Ali Hazelwood Quotes

carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man

I wish you could see yourself the way I see you" - Adam

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.

I'm starting to wonder if this is what being in love is. Being okay with ripping yourself to shreds, so the other person can stay whole.

Ik hou van jou, Adam.

You can fall in love: someone will catch you.

And then I'll come find you, and I'll take care of you." - Adam

Expiration dates are for the weak.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a community of women trying to mind their own business must be in want of a random man’s opinion.

You’re not a problem, Misery. You’re a privilege.

Have you considered that maybe you’re already the way I want you to be? That maybe there are no signals because nothing needs to be changed

This might be inappropriate but... Olive. You are really... You are extraordinary

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when she was sitting on her bed staring at the Boston skyline and chewing on her lunch, that Olive realized that the protein bar Adam had given her was covered in chocolate.

You kiss him and next thing you know he's saving your ass and he's buying you scones and calling you a smart-ass in a weirdly affectionate tone

You don't even have to admit to yourself that you love me, Bee. God knows I love you enough for the both of us - Levi Ward

He’d clearly never seen a rom-com or read a romance novel in his life.

You could be my entire world,” he whispers in my ear before moving to my collarbone. “If you let me.

I know it’s scary, being vulnerable, but you can allow yourself to care. You can want to be with people as more than just friends or casual acquaintances.

In my fantasies, you allow me to keep an eye on you.” I feel his lips at my temple. “And when I really let go, I imagine that you let me take care of you, too.

Bold of you to assume that the real me is my best hand.” “Foolish of you to think it isn’t.

Maybe you're not meant for me the way I'm meant for you, but I'm going to choose you anyway, over and over and over again.

I wish you could see yourself the way I see you

Olive had felt that he was on her side. Over & over, & in ways that could never have anticipated, he had made her feel unjudged. Less alone.

You were always in my head. And I could never get you out.

Ssh.” 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.

From the very start, you had all the power. From the very start, I was in the palm of your hand.

if academia ever makes you feel like you’re not good or smart enough . . . it’s not you, it’s academia.

I like to see you. When you’re not trying to be someone else.

I want to tell her that she's luminous, she's so bright in my mind, sometimes I can't focus.

Olive,” Dr. Aslan interrupted her with a stern tone. “What do I always tell you?” “Um . . . ‘Don’t misplace the multichannel pipette’?” “The other thing.” She sighed. “ ‘Carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man.’ 

Did you… Did you just kiss me?” He sounded puzzled, and maybe a little out of breath. His lips were full and plump and… God. Kissed. There was simply no way Olive could get away with denying what she had just done. Still, it was worth a try. “Nope.” Surprisingly, it seemed to work. “Ah. Okay, then.” Carlsen nodded and turned around, looking vaguely disoriented. He took a couple of steps down the hallway, reached the water fountain - maybe where he’d headed in the first place. Olive was starting to believe that she might actually be off the hook when he halted and turned back with a skeptical expression. “Are you sure?

God bless libraries.

Everyone likes tall, broody, sullen hunks with genius IQs.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Or makes you resent your pathological inability to set boundaries, one or the two.

My smell. Do I smell like…?” “Mine.” It’s a rumble in his throat. “You smell like you’re mine, Misery.

Elsie, it’s the bare minimum. The bar’s so low, you could pick it up and beat him with it.

The real villain is love: an unstable isotope, constantly undergoing spontaneous nuclear decay. And it will forever go unpunished.

She sighed. “ ‘Carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man.’ ” “More than that, if possible. Since there is absolutely nothing mediocre about you.

He told me once that sometimes, with some people, it's not about winning or losing, That with some people, it's just about playing. Though for the longest time, I didn't really believe him.

HYPOTHESIS: When given a choice between A (a slightly inconveniencing situation) and B (a colossal shitshow with devastating consequences), I will inevitably end up selecting B.

Because I’m starting to wonder if this is what being in love is. Being okay with ripping yourself to shreds, so the other person can stay whole.

What I am is an adult woman with agency and the tools to make choices. Feel free to, you know, treat me accordingly.

