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“I’m Olive, by the way. Like the tree.”
He was a notoriously moody, obnoxious, terrifying dick. And Olive had just kissed him.
“I asked if I could kiss you, and you said yes.” “Incorrect. You asked if you could kiss me and I snorted.”
It never occurred to Olive that Dr. Adam Carlsen—known ass—had called her by her name.
“Fine. We can say that you broke up with me.” “Because that sounds credible,” he said drily, almost below his breath.
“And I have my own reasons.” She narrowed her eyes. “What reasons?” “Reasons.” “If it’s criminal, I’d rather not be involved.”
“Have you considered getting a real girlfriend?” His eyebrow lifted. “Have you considered getting a real date?” “Touché.”
“Are you enjoying this?” “ ‘Enjoying’ is probably not the right word, but you have to admit that it’s quite entertaining.”
Fake dating. Adam Carlsen. Olive would have to be a lunatic.
Adam J. Carlsen, Ph.D. Maybe the J stood for “Jackass.”
“How many times have you done this?” “Zero. But I am familiar with the trope.” “The . . . what?” He blinked at her, confused.
“I guess this is something your fake girlfriend should know.” The ghost of a smile appeared on his mouth, but he said nothing.
“Aren’t you going to add it to your calendar?” “I’ll remember,” he told her evenly.
“Why do you keep saying that?” “Saying what?” “ ‘Fake dating.’ Like it’s a thing.” “Because it is. Don’t you watch rom-coms?”
HYPOTHESIS: When compared with multiple types and models of furniture, Adam Carlsen’s lap will be rated in the top fifth percentile for comfort, coziness, and enjoyment.
“More material for my Title IX complaint.”
And he was funny in a weird, deadpan way, and yes, a known ass, but friendly enough to her that she could sort of ignore that about him.
“Sorry, too close? I didn’t mean to—” She would have finished the sentence, if he hadn’t closed the distance between them and just—kissed her. Just like that.
You’re a dick, Olive meant. Except that I know you can not be, and I can’t figure out why you’re so different with me. I’m absolutely nothing to you, so it doesn’t make any sense that you’d have a personality transplant every time you’re in my presence.
“Is the sunscreen going in the Title IX complaint?” His mouth twitched. “Right on the first page. Nonconsensual sunblock application.”
“Maybe you just pull out the best in me?” She grinned. “Then maybe I should stick around. Just, you know, to save the department from your terrible moods?”
“You just want me to stay around forever. Until you have the biggest, fattest, strongest Title IX case to ever exist.” “That was my plan all along, in fact. The one and only reason I kissed you out of the blue.”
“Aww.” He pinned her with a withering look. “Don’t aww me.” Adorable. He was adorable.
HYPOTHESIS: If I fall in love, things will invariably end poorly.
Adam: You never said it would hurt so bad. Olive: As someone once told me, it’s not my job to work on your emotion regulation skills.
She had known almost from the very beginning, and then she’d started talking with him, she’d started getting to know him even though it was never part of the plan, and—damn him to hell for being so different from what she’d expected. For making her want to be with him more and more. Damn him.
“How could this happen? I am not like this. This is not me. How could I—and Adam Carlsen, of everyone. Who is into Adam Carlsen?” Malcolm snorted. “Everyone, Ol. He’s a tall, broody, sullen hunk with a genius IQ. Everyone likes tall, broody, sullen hunks with genius IQs.”
ALL IN ALL, Olive’s life continued as it always had—except that for the first time, there was something else she’d rather be doing. Someone else she’d rather be with.
“Yep. I’m so glad he finally scrounged up the courage to ask you out. He’d been going on and on about this ‘amazing girl’ for years, but he was concerned about being in the same department, and you know how he is . . .” He shrugged and waved his hand. “I’m glad he finally managed to pull his head out of his ass.”
“Olive,” Dr. Aslan interrupted her with a stern tone. “What do I always tell you?” “Um . . . ‘Don’t misplace the multichannel pipette’?” “The other thing.” She sighed. “ ‘Carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man.’ ”
“I got the booking confirmation the other day. I can forward it to you if you want; it says that—” “It doesn’t matter what it says. It’s always one bed.”
“To be fair, I don’t like people in general.” “Right.” Don’t ask, Olive. Do not ask. “Do you like me?” A millisecond of hesitation as he pressed his lips together. “Nope. You’re a smart-ass with abysmal taste in beverages.”
It hit her then what was so special about Adam. That no matter his reputation, or how rocky their first meeting, since the very beginning, Olive had felt that he was on her side. Over and over, and in ways that she could never have anticipated, he had made her feel unjudged. Less alone.
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.
“Do you think they’re on a fake date?” she asked, leaning back against her seat. Adam followed her gaze to the couple. “I thought those mostly involved coffee shops and sunscreen applications?” “Nah. Only the best ones.”
“You are not mediocre, Olive. You were not invited to speak because people think that you are my girlfriend—there is no such thing, since SBD’s abstracts go through a blind review process. I would know, because I’ve been roped into reviewing them in the past. And the work you presented is important, rigorous, and brilliant.”
“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”
“Because you don’t want it, right? Maybe I’m just not attractive to you and you don’t want this—” It nearly made her lose her balance, the way he tugged at her wrist and pulled her hand to himself, pressing her palm flush to his groin to show her that . . . Oh. Oh. Yeah. His jaw rolled as he held her gaze. “You have no fucking idea what I want.”
HYPOTHESIS: Despite what everyone says, sex is never going to be anything more than a mildly enjoyable activi— Oh. Oh.
“Pay attention, sweetheart.”
“You’re so big.” He groaned into her neck. His entire body was vibrating with tension. “You can take it.”
HYPOTHESIS: When I think I’ve hit rock bottom, someone will hand me a shovel.
HYPOTHESIS: A heart will break even more easily than the weakest of hydrogen bonds.
HYPOTHESIS: When in doubt, asking a friend will save my ass.
Her heart may be broken, but her brain was doing just fine.
“Adam has been recruited by a lot of institutions in the past. A lot. He’s been offered money, prestigious positions, unlimited access to facilities and equipment. That includes Harvard—this year was not their first attempt at bringing him in. But it’s the first time he’s agreed to interview. And he only agreed after you decided to go work in Tom’s lab.”
HYPOTHESIS: People who cross me will come to regret it.
“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.”
