“—based on your blotting—”
“—that anyone could ever say to a Ph.D. student. Ever.”
“I think I can find meaner things. If I really put myself to it.”
“We’re done.” She wished she weren’t smiling. Then maybe he’d take her seriously instead of just looking at her with that patient, amused expression. “Seriously. It was nice while it lasted.” She made to stand and leave indignantly, but he grabbed the sleeve of her shirt and gently tugged at it until she was sitting down again, next to him on the narrow couch—maybe even a little closer than before. She continued glaring, but he regarded her blandly, clearly unperturbed.
“There’s nothing bad about taking more than five years to graduate,” he offered in a conciliatory tone.
Olive huffed. “You just want me to stay around forever. Until you have the biggest, fattest, strongest Title IX case to ever exist.”
“That was my plan all along, in fact. The one and only reason I kissed you out of the blue.”
“Oh, shut up.” She ducked her chin into her chest, biting into her lip and hoping he wouldn’t notice her grinning like the idiot she was. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
Adam looked at her expectantly, like he seemed to a lot lately, so she continued, her tone softer and quieter.
“Why are you really doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“The fake dating. I understand that you want to look like you’re not a flight risk, but . . . Why aren’t you really dating someone? I mean, you’re not that bad.”
“High praise.”
“No, come on, what I meant was . . . Based on your fake-dating behavior, I’m sure that a lot of women . . . well, some women would love to real-date you.” She bit into her lip again, playing with the hole that was opening up on the knee of her jeans. “We’re friends. We weren’t when we started, but we are now. You can tell me.”
“Are we?”
She nodded. Yes. Yes, we are. Come on. “Well, you did just break one of the sacred tenets of academic friendships by mentioning my graduation timeline. But I’ll forgive you if you tell me if this is really better for you than . . . you know, getting a real girlfriend.”
“It is.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” He seemed honest. He was honest. Adam was not a liar; Olive would bet her life on it.
“Why, though? Do you enjoy the sunscreen-mediated fondling? And the opportunity to donate hundreds of your dollars to the campus Starbucks?”
He smiled faintly. And then he wasn’t smiling anymore. Not looking at her, either, but somewhere in the direction of the crumpled plastic wrapper that she’d tossed on the table a few minutes go.
He swallowed. She could see his jaw work.
“Olive.” He took a deep breath. “You should know that—”
“Oh my God!”
They both startled, Olive considerably more so than Adam, and turned toward the entrance. Jeremy stood there, one hand dramatically clutching his sternum. “You guys scared the shit out of me. What are you doing sitting in the dark?”
What are you doing here? Olive thought ungraciously. “Just chatting,” she said. Though it didn’t seem like a good descriptor of what was going on. And yet, she couldn’t put her finger on why.
“You scared me,” Jeremy repeated once more. “Are you working on your report, Ol?”
“Yeah.” She stole a quick glance at Adam, who was motionless and expressionless next to her. “Just taking a quick break. I was about to go back, actually.”