I love you, I think, and you are my home.

Some nights, when he’s walking past her door, he has to whisper to himself: “Keep going.

That’s where it lives, my love for him. In the space between the things he could do, and what the chooses instead.

There is no universe in which I’m going to let you go. I want to be with you, on you, every second of every day.

Of all the good things I’ve felt in my fucking life, you are the best.

Why would you keep something that makes you think of me?” I feel him shrug. “Because I think of you anyway, Mallory.

If there is one thing men hate more than a smart woman, it’s a smart woman who makes her own choices when it comes to her own sex life.

You mean you’ve done this before?” She frowned. “Done what?” “Put in expired contacts.” “Of course. Contacts are not cheap.” “Neither are eyes.” Humph. Good point.

It never occurred to Olive that Dr. Adam Carlsen—known ass—had called her by her name.

Honey,” I ask, lowering my sunglasses to the tip of my nose, “are we rich?

She’s so mean. I love her.

You are the most magnificent thing that ever happened to me,

What did Adam's fortune cookie say?" "Mmm." Olive made a show to look at the strip. "Not much. Just 'Holden Rodrigues, Ph.D., is a loser.'" Malcolm sped up just as Holden flipped her off, making her burst into laughter. "What does it really say?" Adam asked when they were finally alone. Olive handed him the crumpled paper and remained silent as he angled it to read it in the lamplight. She wasn't surprised when she saw a muscle jump in his jaw, or when he slid the fortune into the pocket of his jeans. She knew what it said, after all. You can fall in love: someone will catch you.

You think, but you don’t know. You don’t know anything about what it’s like to find your other half, I would take anything she chose to give me—the tiniest fraction or her entire world. I would take her for a single night knowing that I’ll lose her by morning, and I would hold on to her and never let go. I would take her healthy, or sick, or tired, or angry, or strong, and it would be my fucking privilege. I would take her problems, her gifts, her moods, her passions, her jokes, her body—I would take every last thing, if she chose to give it to me.

A minute later she's asleep. The entire universe is here, in his arms.

Be gentle with me, Elsie. That’s all I ask.

... she loved him even more for it. For looking at her like she was the beginning and end of his every thought.

Galaxies pass through his black eyes, and I wonder whether this second could last a century. Whether the universe could be just me and him, understanding each other on a forever loop.

I’m afraid of the unpredictability of existing.

It’s easier like that, isn’t it? [...] Never showing anyone who you really are. [...] That way if something goes wrong, if someone rejects you, then it’s not about you, is it? When you’re yourself, that’s when you’re exposed. Vulnerable.

How are you?" "Good. Fine. I mean I wish I were dead. But aside from that.

Pretty fucking tragic twist of fate, but you don’t seem to remember that we first met years ago. An issue, since I remember a little too well. I like no one, absolutely no one, but I liked you from the start. I liked you when I didn’t know you, and now that I do know you it’s only gotten worse. Sometimes, often, always, I think about you before falling asleep. Then I dream of you, and when I wake up my head’s still there, stuck on something funny, beautiful, filthy, intelligent that’s all about you. It’s been going on for a while, longer than you think, longer than you can imagine, and I should have told you, but I have this impression, this certainty that you’re half a second from running away, that I should give you enough reasons to stay. Is there anything I can do for you? I’ll take you grocery shopping and fill your fridge when we’re back home. Buy you a new bike and a case of decent reagent and that sludge you drink. Kill the people who made you cry. Is there something you need? Name it. It’s yours. If I have it, it’s yours.

She makes him want to draw again.

You okay?” I ask, cautious. “Yeah.” A deep inhale. “Yeah. I just wanted to listen to you exist.

Confidence is showing up, and trying, and not giving up because deep in your heart you know who you are and what you’re capable of.

We all want to think that we’re important to the people who are important to us. But sometimes, our best friend is someone else’s best friend.

Not everyone wants you to be someone else, Elsie. And I definitely wouldn’t want you to be George.” “And why is that?” “It would be a waste.” “A waste of what?” “Of you.

