Page 161 - The Love Hypothesis

Olive: Please.
Malcolm: Starbucks. In 10.
—

“I TOLD YOU so.”

Olive didn’t bother lifting her forehead from the table. “You didn’t.”
“Well, maybe I didn’t say, ‘Hey, don’t do this fake-dating shit because
you’re going to fall for Carlsen,’ but I did say that the whole idea was

idiotic and a car wreck waiting to happen—which I believe encompasses
the current situation.”

Malcolm was sitting across from her, by the window of the crowded
coffee shop. Around them students chatted, laughed, ordered drinks—

rudely unaware of the sudden maelstrom in Olive’s life. She pushed up
from the cold surface of the table and pressed her palms into her eyes, not

quite ready to open them yet. She might never be ready again. “How could
this happen? I am not like this. This is not me. How could I—and Adam
Carlsen, of everyone. Who is into Adam Carlsen?”

Malcolm snorted. “Everyone, Ol. He’s a tall, broody, sullen hunk with a
genius IQ. Everyone likes tall, broody, sullen hunks with genius IQs.”

“I don’t!”
“Clearly you do.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and whimpered. “He’s really not that
sullen.”

“Oh, he is. Just, you don’t notice, because you’re halfway gone for
him.”
“I am not—” She smacked her forehead. Repeatedly. “Shit.”

He leaned forward and grabbed her hand, his skin dark and warm
against hers. “Hey,” he told her, voice pitched to a comforting tone. “Settle

down. We’ll figure it out.” He even tacked on a smile. Olive loved him so
much in that moment, even with all the I told you sos. “First of all, how bad
is it?”

“I don’t know. Is there a scale?”
“Well, there is liking, and there is liking.”