The Love Hypothesis

“Don’t get Malcolm started on pumpkin spice,” she told Holden in an exaggerated whisper.

“Oh, shit.” Holden clutched his chest in mock terror.

“This is a serious matter.” Malcolm let his menu fall on the table. “Pumpkin spice is Satan’s dandruff, harbinger of the apocalypse, and it tastes like ass—not in the good way.”

Now tell Malcolm it wasn’t personal, so we can move on and have fried rice.”

“Oh my God,” Malcolm muttered. “Holden, please.”

“I’m not having fried rice,” Adam said.

“You can have raw bamboo while the normal people have fried rice

Now, Adam, I’ve been telling Malcolm that you were probably just having a bad day—maybe one of your grads had split an infinitive in an email, or your arugula salad wasn’t organic enough. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Are you gonna puke in my car?”



Olive shook her head. No. Yes. “Maybe?”



“Don’t, or I’ll destroy your rating.”

“Are you afraid of needles?”



He went still. Completely immobile. He wasn’t breathing anymore. “I’m not afraid of needles.”



“It’s okay,” she said, making her tone as reassuring as possible.



“I know, since I’m not—”



“This is a safe space for you and your fear of needles.”



“There is no fear of—”



“I get it, needles are scary.”



“It’s not—”



“You are allowed to be scared.”

Out of the ensemble, the only nonblack items were the AirPods in his ears, peeking through the damp waves of his hair. She felt her cheeks curve into a smile, trying to imagine what he was listening to. Probably Coil, or Kraftwerk. The Velvet Underground. A TED Talk on water-efficient landscaping. Whale noises.

“Would you like half a dollar, then? For the chips?”



“Keep it.”



“Great. Because it’s about a third of my monthly salary.”

“Are you bringing Tom?”



“Probably. He actually likes people.”



“Okay. I can network with him a bit, and you and I can show off how steady and committed we are to the department chair. You’ll look like a wingless bird. No flight risk whatsoever.”



“Perfect. I’ll bring a counterfeit marriage license to casually drop at his feet.”

Plus, Adam was a professor, which meant that he was older and all that. Thirtysomething. He did look fit, but he probably had a bum knee and was only a few years short of osteoporosis.

Was she free? Technically, yes. She would have loved to run to the edge of campus and scream into the void until modern civilization collapsed, but that wasn’t exactly a pressing matter

“Hey. If I have to choose between you and pumpkin spice latte, maybe we should rethink our arrangement.”

you could stay mad, and we could go to your lab and throw test tubes full of toxic reagents at each other until the pain of third-degree burns overrides your shitty mood? Sounds like fun, no?”

What do you do for fun?” He was probably into something atrocious, like cow-tipping excursions or Japanese beetle fighting. Maybe he collected porcelain dolls. Maybe he was an avid geocacher. Maybe he frequented vaping conventions. Oh God

“You mean you’ve done this before?”



She frowned. “Done what?”



“Put in expired contacts.”



“Of course. Contacts are not cheap.”



“Neither are eyes.”

But. “Have you considered getting a real girlfriend?”



His eyebrow lifted. “Have you considered getting a real date?”



“Touché.”

— Думаю, мне лучше уйти, — сказала она нежно, не глядя на него. Он отпустил её без слов, и она ушла.
Услышав, как щёлкнул за спиной дверной замок, она почувствовала себя так, будто падает с большой высоты.

Гипотеза: сердце разрывается легче самой слабой водородной связи.

Может, ты просто пробуждаешь всё лучшее во мне?

Гипотеза: у нас с Адамом Карлсеном нет абсолютно ничего общего, и пить с ним кофе будет вдвое болезненнее, чем удалять зубной нерв. Без анестезии.

Ради счастья подруги Оливия была готова и на большие жертвы, что уж говорить о такой мелочи — притвориться, будто она была на свидании с Карлсеном.