The Love Hypothesis

by Ali Hazelwood

“I’m Olive, by the way. Like the tree.”

Everything about him must be huge. Height, fingers, voice.

It never occurred to Olive that Dr. Adam Carlsen—known ass—had called her by her name.

That time a physics professor asked her if she was in the wrong class on the first day of the semester.

Maybe she should expire on the spot to avoid facing this crapfest of a situation she’d put herself in.

“Have you considered getting a real girlfriend?” His eyebrow lifted. “Have you considered getting a real date?”

“Touché.”

‘Carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man.’ ” “More than that, if possible. Since there is absolutely nothing mediocre about you.”

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when she was sitting on her bed staring at the Boston skyline and chewing on

her lunch, that Olive realized that the protein bar Adam had given her was covered in chocolate.

Because I’m starting to wonder if this is what being in love is. Being okay with ripping yourself to shreds, so the other person can stay whole.

“I’m going to kill you,” he gritted out, little more than a growl. “If you say another word about the woman I love, if you look at her, if you even think about her—I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“I am going to take care of this,” he told her. There was something determined, earnest in his eyes. Olive had never felt safer, or more loved. “And then I’ll come find you, and I’ll take care of you.”

“And I’m awakened by this waterfall pouring down on me—” Adam rolled his eyes. “It was a drop.” “And I’m asking myself why it’s raining inside the cabin, when I realize that it’s coming from the top bunk and that Adam, who was, like, thirteen at the time—” “Six. I was six, and you were seven.” “Had pissed the bed, and the piss was seeping through the mattress and onto me.”

You can fall in love: someone will catch you.

“May I kiss you, Dr. Carlsen?”