The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

“Dude, he just moved a truck. By himself. On uphill
ground. He deserves a damn kiss.” Anh shoved Olive and
made a shooing motion.
Olive clenched her teeth and headed in Adam’s direction,
wishing she’d gone ahead and drawn twenty dicks all over
Anh’s face. Maybe she did suspect that Olive was faking her
relationship with Adam. Or maybe she just got a kick out of
pressuring her into PDA’ing, that ingrate. Either way, if this
was what one got for masterminding an intricate fake-dating
scheme that was supposed to benefit a friend’s love life, then
maybe—
Olive halted abruptly.
Adam’s head was bent forward, black hair covering his
forehead as he wiped the sweat from his eyes with the hem of
his shirt. It left a broad strip of flesh visible on his torso, and—
it was nothing indecent, really, nothing unusual, just some fit
guy’s midriff, but for some reason Olive couldn’t help staring
at Adam Carlsen’s uncovered skin like it was a slab of Italian
marble, and—
“Olive?” he said, and she immediately averted her eyes.
Crap, he’d totally caught her staring. First she’d forced him to
kiss her, and now she was ogling him like some perv in the
biology parking lot and—
“Did you need anything?”
“No, I . . .” She felt her cheeks go crimson.
His skin, too, was flushed from the effort of pushing, and
his eyes were bright and clear, and he seemed . . . well, at least
he didn’t seem unhappy to see her.
“Anh sent me to give you a kiss.”
He froze halfway through wiping his hands on his shirt.
And then he said “Ah” in his usual neutral, unreadable tone.