Which was why when Adam forced Malcolm to throw out tons of data and redo half his study, it made for a very, very miserable few months. In retrospect, that might have been when Malcolm started wishing a plague on the Carlsen house (he had been rehearsing for Romeo and Juliet at the time).
“Malcolm, can we please talk about this?”
“We’re talking.”
“No, you are cooking and I am just standing here, trying to get you to acknowledge that you are mad because Adam—”
Malcolm turned away from his casserole, wagging his finger in Olive’s direction. “Do not say it.”
“Do not say what?”
“You know what.”
“Adam Carl—?”
“Do not say his name.”
She threw her hands up. “This is crazy. It’s fake, Malcolm.”
He went back to chopping the asparagus. “Pass the salt.”
“Are you even listening? It’s not real.”
“And the pepper, and the—”
“The relationship, it’s fake. We’re not really dating. We’re pretending so people will think that we’re dating.”
Malcolm’s hands stopped mid-chop. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Is it a . . . friends-with-benefits arrangement? Because—”
“No. It’s the opposite. There are no benefits. Zero benefits. Zero sex. Zero friends, too.”
He stared at her, narrow-eyed. “To be clear, oral and butt stuff totally counts as sex—”
“Malcolm.”
He took a step closer, grabbing a dishrag to wipe his hands, nostrils flaring. “I’m scared to ask.”
“I know it sounds ridiculous. He’s helping me out by pretending we’re together because I lied to Anh, and I need her to feel okay about dating Jeremy. It’s all fake. Adam and I have talked exactly”—she decided on the spot to omit any information pertinent to The Night—“three times, and I know nothing about him. Except that he’s willing to help me handle this situation, and I jumped at the chance.”
Malcolm was making that face, the one he reserved for people who wore sandals paired with white socks. He could be a little scary, she had to admit.
“This is . . . wow.” There was a vein pulsating on his forehead. “Ol, this is breathtakingly stupid.”
“Maybe.” Yes. Yes, it was. “But it is what it is. And you have to support me in my idiocy, because you and Anh are my best friends.”
“Isn’t Carlsen your best friend now?”
“Come on, Malcolm. He’s an ass. But he’s actually been pretty nice to me, and—”
“I’m not even—” He grimaced. “I’m not going to address this.”
She sighed. “Okay. Don’t address this. You don’t have to. But can you just not hate me? Please? I know he’s been a nightmare to half the grads in the program, you included. But he’s helping me out. You and Anh are the only ones I care about knowing the truth. But I can’t tell Anh—”
“—for obvious reasons.”
“—for obvious reasons,” she finished at the same time, and smiled. He just shook his head disapprovingly, but his expression had softened.
“Ol. You’re amazing. And kind, way too kind. You should find someone better than Carlsen. Someone to date for real.”
“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes. “Because it went so well with Jeremy. Who, by the way, I only agreed to date following your advice! ‘Give the boy a chance,’ you said. ‘What could possibly go wrong?’ you said.”
Malcolm glared, and she laughed.
“Listen, I’m clearly bad at real dating. Maybe fake dating will be different. Maybe I’ve found my niche.”
He sighed. “Does it have to be Carlsen? There are better faculty members to fake-date.”
“Like who?”
“I don’t know. Dr. McCoy?”
“Didn’t her wife just give birth to triplets?”
“Oh, yeah. What about Holden Rodrigues? He’s hot. Cute smile, too. I would know—he always smiles at me.”
Olive burst into laughter. “I could never fake-date Dr. Rodrigues, not with how assiduously you’ve been thirsting after him for the past two years.”
“I have, haven’t I? Did I ever tell you about the serious flirting that happened between us at the undergrad research fair? I’m pretty sure he winked at me multiple times from the other side of the room. Now, some say he just had something in his eye, but—”
“Me. I said that he probably had something in his eye. And you tell me about it every other day.”
“Right.” He sighed. “You know, Ol, I would have fake-dated you myself in a heartbeat, to spare you from goddamned Carlsen. I would have held hands with you, and given you my jacket when you were cold, and very publicly gifted you chocolate roses and teddy bears on Valentine’s Day.”
How refreshing, to talk with someone who’d watched a rom-com. Or ten. “I know. But you also bring home a different person every week, and you love it, and I love that you love it. I don’t want to cramp your style.”
“Fair.” Malcolm looked pleased—whether at the fact that he really did get around a fair bit or at Olive’s thorough understanding of his dating habits, she wasn’t sure.
“Can you please not hate me, then?”
He tossed the kitchen cloth onto the counter and stepped closer. “Ol. I could never hate you. You’ll always be my kalamata.” He pulled her into his chest, hugging her tight. At the beginning, when they’d just met, Olive had been constantly disoriented by how physical he was, probably because it had been years since she’d experienced such affectionate contact. Now, Malcolm’s hugs were her happy place.
She laid her head on his shoulder and smiled into the cotton of his T-shirt. “Thanks.”
Malcolm held her tighter.
“And I promise if I ever bring Adam home, I’ll put a sock on my door— Ouch!”
“You evil creature.”
“I was kidding! Wait, don’t leave, I have something important to tell you.”
He paused by the door, scowling. “I’ve reached my maximum daily intake of Carlsen-related conversation. Anything further will be lethal, so—”
“Tom Benton, the cancer researcher from Harvard, reached out to me! It’s not decided yet, but he might be interested in having me in his lab next year.”