By the night of the department gala, Olive was in deep trouble.
Olive didn't waste another second on analysis, variables, or data points. She reached up, grabbed the lapels of his shirt just like she had that first night, and pulled him down to her.
Immediately, Adam was removing his suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders. It was warm from his body, heavy and comforting. By the night of the department gala, Olive
His proximity was overwhelming. He smelled like cedarwood, expensive soap, and espresso. Olive's brain, usually so sharp and analytical, turned to absolute mush.
"You're squinting at your data," Adam said one rainy Tuesday evening, leaning over her shoulder to look at her computer screen. Immediately, Adam was removing his suit jacket and
She had grabbed the nearest tall, broad-shouldered man standing by the water fountain, pulled him down by his lapels, and pressed her lips to his.
It started at the coffee shop. Olive, true to her chaotic nature, ordered a monstrosity of a drink involving white mocha, extra whip, and three different syrups. Adam ordered a black coffee, looking at her sugary concoction with pure disdain. He smelled like cedarwood, expensive soap, and espresso
Olive stretched, her spine popping in protest. She loved science. She loved the pursuit of objective truth. What she did not love was the crushing weight of academic politics, the endless hunt for funding, or the fact that her best friend, Anh, was currently trying to orchestrate her love life.