The Love Hypothesis (Love Hypothesis #1)(33)

“I mean, not like a kiss kiss,” she hastened to add. “But like the last time? You know.”

He didn’t seem to know. Which made sense, because their other kiss had definitely been a kiss kiss. Olive tried not to think about it too much, but it flashed in her mind every once in a while, mostly when she was doing something important that required her utmost concentration, like implanting electrodes inside a mouse’s pancreas or trying to decide what to order at Subway. Occasionally it would pop up during a quiet moment, like when she was in bed and about to fall asleep, and she would feel a mixture of embarrassment and incredulity and something else. Something that she had no intention of examining too closely, not now and not ever.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, even though she wasn’t sure at all. “Is Anh still staring at us?”

His eyes flicked up. “Yes. She’s not even pretending not to. I . . . why does she care so much? Are you famous?”

“No, Adam.” She gestured at him. “You are.”

“Am I?” He looked perplexed.

“Anyway, no need to kiss. You’re right that it would probably be a bit weird.”

“No. No, I didn’t mean that . . .” There was a droplet of sweat running down his temple, and he wiped his face again, this time with the sleeve of his shirt. “We can kiss.”

“Oh.”

“If you think that . . . If your friend is watching.”

“Yeah.” Olive swallowed. “But we don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“Unless you want to.” Olive’s palms felt damp and clammy, so she surreptitiously wiped them on her jeans. “And by ‘want to’ I mean, unless you think it’s a good idea.” It so was not a good idea. It was a horrible idea. Like all her ideas.

“Right.” He looked past Olive and toward Anh, who was probably in the middle of doing an entire Instagram Story on them. “Okay, then.”

“Okay.”

He stepped a little closer, and really, he was not gross. How someone this sweaty, someone who’d just pushed a truck, still managed to smell good was a topic worthy of a Ph.D. dissertation, for sure. Earth’s finest scientists should have been hard at work on this.

“Why don’t I . . .” Olive inched slightly into him, and after letting her hand hover for a moment she rested it over Adam’s shoulder. She pushed up on her toes, angling her head up toward him. It helped very little, as Olive was still not tall enough to reach his mouth, so she tried to get more leverage by putting her other hand on his arm, and immediately realized that she was basically hugging him. Which was the exact thing he had asked her not to do a second ago. Crap.

“Sorry, too close? I didn’t mean to—”

She would have finished the sentence, if he hadn’t closed the distance between them and just—kissed her. Just like that.

It was little more than a peck—just his lips pressing against hers, and his hand on her waist to steady her a little. It was a kiss, but barely, and it certainly didn’t warrant the way her heart pounded in her chest, or the fact that there was something warm and liquid looping at the bottom of her belly. Not unpleasant, but confusing and a bit scary nonetheless, and it had Olive pull back after only a second. When she eased back on her heels, it seemed like for a fraction of a moment Adam followed her, trying to fill the gap between their mouths. Though by the time she’d blinked herself free of the haze of the kiss, he was standing tall in front of her, cheekbones dusted with red and chest moving up and down in shallow breaths. She must have dreamed up that last bit.

She needed to avert her eyes from him, now. And he needed to look elsewhere, too. Why were they staring at each other?

“Okay,” she chirped. “That, um . . . worked.”

Adam’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t reply.

“Well, then. I’m going to . . . um . . .” She gestured behind her shoulders with her thumb.

“Anh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, to Anh.”

He swallowed heavily. “Okay. Yeah.”

They had kissed. They had kissed—twice, now. Twice. Not that it mattered. No one cared. But. Twice. Plus, the lap. Earlier today. Again, not that it mattered.

“I’ll see you around, right? Next week?”

He lifted his fingers to his lips, then let his arm drop to his side. “Yes. On Wednesday.”

It was Thursday now. Which meant that they were going to see each other in six days. Which was fine. Olive was fine, no matter when or how often they met. “Yep. See you Wed— Hey, what about the picnic?”

“The— Oh.” Adam rolled his eyes, looking a little more like himself. “Right. That fu—” He stopped short. “That picnic.”

She grinned. “It’s on Monday.”

He sighed. “I know.”

“You’re still going?”

He gave her a look that clearly stated: It’s not like I have a choice, even though I’d rather have my nails extracted one by one. With pliers.

Olive laughed. “Well. I’m going, too.”

“At least there’s that.”

“Are you bringing Tom?”

“Probably. He actually likes people.”

“Okay. I can network with him a bit, and you and I can show off how steady and committed we are to the department chair. You’ll look like a wingless bird. No flight risk whatsoever.”