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.