The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

Because millions of dollars in research funds couldn’t be
worth having some girl he barely knew sit on his lap in the
most crowded room in the history of crowded rooms.
Is this okay? she tried to ask him with her eyes. Because
maybe this is a little too much. Way more than saying hi to
each other and having coffee together.
He gave her a brief nod, and then—Olive, or at least
Olive’s body, was stepping toward Adam and gingerly sitting
on his thigh, her knees tucked between his spread legs. It was
happening. It had happened already. Olive was here.
Sitting.
On.
Adam.
This. Yep, this.
This was her life now.
She was going to murder Anh for this. Slowly. Maybe
painfully, too. She was going to be jailed for bestfriendicide,
and she was a-okay with it.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Adam. He was so tall, her
mouth was not quite level with his ear. She could smell him—
the woodsiness of his shampoo, his body wash, and something
else underneath, dark and good and clean. It all felt familiar,
and after a few seconds Olive realized that it was because of
the last time they had been this close. Because of The Night.
Because of the kiss. “So, so sorry.”
He didn’t immediately answer. His jaw tensed, and he
looked in the direction of the PowerPoint. Dr. Moss was gone,
Tom was talking about cancer diagnostics, and Olive would
have gobbled this up on a regular day, but right now she just
needed out. Of the talk. Of the room. Of her own life.