Page 160 - The Love Hypothesis

“Ol. I just want you to know that . . . I was very worried about you

getting hurt from my dating Jeremy. But now I’m not anymore. Because I
know what you really look like when you . . . Well.” Anh gave her a
sheepish grin. “I won’t say it, if you don’t want me to.”

She left with a wave of her hand, and Olive stood frozen, watching the
doorframe long past the moment Anh had disappeared. Then she lowered

her gaze to the floor, slumped on the stool behind her, and thought one
single thing:

Shit.
—

THE end of the world. These things happened. Even the best of
IT WASN’T
people developed crushes—Anh had said love, oh God, she had said love—

on the person they were fake-dating. It didn’t mean anything.
Except that: Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Olive locked the door of her office behind her and plopped herself into a
chair, hoping today wouldn’t be the one time in the semester that her office
mates decided to show up before 10:00 a.m.

It was all her fault. Her stupid doing. She had known, she had known,
that she’d begun to find Adam attractive. 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. It had been there, staring at

Olive for the past few days, and she hadn’t noticed. Because she was an
idiot.
She stood abruptly and dug into her pocket for her phone, pulling up

Malcolm’s contact.

Olive: We have to meet.
Bless Malcolm, because it took him fewer than five seconds to answer.
Malcolm: Lunch? I’m about to dig into the neuromuscular

junction of a juvenile rat.

Olive: I need to talk to you NOW.