The Love Hypothesis

the constant feeling of not belonging, the never-ending suspicions that since so much of her life had been spent alone, then it would end the same way. That she’d never be worthy of someone caring for her.

Is mine a good enough reason to go to grad school?” she called after him, hating how eager for approval she sounded. It was possible that she was in the midst of some sort of existential crisis.

He paused and looked back at her. “It’s the best one.”

It’s just, you’re so amazing. And special. And honestly, my favorite person in the whole world.

Maybe she was unlovable.

“Mm. Anyway, thanks again for helping me figure it out.” And for answering the 139 questions I asked. Thank you for taking less than ten minutes to reply to my emails, every time, even when it was 5:30 a.m. and you misspelled “consensus,” which is unusual of you and makes me suspect that maybe you were still half asleep. “And for letting me crash with you.”

“I’m going to kill you,” he gritted out, little more than a growl. “If you say another word about the woman I love, if you look at her, if you even think about her—I’m going to fucking kill you.

First, just allow me to say: asgfgsfasdgfadg.

“Because you don’t want it, right? Maybe I’m just not attractive to you and you don’t want this—”

It nearly made her lose her balance, the way he tugged at her wrist and pulled her hand to himself, pressing her palm flush to his groin to show her that . . . Oh.

Oh.

Yeah.

His jaw rolled as he held her gaze. “You have no fucking idea what I want.”

She leaned forward. “Will you ask a long-winded, leading question that will cause me to ramble incoherently and lose the respect of my peers, thus forever undermining my place in the field of biology?”

“Possibly.” He was smiling. “Should I buy you that disgusting”—Adam gestured toward the register—“pumpkin sludge now?”

“You will be shocked to hear that there is no Netflix category for movies in which horses don’t die.”