You put in expired contacts?” He sounded personally offended “Just a little expired.” “What’s ‘a little’?” “I don’t know. A few years?” “What?” His consonants were sharp and precise. Crisp. Pleasant. “Only a couple, I think.” “Just a couple of years?” “It’s okay. Expiration dates are for the weak.” A sharp sound - some kind of snort. “Expiration dates are so I don’t find you weeping in the corner of my bathroom.” Unless this dude was Mr. Stanford himself, he really needed to stop calling it his bathroom.

That was a badass speech, Misery.” “Badass is my middle name.” “Your middle name is Lyn.” Shit. “Stop reading my file.

If someone had given me a piece of paper and asked me to list everything I liked, everything I dreamed of, everything that I was sure would make me happy, you would have been the final product of it

I look at him looking at me, and overflow with something I cannot put a name to. “Because when I’m with you, Mallory, everything is different. When I’m with you, I want to play more than I want to win.

Maybe people can be happy and sad. Maybe stories are messy and complicated. Maybe endings don’t always include solutions that tie everything together in a bow. But that doesn’t mean that they have to be tragedies.

I can give you nice. I can give you better than nice. I can give you everything.” He smiles at me, full of hope. “You don’t even have to admit to yourself that you love me, Bee. God knows I love you enough for the both of us. But I need you to stay. I need you to stick around. Not in Houston, if you don’t want to. I’ll follow you, if you ask me to.

I’d rather drink a can of Axe body spray while feral raccoons feast on my exposed bone marrow than sit across from this twat.

But a good kiss will do that: make a girl forget herself for a while.

We're only humans. We're full of ''whys'', drowning in ''whys.'' Every once in a while, we need a bit of ''because,'' and if it's not readily available, we make it up.

See, that’s the thing I hate the most about adulting: at some point, one has to start doing it.

And then, Rue, I met you. And you casually cracked my life into before and after you.

Her heart may be broken, but her brain was doing just fine.

I don’t want to be work. I don’t want you to feel that I’m work.” “Somewhere along the way your wires got crossed. Your brain decided that you’re not worth people’s time and effort, and that if you ask for anything, they won’t just say no, they’ll also leave you. That’s not how love works, Elsie.

Other people’s approval is a powerful drug. Lucky me, I never got the chance to develop an addiction

Thank you, Oh Penised Overlords, for the recognition I deserve

Her laughter adjusts the spin of his atoms.

Her presence soothes him more than a full-moon run.

If you decide to go for it, I think it should be me.

Chess is a bad idea. Why? Look where it got me. It got you here. To me.

I am going to take care of this,” he told her. There was something determined, earnest in his eyes. Olive had never felt safer, or more loved. “And then I’ll come find you, and I’ll take care of you.

Or, you could stay mad, and we could go to your lab and throw test tubes full of toxic reagents at each other until the pain of third-degree burns overrides your shitty mood? Sounds like fun, no?

She frowned. “I asked if I could kiss you, and you said yes.” “Incorrect. You asked if you could kiss me and I snorted.” “I’m pretty sure I heard you said yes.” He lifted one eyebrow, and for a minute Olive let herself daydream of drowning someone. Dr. Carlsen. Herself. Both sounded like great options.

Yep. I’m so glad he finally scrounged up the courage to ask you out. He’d been going on and on about this ‘amazing girl’ for years, but he was concerned about being in the same department, and you know how he is . . .” He shrugged and waved his hand. “I’m glad he finally managed to pull his head out of his ass.

Mostly, I'm afraid of attempting something and not being perfect at it

This is the equivalent to someone buying their own ‘World’s Best Boss’ mug. Congratulations, you’re officially NASA’s Micheal Scott

Because if we ever end up in an accident, I'd rather die than survive you.

People who date, they-they talk. A lot. More than just greetings in the hallway. They know each other’s favorite colors, and where they were born, and they… they hold hands. They kiss.” Adam pressed his lips together as if to suppress a smile. “We could never do that.

Are you going to run away?” I frown. “What?” “You usually run away from me. Are you going to?” He’s right. He’s also rude. “You usually lose your king to me. Are you going to?

