Love, Theoretically

by Ali Hazelwood

“Did you prep?” “Is ‘prep’ rocking myself? Contemplating my own mortality? Sacrificing a live creature to the gods of academia?”

He was a physicist all along, that—that piece of Uranus—” “Science insult. Nice.” “I bet he thinks in Fahrenheit—” “Ooh, sick burn.” “—and spends his free time flying to Westminster Abbey to dance on Stephen Hawking’s grave—” “Hawking’s dead?”

“I’ve read every word you’ve written.” He looks serious, but he must be mocking me. What do I do? Mock back. “Did you enjoy my middle school diary?” A hint of a crinkle appears at the corners of his eyes. “It was a little Justin Bieber heavy.” “You broke into the wrong childhood bedroom—I was all about Bill Nye.”

I pull on the hem of my skirt again, and his eyes dart to my knees, lingering for a moment before ricocheting away. I should probably stop doing that. I need a new nervous habit. Nail biting. Fidget spinners. I’ve heard great things about crystal meth.

“You make lots of assumptions about my thoughts,” he says, setting it down. “Negative assumptions.” “Your thoughts are clearly negative.”

“There really is no need—” He tuts. “If you keep repeating that, I’ll figure that you don’t want to hang out with me.” I don’t. But I’d love to hang you.

“You just stole from a grad student?” I laugh. “Yeah. An unexpected low.” I laugh harder—must be that sugar high. “How do you sleep at night?” “I have a really firm mattress. Great for spinal health.”

Am I being needlessly antagonistic? No. No, Jack and I are antagonists. Insulin and glucagon. Rey and Kylo Ren. Galileo and the entire Catholic Church, circa 1615.

“Kirk is always just Kirk, which has me wondering if…” “Whoa.” Her eyes widen dramatically. “Am I being attacked? In my own home?” “No. I just—” “At my own table?” I shake my head. “No, I—” “On my own chair that I retrieved from the curbside and that used to have bedbugs and maybe still does?”

“He should have punched me in the face.” I open my mouth. Close it. Then think, What the hell. “Would it make you feel better if I punched you in the face?” His eyebrow lifts. “Would it make you feel better?” “Oh, a lot.”

“Does it hurt?” “What?” “This apology.” He glares at me, and I laugh. “Was it your first? Did I pop your apology cherry?” “Apology retracted.”

Fine, you got me. I want people to like me, and I give them the me they want. I enjoy getting along with others. Gasp. Report me to the authenticity police for aiding and abetting.”

First, I’m not sure I believe anything he said. Second, I’m almost sure I don’t believe anything he said. Third, he’s still the guy who wrote that hoax paper, and fourth, he wants another candidate to get the job. Fifth: no. Just no. Sixth, if I believed anything he said, three, four, and five would still be valid.

“Elsie, if I let you go right now, you’re just going to replay the whole interview in your head and reach the misguided conclusion that it’s your fault you didn’t get the job. And you’re never going to let me talk to you again.”

Read like a freakin book

“I’m sorry. I know you want to help, but I just—I can’t talk now. I’m crying.” “That’s fine.” “No, it’s not fine. Because I almost never cry”—a sob—“which m-means that I have no idea how to stop.” “Then you can cry forever.”

“I can’t believe I woke you up at four and you didn’t murder me.” “Why would I murder you?” “Because. It’s late.” “Nah. I’m kind of into it.” He yawns against the crown of my hair. “You’ll really enjoy the thrill of frequent nighttime urination as a senior citizen, then.”

Maybe it is a bit sexual. Because there’s something very hot, very, very hard, very, very, very big pressing against my ass. Jack probably needs to pee. Don’t men get hard in the mornings when they need to go to the bathroom? It’s a pee erection. A peerection. Yup.

“May I please watch you eat something?” Bam, dimple. “It’ll be good for my mental health.”

“Can I take you out?” The words don’t immediately compute. For several seconds they float in my brain like driftwood, aimless, unparsable, and then their meaning dawns on me. “You mean you want to…murder me.” He winces. “Once again, what happened to you?”

