The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

equivalent of a father cleaning his rifle in front of his
daughter’s boyfriend before prom.”
“Aww, Daddy.”
There was nowhere to sit, of course, not even on the floor
or on the steps. Olive spotted Adam in an aisle seat a few
meters away. He was back to his usual black Henley and deep
in conversation with Holden Rodrigues. When Adam’s eyes
met Olive’s, she grinned and waved at him. For some yet
unknown reason that likely had to do with the fact that they
were sharing this huge, ridiculous, unlikely secret, Adam now
felt like a friendly face. He didn’t wave back, but his gaze
seemed softer and warmer, and his mouth curved into that tilt
that she’d learned to recognize as his version of a smile.
“I can’t believe they didn’t switch the talk to one of the
bigger auditoriums. There is not nearly enough space for—
Oh, no. No, no, no.”
Olive followed Anh’s gaze, and saw at least twenty new
people arrive. The crowd immediately started pushing Olive
toward the front of the room. Anh yelped when a first-year
from neuroscience who weighed about four times as much as
she did stepped on her toe. “This is ridiculous.”
“I know. I can’t believe more people are—”
Olive’s hip bumped against something—someone. She
turned to apologize, and—it was Adam. Or, Adam’s shoulder.
He was still chatting with Dr. Rodrigues, who wore a
displeased expression and was muttering, “Why are we even
here?”
“Because he’s a friend,” Adam said.
“Not my friend.”
Adam sighed and turned to look at Olive.