You should punish her.” I snort out a laugh. “Yes, Lowe. Spank me and take away my TV privileges.

I’m afraid of the unpredictability of existing. I’m afraid of not being able to control the direction of my life. I’m afraid that no matter how much I plan, I won’t be able to avoid hurtful and sad things. But above all…” I take a deep breath and laugh softly, because what I’m about to say is ridiculous, even if it’s true. Even if it’s me. “Mostly, I’m afraid of attempting something and not being perfect at it.

He studies my face for several moments, like he cannot stop on the cover or the first page, like he needs to read the whole book every time.

What do you loathe?” “The way you seem to always get under my skin.” “Elsie. You think you don’t live under mine.

We haven’t even been married for twenty-four hours. Praying mantises have longer honeymoon periods.

Scarlett.” His fingers come up to my chin. Grab it gently, but tight. “The only time wasted is time we are apart.

I want you, Elsie. All the time. I think of you. All. The. Fucking. Time. I’m distracted. I’m shit at work. And my first instinct, the very first time I saw you, was to run away. Because I knew that if we’d start doing this, we would never stop. And that’s exactly how it is. There is no universe in which I’m going to let you go. I want to be with you, on you, every second of every day. I think – I dream of crazy things. I want you to marry me tomorrow so you can go on my health insurance. I want to lock you in my room for a couple of weeks. I want to buy groceries based on what you like. I want to play it cool, like I’m attracted to you and not obsessed out of my mind, but that’s not where I’m at. Not at all. And I need you to keep us in check. I need you to pace us, because wherever it is that we’re going… I’m here. I’m already right here.

She would have loved to run to the edge of campus and scream into the void until modern civilization collapsed, but that wasn’t exactly a pressing matter.

I've never been surer of anything. Except maybe cell theory.

Science is reliable in its variability. Science does whatever the fuck it wants. God, I love science.

She had not figured that Adam would notice her while in conversation with a young, beautiful faculty member. She had not figured that he’d suddenly stop speaking, eyes widening and lips parting; that he’d mutter “Excuse me” while staring at Olive and stand from the table, ignoring the curious looks in his directions that he’d march to the entrance, where Olive was, with quick, long strides and a concerned expression. “Olive, are you okay?” he asked her.

HYPOTHESIS: The more I mention an attachment in an email, the less likely I will be to actually include said attachment.

Is it true?” “According to my lawyer, yes.” “Who’s your lawyer?” “Google.

Sometimes I’m afraid that this is the best thing I’ll ever have. For the rest of my life.

Sometimes I’m scared that I imagined you. Sometimes I think you’re only in my head.

Maybe some things transcend reciprocity. Maybe not everything is about having.

Because one day, Conor Harkness decided that he wanted someone to know him. And he chose me.

Annie used to have a funny theory: we all have a Year Zero around which the calendars of our lives pivot. At some point you meet someone, and they become so important, so metamorphic, that ten, twenty, sixty-five years down the line you look back and realize that you could split your existence in two. Before they showed (BCE), and your Common Era. Your very own Gregorian calendar.

If you don’t think that I’m very aware of your presence, always, you have no idea what’s going on.

I think that somewhere along the way I forgot that I was something. I forgot myself.

And I don’t know you enough to make a judgment. Your jeans are cool, though.

Adam smiles, too, and thinks, This is it. He thinks, I love you. He thinks, Maybe, one day, you’ll even let me tell you. And he says, “Hey.

You could be my entire world. If you let me.

His renamed contact reads 'Lukas Scarlett'.

He'd been going on and on about this amazing girl for years

Don’t be. Life is pain and then you die.

I want her to be all right more than I want to keep my dignity.

Have I been doing it all wrong? Maybe instead of getting people to think that I’m worth their time, I should stop giving a shit about them?

Nolan stares like I’m the center of gravity of the room, like nothing else ever existed but me in all of space and time.

I might not remember my name, or anything about who I am. But I could never be near you and not know exactly what you are to me.

