It wasn’t her first time touching him. Therefore, she shouldn’t have been surprised by how hard his muscles were, or that there was no give to his flesh. Olive remembered the way he’d pushed the truck, imagined that he could probably bench-press three times her weight, and then ordered herself to stop, because that was not an appropriate train of thought. Still, the issue remained that there was nothing between her hand and his skin. He was hot from the sun, his shoulders relaxed and immobile under her touch. Even in public, close as they were, it felt like something intimate was happening.
“So.” Her mouth was dry. “This might be a good time to mention how sorry I am that we keep getting stuck in these situations.”
“It’s fine.”
“I really am, though.”
“It’s not your fault.” There was an edge in his voice.
“Are you okay?”
“Yep.” He nodded, though the movement seemed taut. Which had Olive realizing that maybe he was not as relaxed as she’d initially thought.
“How much do you hate this, on a scale from one to ‘correlation equals causation’?”
He surprised her by chuckling, though he still sounded strained. “I don’t hate it. And it’s not your fault.”
“Because I know this is the worst possible thing, and—”
“It isn’t. Olive.” He turned a bit to look her in the eyes, a mix of amusement and that odd tension. “These things are going to keep on happening.”
“Right.”
His fingers brushed softly against her left palm as he stole a bit of her sunscreen for his front. Which, all in all, was for the best. She really didn’t want to be massaging lotion into his chest in front of 70 percent of her Ph.D. program—not to mention her boss, since Dr. Aslan was probably watching them like a hawk. Or maybe she wasn’t. Olive had no intention of turning around to check. She’d rather live in less-than-blissful ignorance. “Mostly because you hang out with some really nosy people.”
She burst out laughing. “I know. Believe me, I’m really regretting befriending Anh right now. Kind of contemplating assassinating her, to tell the truth.”
She moved to his shoulder blades. He had a lot of small moles and freckles, and she wondered exactly how inappropriate it would be if she played connect the dots on them with her fingers. She could just imagine the amazing pictures it would reveal.
“But hey, the long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proven by scientists. And you are pretty pale. Here, duck a bit more, so I can get your neck.”
“Mmm.”
She walked around him to get to the front part of his shoulders. He was so big, she was going to have to use all this stupid lotion. Might even need to ask Anh for more. “At least the department chair is getting a show. And you look like you’re having fun.”
He glanced pointedly at the way her hand was spreading sunscreen on his collarbone. Olive’s cheeks burned. “No, I mean—not because I am . . . I meant, you look like you’re having a good time playing Frisbee. Or whatever.”
He made a face. “Beats chitchatting, for sure.”
She laughed. “That makes sense. I bet that’s why you’re so fit. You played lots of sports growing up because it got you out of talking with people. It also explains why now that you’re an adult your personality is so—” Olive stopped short.
Adam lifted one eyebrow. “Antagonistic and unapproachable?”
Crap. “I didn’t say that.”
“You just typed it.”
“I-I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to—” She pressed her lips together, flustered. Then she noticed that the corners of his eyes were crinkling. “Damn you.”
She pinched him lightly on the underside of his arm. He yelped and smiled wider, which made her wonder what he would do if she retaliated by writing her name with sunscreen on his chest, just enough for him to only get a tan around it. She tried to imagine his face after taking off his T-shirt, finding the five letters printed on his flesh in the reflection of his bathroom mirror. The expression he’d make. Whether he’d touch them with his fingertips.
Crazy, she told herself. This whole thing, it’s driving you crazy. So he’s handsome, and you find him attractive. Big deal. Who cares?
She wiped her mostly lotion-free hands down the columns of his biceps and took a step back. “You’re good to go, Dr. Antagonistic.”
He smelled of fresh sweat, himself, and coconut. Olive wasn’t going to get to talk with him again until Wednesday, and why the thought came with an odd pang in her chest, she had no clue.
“Thanks. And thank Anh, I guess.”
“Mm. What do you think she’ll have us do next time?”
He shrugged. “Hold hands?”
“Feed each other strawberries?”
“Good one.”
“Maybe she’ll up her game.”
“Fake wedding?”
