The Love Hypothesis (Love Hypothesis #1)(20)

“Isn’t Carlsen your best friend now?”

“Come on, Malcolm. He’s an ass. But he’s actually been pretty nice to me, and—”

“I’m not even—” He grimaced. “I’m not going to address this.”

She sighed. “Okay. Don’t address this. You don’t have to. But can you just not hate me? Please? I know he’s been a nightmare to half the grads in the program, you included. But he’s helping me out. You and Anh are the only ones I care about knowing the truth. But I can’t tell Anh—”

“—for obvious reasons.”

“—for obvious reasons,” she finished at the same time, and smiled. He just shook his head disapprovingly, but his expression had softened.

“Ol. You’re amazing. And kind, way too kind. You should find someone better than Carlsen. Someone to date for real.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes. “Because it went so well with Jeremy. Who, by the way, I only agreed to date following your advice! ‘Give the boy a chance,’ you said. ‘What could possibly go wrong?’ you said.”

Malcolm glared, and she laughed.

“Listen, I’m clearly bad at real dating. Maybe fake dating will be different. Maybe I’ve found my niche.”

He sighed. “Does it have to be Carlsen? There are better faculty members to fake-date.”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know. Dr. McCoy?”

“Didn’t her wife just give birth to triplets?”

“Oh, yeah. What about Holden Rodrigues? He’s hot. Cute smile, too. I would know—he always smiles at me.”

Olive burst into laughter. “I could never fake-date Dr. Rodrigues, not with how assiduously you’ve been thirsting after him for the past two years.”

“I have, haven’t I? Did I ever tell you about the serious flirting that happened between us at the undergrad research fair? I’m pretty sure he winked at me multiple times from the other side of the room. Now, some say he just had something in his eye, but—”

“Me. I said that he probably had something in his eye. And you tell me about it every other day.”

“Right.” He sighed. “You know, Ol, I would have fake-dated you myself in a heartbeat, to spare you from goddamned Carlsen. I would have held hands with you, and given you my jacket when you were cold, and very publicly gifted you chocolate roses and teddy bears on Valentine’s Day.”

How refreshing, to talk with someone who’d watched a rom-com. Or ten. “I know. But you also bring home a different person every week, and you love it, and I love that you love it. I don’t want to cramp your style.”

“Fair.” Malcolm looked pleased—whether at the fact that he really did get around a fair bit or at Olive’s thorough understanding of his dating habits, she wasn’t sure.

“Can you please not hate me, then?”

He tossed the kitchen cloth onto the counter and stepped closer. “Ol. I could never hate you. You’ll always be my kalamata.” He pulled her into his chest, hugging her tight. At the beginning, when they’d just met, Olive had been constantly disoriented by how physical he was, probably because it had been years since she’d experienced such affectionate contact. Now, Malcolm’s hugs were her happy place.

She laid her head on his shoulder and smiled into the cotton of his T-shirt. “Thanks.”

Malcolm held her tighter.

“And I promise if I ever bring Adam home, I’ll put a sock on my door— Ouch!”

“You evil creature.”

“I was kidding! Wait, don’t leave, I have something important to tell you.”

He paused by the door, scowling. “I’ve reached my maximum daily intake of Carlsen-related conversation. Anything further will be lethal, so—”

“Tom Benton, the cancer researcher from Harvard, reached out to me! It’s not decided yet, but he might be interested in having me in his lab next year.”

“Oh my God.” Malcolm walked back to her, delighted. “Ol, this is amazing! I thought none of the researchers you contacted had gotten back to you?”

“Not for the longest time. But now Benton has, and you know how famous and well-known he is. He probably has more research funds than I could ever dream of. It would be—”

“Fantastic. It would really be fantastic. Ol. I am so proud of you.” Malcolm took her hands in his. His face-splitting grin slowly gentled. “And your mom would be so proud, too.”

Olive looked away, blinking rapidly. She didn’t want to cry, not tonight. “Nothing is set in stone. I’ll have to persuade him. It will involve quite a bit of politicking and going through the whole ‘pitch me your research’ bit. Which as you know is not my forte. It might still not work out—”

“It will work out.”

Right. Yes. She needed to be optimistic. She nodded, attempting a smile.

“But even if it didn’t . . . she would still be proud.”

Olive nodded again. When a single tear managed to slide down her cheek, she decided to let it be.

Forty-five minutes later, she and Malcolm sat on their minuscule couch, arms pressed together, watching reruns of American Ninja Warrior while they ate a very undersalted veggie casserole.