Cute, how she thinks he’d ever let her out of his sight.

If you still want me to love you, I really think I can love you back. Because I already do.” Two tears streaked her cheekbones. “And if you don’t, I guess I’ll be loving you anyway.

You told me that you loved me, Serena,” he says simply. His eyes are earnest, liquid. So profoundly good. “And while I’m willing to resign myself to an existence without the person I love, I refuse to condemn you to it.

I have never wanted anything as desperately, as ungovernably, as persistently as I want you. Not a single goddamn thing. Not my dead mother back. Not revenge. Not the well-being of the people I love. Not professional success, not even my own happiness. Absolutely nothing has consumed me as mercilessly as you have.

In my experience, commitment leads to expectations, and expectations lead to lies, and hurt, and disappointment-stuff I'd rather not experience, or force others to experience.

I have no friends, no hobbies, and no real purpose aside from earning enough money to pay rent in order to … exist, I guess.

I will slay a murder of dragons for you.” “I looked it up,” Levi says from the doorjamb. “It’s a thunder of dragons.

because when I asked myself if I had the right to those tears, the answer was always no, and it was easy to stop myself.

Maybe there is something devastating about the incompleteness of it. But maybe, just knowing that the other person is there . . .” His throat bobs. “There might be pleasure in that, too. The satisfaction of knowing that something beautiful exists.” His lips open and close a few times, as though he can only find the right words by shaping them first to himself. “Maybe some things transcend reciprocity. Maybe not everything is about having.

Way to make me feel excluded, bitches.” “Darcy,” we all say at once, all in the same disapproving tone. “What?” She shrugs from the door. “I thought we now just sprinkled the word generously in conversation. For seasoning.

I’m a mess. A work in progress. I’m two steps forward and one step back. I hoard my cheese, and I can’t efficiently load the dishwasher, and I’m going to struggle with the truth until the day I croak. Jack knows all of this, and he loves me. Not anyway, but because.

Your therapist sounds great.” “He was.” “But i still want to commit patricide.

Caring what others think is a lot of work, and—with a handful of exceptions—I’m not a huge fan of work.

I should start dating again. Should I start dating again? Yeah. I should. Except that . . . men. No, thank you.

The point is, sometimes dislike is a gut reaction. Like falling in love at first sight, you know? Just . . . the opposite.

I can be brave. I can be anything for noodles.

He gives me a confused, curious look. Like he knows that I’m complicated, but he doesn’t mind. Like he’d rather spend the rest of his life studying an inch of me than discovering the mysteries behind the universe.

There is something about you. That you tirelessly study people. Figure out who they are, what they want, and then mold yourself into whatever shape you think will fit them. I’ve seen you play half a dozen different roles for half a dozen different situations, switching personalities like you’re channel surfing, and I still have no idea who you are.

I’d give everyone the me they wanted, needed, craved, and in exchange they’d care about me.

I love you, I think. And I suspect that you love me, too. And I cannot wait for us to admit it to each other. I cannot wait to see what happens next.

Since the first day I met you, you have been the best thing in my life. And you weren’t even in it.

It takes him a while to answer. When he does, he’s not looking at me. “Because sometimes I can’t breathe when you’re around.

There hasn’t been anyone else.” His jaw tenses and works. “Since the first moment I saw you. Since the first moment I talked to you and made an ass of myself, there hasn’t been anyone else.

Oh, Levi, Levi. I can be fearless. I can be as fearless and honest as you are. If you will teach me.

Academia takes alot from you a gives back very little. It's hard to stick around without a good reason to do so

She's not your girlfriend." "She is if she wants to be. She can be my damn wife if she wants to be.

Above all, I won’t take her freedom. Not when so many others have already done so.

I haven't thought about anything but you since the first time I saw you.

Ah, the frazzling ordeal of being known.

I take a deep breath, still staring out the window. “I really, really, really like you.” He doesn’t reply for a long moment. Then: “I’m pretty sure I like you more.” “I doubt it. I just want you to know, not everyone is like your family. You can be . . . you can be you with me. You can talk, say, do however you want. And I’ll never hurt you like they did.” I make myself smile at him. It’s easy now. “I promise I don’t bite.” He reaches over to take my hand, his skin warm and rough against mine. He smiles back. Just a little. “You could rip me to shreds, Bee.

