The Love Hypothesis

by Ali Hazelwood

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

“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.’ ”

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.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

“You said to do something I’m into.” His breath was hot against her. “I am.” “You can’t possibly want to—” He squeezed her leg. “I can’t remember a moment I didn’t.”

“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.”