The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

talk about. Their ten-minute coffee breaks were going to be the
most painful, awkward parts of her already painful, awkward
weeks.
But Anh was going to have her beautiful love story, and
Olive wouldn’t have to wait for ages to use the electron
microscope. That was all that mattered.
She stood and thrust her hand out to him, figuring that
every fake-dating arrangement deserved at least a handshake.
Adam studied it hesitantly for a couple of seconds. Then he
stood and clasped her fingers. He stared at their joined hands
before meeting her eyes, and Olive ordered herself not to
notice the heat of his skin, or how broad he was, or . . .
anything else about him. When he finally let go, she had to
make a conscious effort not to inspect her palm.
Had he done something to her? It sure felt like it. Her flesh
was tingling.
“When do you want to start?”
“How about next week?” It was Friday. Which meant that
she had fewer than seven days to psychologically prepare for
the experience of getting coffee with Adam Carlsen. She knew
that she could do this—if she had worked her way up to a
ninety-seventh percentile on the verbal portion of the GRE,
she could do anything, or as good as—but it still seemed like a
horrible idea.
“Sounds good.”
It was happening. Oh God. “Let’s meet at the Starbucks on
campus. It’s where most of the grads get coffee—someone’s
bound to spot us.” She headed for the door, pausing to glance
back at Adam. “I guess I’ll see you for fake-dating
Wednesday, then?”
He was still standing behind his desk, arms crossed on his
chest. Looking at Olive. Looking entirely less irritated by this