How can you always tell what’s in my head?” “Same way you can tell what’s in everyone’s head.” “I just look. Try to pay attention to what people want.” “That’s what I do. Except that I don’t care much about most people, but I can’t stop paying attention to you. So I look.

Science, I tell myself in my inner Jeff Goldblum voice, finds a way.

He easily resigned himself to a lifetime without her, but… Simply put, he is unwilling to contemplate a universe in which she no longer exists.

I may be at my worst, but I can masquerade as someone who’s doing perfectly fucking fine.

Please don’t build an atomic bomb.” “Don’t tell me what to do.” He sighs. “I’ll make room for the plutonium in the cheese drawer.

False Negatives are bad, too." - Adam

Of all the good things.” He grasps my hips as I roll them into his. “Of all the good things I’ve felt in my fucking life, you are the best.

I would throw away my pack, my life, and my entire world for you. Which is the exact reason I cannot have you.

I know what she smells like. This little freckle on her neck when she pulls up her hair. Her upper lip is a little plumper than the lower. The curve of her wrist, when she holds a pen. It’s wrong, really wrong, but I know the shape of her. I go to sleep thinking about it, and then I wake up, go to work, and she is there, and it’s impossible. I tell her stuff I know she’ll agree to, just to hear her hum back at me. It’s like hot water down my fucking spine. She’s married. She’s brilliant. She trusts me, and all I think about is taking her to my office, stripping her, doing unspeakable things to her. And I want to tell her. I want to tell her that she’s luminous, she’s so bright in my mind, sometimes I can’t focus. Sometimes I forget why I came into the room. I’m distracted. I want to push her against a wall, and I want her to push back. I want to go back in time and punch her stupid husband on the day I met him and then travel back to the future and punch him again. I want to buy her flowers, food, books. I want to hold her hand, and I want to lock her in my bedroom. She’s everything I ever wanted and I want to inject her into my veins and also to never see her again. There’s nothing like her and these feelings, they are fucking intolerable. They were half-asleep while she was gone, but now she’s here and my body thinks it’s a fucking teenager and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. There is nothing I can do, so I’ll just . . . not.

What Misery is to Lowe, you are to me.” Oh. Oh? Oh. “Is this a, um… terminal diagnosis?” His lips twitch. “No cure, I’m afraid.” “I see.” I clear my throat. “Well, this relationship sure escalated quickly.

More material for my Title IX complaint." - Adam Carlsen

It will be fine Olive" His smile softened. "And if not, at least it will be over

I have no idea if you’re good enough, but that’s not what you should be asking yourself. What matters is whether your reason to be in academia is good enough.

Scarlett. I can’t be without you. And for the first time in my life, I don’t care. I think of you all the time, and I want to make plans with you, I want to talk about the future, and I’m fucking happy about it—

Lowe. My friend. My spouse. You’re clearly a competent Were with many talents, but I’ve seen your phone. I’ve seen you use your phone. Half of your gallery is blurry pictures of Ana with your finger blocking the camera. You type ‘Google’ in the Google bar to start a new search.

It has to be love. It’s expansive and all-consuming and full and joyous. Hungry. Thick. At once heavy and light. Everywhere and golden. It’s him and me and the myriad of little strings that tangle us together.

It’s easier like that, isn’t it?” “What is?” “Never showing anyone who you really are. That way if something goes wrong, if someone rejects you, then it’s not about you, is it? When you’re yourself, that’s when you’re exposed. Vulnerable. But if you hold back … Losing a game’s always painful, but knowing that you haven’t played your best hand makes it bearable.

I want to play it cool, like I’m attracted to you and not obsessed out of my mind, but that’s not where I’m at. Not at all. And I need you to keep us in check. I need you to pace us, because wherever it is that we’re going…I’m here. I’m already right here.

