Page 102 - The Love Hypothesis

“Ol, go give him a kiss.”

Olive whirled around, abruptly reminded of Anh’s existence. “What?”
No. No. “I’m good. I just said goodbye to him a minute ago and—”
“Ol, why don’t you want to go kiss your boyfriend?”

Ugh. “I . . . It’s not that I don’t want to. I just—”
“Dude, he just moved a truck. By himself. On uphill ground. He

deserves a damn kiss.” Anh shoved Olive and made a shooing motion.
Olive clenched her teeth and headed in Adam’s direction, wishing she’d

gone ahead and drawn twenty dicks all over Anh’s face. Maybe she did
suspect that Olive was faking her relationship with Adam. Or maybe she

just got a kick out of pressuring her into PDA’ing, that ingrate. Either way,
if this was what one got for masterminding an intricate fake-dating scheme
that was supposed to benefit a friend’s love life, then maybe—

Olive halted abruptly.
Adam’s head was bent forward, black hair covering his forehead as he

wiped the sweat from his eyes with the hem of his shirt. It left a broad strip
of flesh visible on his torso, and—it was nothing indecent, really, nothing

unusual, just some fit guy’s midriff, but for some reason Olive couldn’t help
staring at Adam Carlsen’s uncovered skin like it was a slab of Italian

marble, and—
“Olive?” he said, and she immediately averted her eyes. Crap, he’d
totally caught her staring. First she’d forced him to kiss her, and now she

was ogling him like some perv in the biology parking lot and—
“Did you need anything?”

“No, I . . .” She felt her cheeks go crimson.
His skin, too, was flushed from the effort of pushing, and his eyes were

bright and clear, and he seemed . . . well, at least he didn’t seem unhappy to
see her.

“Anh sent me to give you a kiss.”
He froze halfway through wiping his hands on his shirt. And then he
said “Ah” in his usual neutral, unreadable tone.

“Because you moved the truck. I—I know how ridiculous that sounds. I
know. But I didn’t want her to get suspicious, and there are faculty