“Fake-buy a house together?”
“Fake-sign the mortgage paperwork?”
Olive laughed, and the way he looked at her, kind and curious and patient . . . she must be hallucinating it. Her head was not right. She should have brought a sun hat.
“Hey, Olive.”
She tore her gaze from Adam’s and noticed Tom approaching. He, too, was shirtless, and clearly fit, and had a large number of abs that were defined enough to be easily counted. And yet, for some reason, it did absolutely nothing for Olive.
“Hi, Tom.” She smiled, even though she was a little irritated by the interruption. “Loved your talk the other day.”
“It was good, wasn’t it? Did Adam tell you about our change of plans?”
She tilted her head. “Change of plans?”
“We’ve been making great progress on the grant, so we’re going to Boston next week to finish setting up stuff on the Harvard side.”
“Oh, that’s great.” She turned to Adam. “How long will you be gone?”
“Just a few days.” His tone was quiet. Olive felt relief that it wasn’t going to be longer. For indiscernible reasons.
“Would you be able to send me your report by Saturday, Olive?” Tom asked. “Then I’ll have the weekend to look it over, and we’ll discuss it while I’m still here.”
Her brain exploded in a flurry of panic and bright red-alert signs, but she managed to keep her smile in place. “Yeah, of course. I’ll send it to you on Saturday.” Oh God. Oh God. She was going to have to work around the clock. She wasn’t going to get any sleep this week. She was going to have to bring her laptop to the toilet and write while she peed. “No problem at all,” she added, leaning even harder into her lie.
“Perfect.” Tom winked at her, or maybe just squinted in the sun. “You going back to play?” he asked Adam, and when Adam nodded, Tom spun around and headed back into the game.
Adam hesitated for just a second longer, then he nodded at Olive and left. She tried hard not to stare at his back as he rejoined his team, which seemed to be overjoyed to have him again. Clearly, sports were another thing Adam Carlsen excelled at—unfairly so.
She didn’t even have to check to know that Anh and Jeremy and pretty much everyone else had been staring at them for the past five minutes. She fished a seltzer can out of the nearest cooler, reminding herself that this was exactly what they wanted from this arrangement, and then found a spot under an oak tree next to her friends—all this sunscreen fuss, and now they were sitting in the shade. Go figure.
She wasn’t even that hungry anymore, a small miracle courtesy of having to apply sunscreen to her fake boyfriend very publicly.
“So, what’s he like?” Anh asked. She was lying down with her head on Jeremy’s lap. Above her, Malcolm was staring at the Frisbee players, probably swooning over how pretty Holden Rodrigues looked in the sun.
“Mm?”
“Carlsen. Oh, actually”—Anh smirked—“I meant to say Adam. You call him Adam, right? Or do you prefer Dr. Carlsen? If you guys role-play with schoolgirl uniforms and rulers, I totally want to hear about it.”
“Anh.”
“Yeah, how is Carlsen?” Jeremy asked. “I’m assuming he’s different with you than with us. Or does he also tell yourepeatedly that the font for the labels of your x- and y-axis is irritatingly small?”
Olive smiled into her knees, because she could totally imagine Adam saying that. Could almost hear his voice in her head. “No. Not yet, at least.”
“What’s he like, then?”
She opened her mouth to answer, thinking it would be easy. Of course, it was everything but. “He’s just . . . you know.”
“We don’t,” Anh said. “There must be more to him than meets the eye. He’s so moody and negative and angry and—”
“He’s not,” Olive interrupted. And then regretted it a little, because it wasn’t entirely true. “He can be. But he can not be, too.”
“If you say so.” Anh seemed unconvinced. “How did you even start dating? You never told me.”
“Oh.” Olive looked away and let her gaze wander. Adam must have just done something noteworthy, because he and Dr. Rodrigues were exchanging a high five. She noticed Tom staring at her from the field and waved at him with a smile. “Um, we just talked. And then got coffee. And then . . .”
“How does that even happen?” Jeremy interrupted, clearly skeptical. “How does one decide to say yes to a date with Carlsen? Before seeing him half-naked, anyway.”