The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

“Hey—sorry.” She gestured in the direction of the
entrance. “A bunch of new people just came in and apparently
the space in this room is finite. I think it’s a law of physics, or
something.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’d take a step back, but . . .”
On the podium, Dr. Moss took the mic and began
introducing Tom.
“Here,” Adam told Olive, making to stand from his chair.
“Take my seat.”
“Oh.” It was nice of him to offer. Not fake-dating-to-saveher-ass,
spend-twenty-bucks-on-junk-food-for-her nice, but
still very nice. Olive couldn’t possibly accept. Plus, Adam was
a professor, which meant that he was older and all that.
Thirtysomething. He did look fit, but he probably had a bum
knee and was only a few years short of osteoporosis. “Thank
you, but—”
“Actually, that would be a terrible idea,” Anh interjected.
Her eyes were darting between Olive and Adam. “No offense,
Dr. Carlsen, but you’re three times larger than Olive. If you
stand, the room’s going to burst.”
Adam stared at Anh like he had no idea whether he’d just
been insulted.
“But,” she continued, this time looking at Olive, “it’d be
great if you could do me a solid and sit on your boyfriend’s
lap, Ol. Just so I don’t have to stand on my toes?”
Olive blinked. And then she blinked again. And then she
blinked some more. Near the podium, Dr. Moss was still
introducing Tom—“Got his Ph.D. from Vanderbilt and then
moved to a postdoctoral fellowship at Harvard University,
where he pioneered several techniques in the field of
imaging”—but her voice sounded as if it was coming from far,