Sometimes, when she's in deep sleep, a thoughtful little frown furls on her brow. Lukas cannot physically get out of bed until he has smoothed it over with his lips. He used to want to prove to himself that he could thrive, even without her. He has given up on that. Now he just wants her.

Then, since you have never even been part of a super-tournament, what makes you qualified to be here today? Why you and not someone else?” I swallow. “I just . . .” Nothing. I got lucky. It’s a mistake. I’m not good enough and— “Man”—Nolan snorts into the mic—“she literally won the qualifying tournament to be here. Keep up, will you?

But before I can say anything, he cups my cheek and leans down to kiss me once more. This time it’s sweet, slow, savoring. Patient. This time it’s lingering and gentle—everything our other kiss wasn’t. I want to try them all. All the kisses Levi Ward is capable of, I want to sample them like fine wine.

God, she had forced a married man, a father, to kiss her. Now people thought that he was having an affair. His wife was probably crying into her pillow. His kids would grow up with horrible daddy issues and become serial killers.

The scent is growing into more than just a problem. It invades. It swirls. It travels. It sticks to his nose. It concentrates, sometimes. They rarely touch. When they did, her wrist accidentally brushed against the front of his shirt, and he found himself tearing off the piece of fabric where her smell was most intense. He slipped it in his pocket, and now carries it everywhere. Even as he leaves to avoid her.

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.

Can I take you out?" The words don't immediately compute. For several seconds they float in my brain like driftwood, aimless, unparsable, and then this meaning dawns on me. "You mean you want to...murder me." He winces. "Once again, what happened to you?

Picture this, Olive. Early two thousands. Preppy, ridiculously expensive all-male DC school. Two gay students in grade twelve. Well, two of us that were out, anyway. Richie Muller and I date for the entirety of senior year - and then he dumps me three days before prom for some guy he’d been having a thing with for months.” “He was a prick,” Adam muttered. “I have three choices. Not go to the dance and mope at home. Go alone and mope at school. Or, have my best friend - who was planning on staying home and moping over gamma-aminobutyric acids - come as my date. Guess which?” Olive gasped. “How did you convince him?” “That’s the thing, I didn’t. When I told him about what Richie did, he offered!

Levi cups my face, forehead touching mine. His hands—they are my home. “Bee. Don’t take this from us,” he murmurs. Ragged. Careful. Hopeful. “Please.” I’ve never wanted anything more than to say yes. I’ve never wished to reach for something as I do now. And I’ve never been so utterly, petrifyingly scared to lose something.

He leans toward me over the table, dark eyes earnest, stars traveling on his skin. “Do you know how incredible you are?” I cannot breathe. Temporarily. So I force myself to laugh. “Really? You’re wasting your question on this?” “I am serious. Do you realize how exceptional you are, Mallory?

Is everything okay?” He said it looking into her eyes, in a low, intimate tone. Like they were alone. Like Anh was not there. He said it in a way that should have made Olive uncomfortable but didn't. For some inexplicable reason his presence in the room soothed her, even though until a second ago she had been freaking out. Perhaps two different types of unease neutralized each other?

Stay home for long weekends and have morally bankrupt amounts of sex with someone I’m in love with. Kinky, vanilla, I want it all. I want to adopt rescue animals with her. I want to take care of her, and watch her be cold in Sweden, and marvel every day at how much smarter than me she is, and . . . Scarlett.” His thumb swipes under my eye. “Why are you crying?

And I’m going to—I’m going to want to see you every day. I’m going to learn more dishes and pack your lunch and write cute little notes on it. I’m going to ask you if you want to sleep at your place or mine and always assume that we’re spending the night together. I’m going to think about you all the damn time. I’m going to assume I’m watering your plants when you’re out of town. I’m going to hold your hand in public. I’m going to kiss you in public. I’m going to organize surprise parties for you with your friend. I’m going to send a hundred texts per day with stupid online shit I think you should see. Clingy as fuck, Rue. Can you do it? Can you live with me as your boyfriend?

