Page 121 - The Love Hypothesis

Olive tore her eyes from Adam’s chest, now alarmingly close, and

turned around, stepping away from Anh. “Wait. I already put some on.”
“Ol,” Anh told her, with that sensible, motherly tone she used whenever
Olive slipped and confessed that she mostly got her veggie servings from

french fries, or that she washed her colors and whites in the same load.
“You know the literature.”

“I do not know the literature, and neither do you, you just know one line
from one abstract and—”

Anh grabbed Olive’s hand again and poured half a gallon of lotion in it.
So much of it that Olive had to use her left palm to prevent it from spilling

over—until she was just standing there like an idiot, her hands cupped like
a beggar as she half drowned in goddamn sunscreen.
“Here you go.” Anh smiled brightly. “Now you can protect yourself

from basal cell carcinoma. Which, frankly, sounds awful.”
“I . . .” Olive would have face-palmed, if she’d had the freedom to move

her upper limbs. “I hate sunscreen. It’s sticky and it makes me smell like a
piña colada and—this is way too much.”

“Just put on as much as your skin will absorb. Especially around the
freckled areas. The rest, you can share with someone.”

“Okay. Anh, then, you take some. You too, Jeremy. You’re a ginger, for
God’s sake.”
“A redhead with no freckles, though.” He smiled proudly, like he’d

created his genotype all on his own. “And I already put on a ton. Thanks,
babe.” He leaned down for a brief kiss to Anh’s cheek, which almost

devolved into a make-out session.
Olive tried not to sigh. “Guys, what do I do with this?”

“Just find someone else. Where did Malcolm go?”
Jeremy snorted. “Over there, with Jude.”

“Jude?” Anh frowned.
“Yeah, that neuro fifth-year.”
“The MD-Ph.D.? Are they dating or—”

“Guys.” It took Olive all she had not to yell. “I have no mobility. Please,
fix this sunscreen mess you created.”