Page 169 - The Love Hypothesis
P. 169

need to stop our arrangement early, because I can’t tell him that I like him.

                Because I—”
                    “Dude.” A hand clapped on Adam’s shoulder. “Since when are you not
                in your offi— Oh. I see.” Dr. Rodrigues’s gaze slid from Adam to Olive and

                settled  on  her.  For  a  second,  he  just  stood  by  the  table  and  took  her  in,
                surprised to find her there. Then his mouth widened into a slow grin. “Hey,

                Olive.”
                    During Olive’s first year of grad school, Dr. Rodrigues had been on her

                preassigned graduate advisory committee—an admittedly odd choice, given
                his relative lack of  relevance to her research. And  yet, Olive had mostly

                pleasant memories of her interactions with him. When she’d stammered her
                way through her committee meetings, he’d always been the first to smile at
                her,  and  once  he’d  even  complimented  her  Star  Wars  T-shirt—and  then

                proceeded to hum the Darth Vader theme under his breath every time Dr.
                Moss would start one of her rants against Olive’s methods.

                    “Hey, Dr. Rodrigues.” She was positive that her smile was not nearly as
                convincing as it should have been. “How are you?”

                    He waved a hand. “Pssh. Please, call me Holden. You’re not my student
                anymore.” He patted Adam on the back with relish. “And you have the very

                dubious pleasure of dating my oldest, most socially impaired friend.”
                    It was all Olive could do not to let her jaw drop. They were friends?
                Charming,  devil-may-care  Holden  Rodrigues  and  surly,  taciturn  Adam

                Carlsen were old friends? Was this something she was supposed to know?
                Adam’s girlfriend would have known, right?

                    Dr. Rodrigues—Holden? God, Holden. She was never going to get used
                to the fact that professors were real people and had first names—turned to

                Adam, who appeared untroubled by having been decreed socially impaired.
                    He  asked,  “You’re  leaving  for  Boston  tonight,  right?”  and  his  speech

                pattern  changed  a  little—pitched  lower  and  faster,  more  casual.
                Comfortable. They really were old friends.
                    “Yeah. Can you still give Tom and me a ride to the airport?”

                    “Depends.”
                    “On what?”
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