Page 124 - The Love Hypothesis

It wasn’t her first time touching him. Therefore, she shouldn’t have been

surprised by how hard his muscles were, or that there was no give to his
flesh. Olive remembered the way he’d pushed the truck, imagined that he
could probably bench-press three times her weight, and then ordered herself

to stop, because that was not an appropriate train of thought. Still, the issue
remained that there was nothing between her hand and his skin. He was hot

from the sun, his shoulders relaxed and immobile under her touch. Even in
public, close as they were, it felt like something intimate was happening.

“So.” Her mouth was dry. “This might be a good time to mention how
sorry I am that we keep getting stuck in these situations.”

“It’s fine.”
“I really am, though.”
“It’s not your fault.” There was an edge in his voice.

“Are you okay?”
“Yep.” He nodded, though the movement seemed taut. Which had Olive

realizing that maybe he was not as relaxed as she’d initially thought.
“How much do you hate this, on a scale from one to ‘correlation equals

causation’?”
He surprised her by chuckling, though he still sounded strained. “I don’t

hate it. And it’s not your fault.”
“Because I know this is the worst possible thing, and—”
“It isn’t. Olive.” He turned a bit to look her in the eyes, a mix of

amusement and that odd tension. “These things are going to keep on
happening.”

“Right.”
His fingers brushed softly against her left palm as he stole a bit of her

sunscreen for his front. Which, all in all, was for the best. She really didn’t
want to be massaging lotion into his chest in front of 70 percent of her

Ph.D. program—not to mention her boss, since Dr. Aslan was probably
watching them like a hawk. Or maybe she wasn’t. Olive had no intention of
turning around to check. She’d rather live in less-than-blissful ignorance.

“Mostly because you hang out with some really nosy people.”