The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

And I bet you do this all the time, so you can tell me how to
—”
“You’d lose.”
The room was chilly. His finger was not inside her
anymore, and his hand had left her hip.
“What?”
“You’d lose your bet.” He sighed, wiping a hand down his
face. The other one, the one that had been inside her, moved
down to adjust his cock. It looked enormous by now, and he
winced as he touched it. “Olive, I can’t.”
“Of course you can.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“What? No. No, I—”
“You’re basically a vir—”
“I’m not!”
“Olive.”
“I am not.”
“But so close to it that—”
“No, that’s not the way it works. Virginity is not a
continuous variable, it’s categorical. Binary. Nominal.
Dichotomous. Ordinal, potentially. I’m talking about chisquare,
maybe Spearman’s correlation, logistic regression, the
logit model and that stupid sigmoid function, and . . .”
It had been weeks and it still took her breath away, the
uneven tilt of his smile. How unanticipated it always was, the
dimples it formed. Olive was left without air as his large palm
cupped the side of her face and brought it down for a slow,
warm, laughing kiss.
“You are such a smart-ass,” he said against her mouth.