“I’ll have it when I come back from taking Elsie—” “Nonsense. Elsie must stay, too. I simply cannot let her leave.” “Yes, you can, because kidnapping is a serious felony offense.”

I clear my throat. Take a deep breath. “If you still want to. And if it’s okay with Greg. You can take me out.” Jack just stares, motionless, reactionless, for way too long. “Take you out…in the mob way?”

“You don’t need to impress anyone. No need for the usual party tricks.” I smile. “I was going to carve a recorder out of a carrot and play it for your friends.” He gives me a long look, like I’m the single most charming person he’s ever met. “Not gonna lie, that’d be pretty cool.”

“Haven’t picked a date yet?” “She has not,” Adam whines. Sternly, though. “Ol. Put him out of his misery.” “At twenty-eight? What am I, a child bride?”

LOVEHYP CAMEO🥰

“Why, Jack, Adam was a tenured professor. And I was but a lowly student.” “Graduate student,” Adam interjects, speaking to me. “And not my student.” “But in his department,” Olive adds impishly. “It was all very, very scandalous.” Jack smiles. “You should sell the movie rights, Ol.” “I’m hoping for a Netflix miniseries. Something sexy like Bridgerton, you know?”

Teehee

I wonder if he’s been up and about since morning. If he hasn’t had anything since lunch. He’s huge, probably always ravenous. Simple stuff, big portions. “Burgers,” I say. He gives me a Nice try look. “Yes, Elsie, I do like burgers. That wasn’t the question, though.” I scowl. How does he do this? How does he always— “Want me to pull over so you can get out and stomp your foot a bit?”

Yes, of course, health insurance. You won’t have to do this weird fake-dating thing.” Dignity: disintegrated. “Jack told you about that?” “Oh.” She winces. “Um…No. I could…read it in your face?”

He parks. No, he reverse parks. Without sweating or crying or a litany of fuck shit fuck. I hate him.

“So, Breaking Dawn’s the first one.” “What? No. Twilight is the first one. Otherwise it’d be the Breaking Dawn Saga.” “Right. Need a blanket?”

I mean, what about what you want?” “What about that?” “We never focus on that.” “That’s because I have no issues asking for what I want.” “That felt like a backdoor brag,” I mumble resentfully. “It was fully front door.”

“I never thought of myself as the possessive type. But…you were someone else’s for a long time. It drove me a bit crazy in my lizard brain.”

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” I yawn into his neck. “We’re supposed to be doing it.” “We are. We’re going at it like animals. Just close your eyes.”

My first thought is I’m going to buy him curtains. My second: I’m going to do without cheese, insulin, and possibly toilet paper for the next six months. To save up. To buy him curtains.

“You’re more than a bit drunk if you think telling someone that their girlfriend is bland is a good idea.” “She’s not your girlfriend.” “She is if she wants to be. She can be my damn wife if she wants to be.”

“I didn’t know you two talked,” Monica says, looking skeptically between us. “I learned a few years ago,” Jack tells her calmly, staring only at me. She’s little more than a fly buzzing around us. “And Elsie’s in the process of mastering the art of speaking for herself.”

“I want you, Elsie. All the time. I think of you. All. The. Fucking. Time. I’m distracted. I’m shit at work. And my first instinct, the very first time I saw you, was to run away. Because I knew that if we’d start doing this, we would never stop. And that’s exactly how it is. There is no universe in which I’m going to let you go.

“I’m here,” Jack says. We’re alone in this hallway, me and him. Just the two of us, in any way that matters. “But take your time, Elsie. I’ll wait for as long as it takes.”

I get the epilogue now, I'm stupid

“You’re not going to suddenly realize that you don’t really like me, right?” He dips his chin to look at me. “If my feelings for you haven’t changed after reading that Bella and Alice alphaverse fan fiction, I’m pretty sure we’re golden.” “It’s called omegaverse—and you said it was good!”