The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

“Totally. At least according to the issue of Cosmopolitan
we keep at home to swat cockroaches.”
He shrugged, like a man who’d only ever read the New
England Journal of Medicine and maybe Truck-Pushing
Digest. “Why would anyone care one way or the other?”
“Maybe they don’t want to unknowingly have sex with
people with horrible, disfigured toes?”
“Do you have disfigured toes?”
“Truly grotesque. Circus-worthy. Antithetical to sex.
Basically a built-in contraceptive.”
He sighed, clearly amused. He was struggling to hold on to
his moody, broody, intense act, and Olive loved it.
“I’ve seen you in flip-flops multiple times. Which, by the
way, are not lab compliant.”
“You must be mistaken.”
“Really.”
“I don’t like what you’re insinuating, Dr. Carlsen. I take the
Stanford environmental health and safety guidelines very
seriously and— What are you—”
He was so much larger than her, he could hold her down
with one hand on her belly as he wrestled her out of her socks,
and for some reason she loved every moment of it. She put up
a good fight, and maybe he’d have a couple of bruises
tomorrow, but when he finally managed to take them off,
Olive was out of breath from laughing. Adam caressed her feet
reverently, as though they were delicate and perfectly shaped
instead of belonging to someone who ran two marathons a
year.
“You were right,” he said. Chest heaving, she looked at him
curiously. “Your feet are pretty hideous.”