The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

“Dr. Carlsen.”
Dammit, dammit, dammit. “What about him?”
“I saw the two of you together.”
“Oh. Really?” Olive’s surprise sounded painfully
playacted, even to her own ears. Maybe she should have
signed up for drama club in high school instead of playing
every single sport available.
“Yes. Here, in the department.”
“Oh. Cool. Um, I didn’t see you, or I’d have said hi.”
Anh frowned. “Ol. I saw you. I saw you with Carlsen. You
know that I saw you, and I know that you know that I saw you,
because you’ve been avoiding me.”
“I have not.”
Anh gave her one of her formidable no-bullshit looks. It
was probably the one she used as president of the student
senate, as head of the Stanford Women in Science Association,
as director of outreach for the Organization of BIPOC
Scientists. There was no fight Anh couldn’t win. She was
fearsome and indomitable, and Olive loved this about her—but
not right now.
“You haven’t answered any of my messages for the past
two days. We usually text every hour.”
They did. Multiple times. Olive switched the mug to her
left hand, for no reason other than to buy some time. “I’ve
been . . . busy?”
“Busy?” Anh’s eyebrow shot up. “Busy kissing Carlsen?”
“Oh. Oh, that. That was just . . .”
Anh nodded, as if to encourage her to finish the sentence.
When it became obvious that Olive couldn’t, Anh continued
for her.