The moment Olive opened the door of the auditorium she and Anh exchanged a wide-eyed look and said, in unison, “Holy shit.”

In her two years at Stanford she had been to countless seminars, trainings, lectures, and classes in this lecture hall, and yet she’d never seen the room this full. Maybe Tom was giving out free beer?

“I think they made the talk mandatory for immunology and pharmacology,” Anh said. “And I overheard at least five people in the hallway saying that Benton is ‘a known science hottie.’ ” She stared critically at the podium, where Tom was chatting with Dr. Moss from immunology. “I guess he’s cute. Though not nearly as cute as Jeremy.”

Olive smiled. The air in the room was hot and humid, smelling like sweat and too many human beings. “You don’t have to stay. This is probably a fire hazard and not even remotely relevant to your research—”

“It beats doing actual work.” She grabbed Olive’s wrist, pulling her through the throng of grads and postdocs crowding the entrance and down the stairs on the side. They were just as packed. “And if this guy is going to take you away from me and to Boston for an entire year, I want to make sure that he deserves you.” She winked. “Consider my presence the equivalent of a father cleaning his rifle in front of his daughter’s boyfriend before prom.”

“Aww, Daddy.”

There was nowhere to sit, of course, not even on the floor or on the steps. Olive spotted Adam in an aisle seat a few meters away. He was back to his usual black Henley and deep in conversation with Holden Rodrigues. When Adam’s eyes met Olive’s, she grinned and waved at him. For some yet unknown reason that likely had to do with the fact that they were sharing this huge, ridiculous, unlikely secret, Adam now felt like a friendly face. He didn’t wave back, but his gaze seemed softer and warmer, and his mouth curved into that tilt that she’d learned to recognize as his version of a smile.

“I can’t believe they didn’t switch the talk to one of the bigger auditoriums. There is not nearly enough space for— Oh, no. No, no, no.”

Olive followed Anh’s gaze, and saw at least twenty new people arrive. The crowd immediately started pushing Olive toward the front of the room. Anh yelped when a first-year from neuroscience who weighed about four times as much as she did stepped on her toe. “This is ridiculous.”

“I know. I can’t believe more people are—”

Olive’s hip bumped against something—someone. She turned to apologize, and—it was Adam. Or, Adam’s shoulder. He was still chatting with Dr. Rodrigues, who wore a displeased expression and was muttering, “Why are we even here?”

“Because he’s a friend,” Adam said.

“Not my friend.”

Adam sighed and turned to look at Olive.

“Hey—sorry.” She gestured in the direction of the entrance. “A bunch of new people just came in and apparently the space in this room is finite. I think it’s a law of physics, or something.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’d take a step back, but . . .”

On the podium, Dr. Moss took the mic and began introducing Tom.

“Here,” Adam told Olive, making to stand from his chair. “Take my seat.”

“Oh.” It was nice of him to offer. Not fake-dating-to-save-her-ass, spend-twenty-bucks-on-junk-food-for-her nice, but still very nice. Olive couldn’t possibly accept. 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. “Thank you, but—”

“Actually, that would be a terrible idea,” Anh interjected. Her eyes were darting between Olive and Adam. “No offense, Dr. Carlsen, but you’re three times larger than Olive. If you stand, the room’s going to burst.”

Adam stared at Anh like he had no idea whether he’d just been insulted.

“But,” she continued, this time looking at Olive, “it’d be great if you could do me a solid and sit on your boyfriend’s lap, Ol. Just so I don’t have to stand on my toes?”

Olive blinked. And then she blinked again. And then she blinked some more. Near the podium, Dr. Moss was still introducing Tom—“Got his Ph.D. from Vanderbilt and then moved to a postdoctoral fellowship at Harvard University, where he pioneered several techniques in the field of imaging”—but her voice sounded as if it was coming from far, far away. Possibly because Olive couldn’t stop thinking about what Anh had proposed, which was just . . .

“Anh, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Olive mumbled under her breath, avoiding glancing in Adam’s direction.

Anh gave her a look. “Why? You’re taking up space we don’t have, and it’s only logical that you use Carlsen as a chair. I would, but he’s your boyfriend, not mine.”

For a moment, Olive tried to imagine what Adam would do if Anh decided to sit on his lap, and figured that it would probably end up involving someone being murdered and someone doing the murdering—she wasn’t sure who’d be doing what. The mental image was so ridiculous that she almost giggled out loud. Then she noticed the way Anh was looking at her expectantly. “Anh, I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because. This is a scientific talk.”

“Psh. Remember last year, when Jess and Alex made out for half of that CRISPR lecture?”

“I do—and it was weird.”

“Nah, it wasn’t. Also, Malcolm swears that during a seminar he saw that tall guy from immunology get a hand job from—”

“Anh.”

“The point is, no one cares.” Anh’s expression softened into a plea. “And this girl’s elbow is puncturing my right lung, and I have about thirty seconds of air left. Please, Olive.”

Olive turned to face Adam. Who was, very unsurprisingly, looking up at her with that nonexpression of his, the one that Olive couldn’t quite decipher. Except that his jaw was working, and she wondered if maybe this was it. The last straw. The moment he backed out of their arrangement. Because millions of dollars in research funds couldn’t be worth having some girl he barely knew sit on his lap in the most crowded room in the history of crowded rooms.

Is this okay? she tried to ask him with her eyes. Because maybe this is a little too much. Way more than saying hi to each other and having coffee together.

He gave her a brief nod, and then—Olive, or at least Olive’s body, was stepping toward Adam and gingerly sitting on his thigh, her knees tucked between his spread legs. It was happening. It had happened already. Olive was here.

Sitting.

On.

Adam.

This. Yep, this.

This was her life now.

She was going to murder Anh for this. Slowly. Maybe painfully, too. She was going to be jailed for bestfriendicide, and she was a-okay with it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Adam. He was so tall, her mouth was not quite level with his ear. She could smell him—the woodsiness of his shampoo, his body wash, and something else underneath, dark and good and clean. It all felt familiar, and after a few seconds Olive realized that it was because of the last time they had been this close. Because of The Night. Because of the kiss. “So, so sorry.”

He didn’t immediately answer. His jaw tensed, and he looked in the direction of the PowerPoint. Dr. Moss was gone, Tom was talking about cancer diagnostics, and Olive would have gobbled this up on a regular day, but right now she just needed out. Of the talk. Of the room. Of her own life.

Then Adam turned his face a little and told her, “It’s okay.” He sounded a bit strained. Like nothing about this situation was, in fact, okay.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea she would suggest this, and I couldn’t think of a way to—”

“Sssh.” His arm slid around her waist, his hand coming to rest on her hip in a gesture that should have been unpleasant but just felt reassuring. His voice was low when he added, “It’s fine.” The words vibrated in her ear, rich and warm. “More material for my Title IX complaint.”