The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

She pinched him lightly on the underside of his arm. He
yelped and smiled wider, which made her wonder what he
would do if she retaliated by writing her name with sunscreen
on his chest, just enough for him to only get a tan around it.
She tried to imagine his face after taking off his T-shirt,
finding the five letters printed on his flesh in the reflection of
his bathroom mirror. The expression he’d make. Whether he’d
touch them with his fingertips.
Crazy, she told herself. This whole thing, it’s driving you
crazy. So he’s handsome, and you find him attractive. Big deal.
Who cares?
She wiped her mostly lotion-free hands down the columns
of his biceps and took a step back. “You’re good to go, Dr.
Antagonistic.”
He smelled of fresh sweat, himself, and coconut. Olive
wasn’t going to get to talk with him again until Wednesday,
and why the thought came with an odd pang in her chest, she
had no clue.
“Thanks. And thank Anh, I guess.”
“Mm. What do you think she’ll have us do next time?”
He shrugged. “Hold hands?”
“Feed each other strawberries?”
“Good one.”
“Maybe she’ll up her game.”
“Fake wedding?”
“Fake-buy a house together?”
“Fake-sign the mortgage paperwork?”
Olive laughed, and the way he looked at her, kind and
curious and patient . . . she must be hallucinating it. Her head
was not right. She should have brought a sun hat.