, I think.”

“On a date? Does his girlfriend live here?”

“Tom has lots of girlfriends. In lots of places.”