The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

caught Anh kissing Adam Carlsen, she’d probably have the
same reaction. Hell, she’d probably be busy booking a fullblown
psychiatric evaluation for Anh.
“Listen,” Anh started, “do you remember last spring, when
I held your hair back while you projectile vomited the five
pounds of spoiled shrimp cocktail you ate at Dr. Park’s
retirement party?”
“Oh, yes. I do.” Olive cocked her head, pensive. “You ate
more than me and never got sick.”
“Because I’m made of sterner stuff, but never mind that.
The point is: I am here for you, and always will be, no matter
what. No matter how many pounds of spoiled shrimp cocktail
you projectile vomit, you can trust me. We’re a team, you and
I. And Malcolm, when he’s not busy screwing his way through
the Stanford population. So if Carlsen is secretly an
extraterrestrial life-form planning a takeover of Earth that will
ultimately result in humanity being enslaved by evil overlords
who look like cicadas, and the only way to stop him is dating
him, you can tell me and I’ll inform NASA—”
“For God’s sake”—Olive had to laugh—“it was just a
date!”
Anh looked pained. “I just don’t understand.”
Because it doesn’t make sense. “I know, but there is
nothing to understand. It’s just . . . We went on a date.”
“But . . . why? Ol, you’re beautiful and smart and funny
and have excellent taste in knee socks, why would you go out
with Adam Carlsen?”
Olive scratched her nose. “Because he is . . .” It cost her, to
say the word. Oh, it cost her. But she had to. “Nice.”
“Nice?” Anh’s eyebrows shot up so high they almost
merged with her hairline.