Page 63 - The Love Hypothesis

He stared at her with a puzzled expression, until she cleared her throat

and looked down at her knees. “Right.” God, they had nothing in common.
They’d never find anything to talk about. Their ten-minute coffee breaks
were going to be the most painful, awkward parts of her already painful,

awkward weeks.
But Anh was going to have her beautiful love story, and Olive wouldn’t

have to wait for ages to use the electron microscope. That was all that
mattered.

She stood and thrust her hand out to him, figuring that every fake-dating
arrangement deserved at least a handshake. Adam studied it hesitantly for a

couple of seconds. Then he stood and clasped her fingers. He stared at their
joined hands before meeting her eyes, and Olive ordered herself not to
notice the heat of his skin, or how broad he was, or . . . anything else about

him. When he finally let go, she had to make a conscious effort not to
inspect her palm.

Had he done something to her? It sure felt like it. Her flesh was tingling.
“When do you want to start?”

“How about next week?” It was Friday. Which meant that she had fewer
than seven days to psychologically prepare for the experience of getting

coffee with Adam Carlsen. She knew that she could do this—if she had
worked her way up to a ninety-seventh percentile on the verbal portion of
the GRE, she could do anything, or as good as—but it still seemed like a

horrible idea.
“Sounds good.”

It was happening. Oh God. “Let’s meet at the Starbucks on campus. It’s
where most of the grads get coffee—someone’s bound to spot us.” She

headed for the door, pausing to glance back at Adam. “I guess I’ll see you
for fake-dating Wednesday, then?”

He was still standing behind his desk, arms crossed on his chest.
Looking at Olive. Looking entirely less irritated by this mess than she’d
ever have expected. Looking . . . nice. “See you, Olive.”

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