The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

been switched on. For a long time she’d thought Adam
handsome and attractive. She’d touched him, sat on his lap,
considered the vague possibility of being intimate with him.
She’d thought about him, about sex, about him and sex, but it
had always been abstract. Hazy and undefined. Like line art in
black and white: just the base for a drawing that was suddenly
coloring on the inside.
It was clear now, in the damp ache pooling between her
thighs, in his eyes that were all pupil, how it would be between
them. Heady and sweaty and slick. Challenging. They would
do things for each other, demand things of each other. They
would be incredibly close. And Olive—now that she could see
it, she really, really wanted it.
She stepped close, even closer. “Well, then.” Her voice was
low, but she knew he could hear her.
He shut his eyes tight. “This is not why I asked you to
room with me.”
“I know.” Olive pushed a black strand of hair away from
his forehead. “It’s also not why I accepted.”
His lips were parted, and he was staring down at her hand,
the one that was almost wrapped around his erection a moment
ago. “You said no sex.”
She had said that. She remembered thinking about her
rules, listing them in his office, and she remembered being
certain that she would never, ever be interested in seeing
Adam Carlsen for longer than ten minutes a week. “I also said
it was going to be an on-campus thing. And we just went out
for dinner. So.” He might know what was best, but what he
wanted was different. She could almost see the debris of his
control, feel it slowly erode.
“I don’t . . .” He straightened, infinitesimally. The line of
his shoulders, his jaw—he was so tense, still avoiding her
eyes. “I don’t have anything.”