The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

Oh. Maybe, now that they had sex—good sex, Olive
thought, amazing sex, though who knew about Adam?—he
needed his own space. Maybe he wanted his own damn pillow.
She returned the empty glass and sat up. “I should move to
my bed.”
He shook his head with an intensity that suggested that he
didn’t want her to go, not anywhere, not ever. His free hand
closed tight around her waist, as if to tether her to him.
Olive didn’t mind.
“You sure? I suspect I might be a cover hog.”
“It’s fine. I run warm.” He brushed a strand of hair from
her forehead. “And according to someone, I look like I might
snore.”
She gasped in mock outrage. “How dare they? Tell me who
said that and I will personally avenge you—” She yelped when
he held the icy-cool glass against her neck, and then dissolved
into laughter, drawing up her knees and trying to twist away
from him. “I’m sorry—you don’t snore! You sleep like a
prince!”
“Damn right.” He set the glass on the nightstand, appeased,
but Olive remained curled up, cheeks flushed and breathing
hard from fending him off. He was smiling. With dimples, too.
The same smile he’d smiled into her neck earlier, against her
skin, the one that had tickled her and made her laugh.
“I’m sorry about the socks, by the way.” She winced. “I
know it’s a controversial topic.”
Adam looked down at the rainbow-colored material
stretched around her calves. “Socks are controversial?”
“Not socks per se. Just, keeping them on during sex?”
“Really?”