The Love Hypothesis (Love Hypothesis #1)(74)

She turned away, and her eyes fell on a couple at a table a few feet to their right. They were the mirror image of Adam and Olive, sitting on each side of their booth, all warm glances and tentative smiles. “Do you think they’re on a fake date?” she asked, leaning back against her seat.

Adam followed her gaze to the couple. “I thought those mostly involved coffee shops and sunscreen applications?”

“Nah. Only the best ones.”

He laughed silently. “Well.” He focused on the table, and on angling his chopsticks so that they were parallel to each other. “I can definitely recommend it.”

Olive dipped her chin to hide a smile and then leaned forward to steal one edamame.



* * *



—

IN THE ELEVATOR she held on to his biceps and took off her heels, failing disastrously at being graceful as he studied her and shook his head. “I thought you said they didn’t hurt?” He sounded curious. Amused? Fond?

“That was ages ago.” Olive picked them up and let them dangle from her fingers. When she straightened, Adam was again impossibly tall. “Now I am very ready to chop off my feet.”

The elevator pinged, and the doors opened. “That seems counterproductive.”

“Oh, you have no idea— Hey, what are you—?”

Her heart skipped what felt like a dozen beats when Adam swept her up into a full bridal carry. She yelped, and he carried her to their room, all because she had a blister on her pinkie toe. Without much of a choice, she closed her arms around his neck and sank against him, trying to make sure she’d survive if he decided to drop her. His hands were warm around her back and knee, forearms tight and strong.

He smelled amazing. He felt even better.

“You know, the room’s only twenty meters away—”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Adam.”

“We Americans think in feet, Canada.”

“I’m too heavy.”

“You really are.” The ease with which he shifted her in his arms to slide the key card belied his words. “You should cut pumpkin-flavored drinks from your diet.”

She pulled his hair and smiled into his shoulder. “Never.”

Their name tags were still on the TV table, exactly where they’d left them, and there was a conference program half-open on Adam’s bed, not to mention tote bags and a mountain of useless flyers. Olive noticed them immediately, and it was like having a thousand little splinters pressed deep into a fresh wound. It brought back every single word Tom had said to her, all his lies and his truths and his mocking insults, and . . .

Adam must have known. As soon as he put her down, he gathered everything that was conference related and stuck it on a chair facing the windows, where it was hidden from their sight, and Olive . . . She could have hugged him. She wasn’t going to—she already had, twice today—but she really could have. Instead she resolutely pushed all those little splinters out of her mind, plopped herself down on her bed belly up, and stared at the ceiling.

She’d thought it would be awkward, being with him in such a small space for a whole night. And it was a little bit, or at least it had been when she’d first arrived earlier today, but now she felt calm and safe. Like her world, constantly hectic and messy and demanding, was slowing down. Easing up, just a bit.

The bedcover rustled under her head when she turned to look at Adam. He seemed relaxed, too, as he draped his jacket against the back of a chair, then took off his watch and set it neatly on the desk. The casual domesticity of it—the thought that his day and hers would end in the same place, at the same time—soothed her like a slow caress down her spine.

“Thank you. For buying me food.”

He glanced at her, crinkling his nose. “I don’t know that there was any food involved.”

She smiled, rolling to her side. “You’re not going out again?”

“Out?”

“Yeah. To meet other very important science people? Eat another seven pounds of edamame?”

“I think I’ve had enough networking and edamame for this decade.” He took off his shoes and socks, and set them neatly by the bed.

“You’re staying in, then?”

He paused and looked at her. “Unless you’d rather be alone?”

No, I would not. She propped herself up on her elbow. “Let’s watch a movie.”

Adam blinked at her. “Sure.” He sounded surprised but not displeased. “But if your taste in movies is anything like your taste in restaurants, it’ll probably—”

He didn’t see the pillow coming at him. It bounced off his face and then fell to the floor, making Olive giggle and spring off the bed. “You mind if I shower, before?”

“You smart-ass.”

She started rummaging through her suitcase. “You can pick the movie! I don’t care which one, as long as there are no scenes in which horses are killed, because it— Crap.”

“What?”

“I forgot my pajamas.” She looked for her phone in the pockets of her coat. It wasn’t there, and she realized that she hadn’t brought it with her to the restaurant. “Have you seen my— Oh, there it is.”

The battery was almost dead, probably because she had forgotten to turn off the recording after her talk. She hadn’t checked her messages in a few hours, and found several unread texts—mostly from Anh and Malcolm, asking her where she was and if she still planned to come to the social, telling her to get her ass there ASAP because “the booze is flowing like a river,” and then, finally, just informing her that they were all going downtown to a bar. Anh must have been well on her way to wasted by that point, because her last message read: Clallif u want tp join ? us, Olvie