Page 252 - The Love Hypothesis

Chapter Seventeen

HYPOTHESIS: When I think I’ve hit rock bottom, someone will hand me a
shovel. That someone is probably Tom Benton.

Olive drifted off after the first time, and dreamed of many strange,
nonsensical things. Sushi rolls shaped like spiders. The first snowfall in
Toronto, during her last year with her mother. Adam’s dimples. Tom

Benton’s sneer as he spat the words “little sob story.” Adam, again, this
time serious, saying her name in his unique way.

Then she felt the mattress dip, and the sound of something being placed
on the nightstand. She slowly blinked awake, disoriented in the dim light of

the room. Adam was sitting on the side of the bed, pushing a lock of hair
behind her ear.

“Hi.” She smiled.
“Hey.”
Her hand reached out to touch his thigh through the pants he’d never

managed to take all the way off. He was still warm, still solid. Still there.
“How long did I sleep?”

“Not long. Maybe thirty minutes.”
“Hmm.” She stretched a bit against the mattress, arms above her head,
and noticed the fresh glass of water on the nightstand. “Is that for me?”

He nodded, handed it to her, and she propped up on her elbow to drink
it, smiling in thanks. She noticed his gaze linger on her breasts, still tender

and sore from his mouth, and then drift away to his own palms.