Oh my God, are you trying to get citizenship? Are they deporting you back to Canada because we’ve been sharing Malcolm’s Netflix password? Tell them we didn’t know it was a federal crime. No, wait, don’t tell them anything until we get you a lawyer. And, Ol, I will marry you. I’ll get you a green card and you won’t have to—

She pressed her lips together and nodded. "I'll just do what Dr. Aslan always says." "And what's that?" "Carry myself with the confidence of a mediocre white man." He grinned, and there they were. The heart-stopping dimples. "It will be fine, Olive." His smile softened. "And if not, at least it will be over.

That there is no world, no scenario, no reality in which I'll gracefully allow you to leave me. That if I don't let you go now, five years, five months, five days down the line, I won't be able to. Every second, I want you too much, and every second, I'm on the verge of wanting you more. Every second is my last chance to do the decent thing. To let you live your life without taking up all of it-

It hit her then what was so special about Adam. That no matter his reputation, or how rocky their first meeting, since the very beginning, Olive had felt that he was on her side. Over and over, and in ways that she could never have anticipated, he had made her feel unjudged. Less alone. [...]She might never have what she wanted from Adam, but for now at least, he was in her life. That was going to have to be enough.

I like no one, absolutely no one, but I liked you from the start. I liked you when I didn’t know you, and now that I do know you it’s only gotten worse. Sometimes, often, always, I think about you before falling asleep. Then I dream of you, and when I wake up my head’s still there, stuck on something funny, beautiful, filthy, intelligent that’s all about you. It’s been going on for a while, longer than you think, longer than you can imagine, and I should have told you, but I have this impression, this certainty that you’re half a second from running away, that I should give you enough reasons to stay. Is there anything I can do for you? I’ll take you grocery shopping and fill your fridge when we’re back home. Buy you a new bike and a case of decent reagent and that sludge you drink. Kill the people who made you cry. Is there something you need? Name it. It’s yours. If I have it, it’s yours.

No, but . . . what will she eat?” “I guess I’ll have to find another source of blood. Hmm, who could it be? Let’s see . . .” I drum my fingers against the edge of the table to create suspense. It sure works on Ana, who’s looking at me gape-mouthed. “Who smells good around—” Lowe’s hand closes around mine. Our wedding bands clink together as he lifts it from the table and sets it in my lap, his grip lingering for a second. I feel hot. I shiver. Lowe clicks his tongue. “Stop playing with your food, wife,” he murmurs,

Somewhere along the way your wires got crossed. Your brain decided that you’re not worth people’s time and effort, and that if you ask for anything, they won’t just say no, they’ll also leave you.” He says it matter-of-fact, like he’s Archimedes of Syracuse repeating his findings about upward buoyant forces to the acropolis for the tenth time. “That’s not how love works, Elsie. But don’t worry for now. I’ll show you.

How old were you-” “Tom,” Adam interrupted, tone sharp. He set his tea down with more force than necessary. “Stop harassing my girlfriend.” It was less of a warning and more of a threat. “Right. Yes I’m an insensitive ass.” Tom smiled, apologetic. Olive noticed that he was looking at her shoulder. When she followed his gaze, she realized that Adam had placed his arm on the back of her chair. He wasn’t touching her, but there was something… protective about his position.

You need to be told the right things.” He shrugs casually, but the movement feels the opposite of casual. “That you’re intelligent, and incredibly skilled at what you do, and brave. That despite your weird belief that you’re heartless, you’re more genuinely caring than anyone I’ve ever met. That you’re so resilient, I can’t quite wrap my head around it. That you’re very . . .” He pauses. Wets his lips. My heartbeat skips. “Very beautiful to look at. Always so beautiful. And that—

Out of all the people I’ve met, the things I’ve wanted, the places I’ve been, none has ever felt as necessary as you do. Because I love you. I love you in a way I didn’t think I was capable of. I love you because you showed me how to fall in love. And I don’t regret it, Rue. I wouldn’t want it any other way. Even if you can never say it back. Even if you never think about me again after today. Even if you were right after all, and you’re not capable of love.

She thought about it, and thought, and thought even more. And then she spoke carefully. “I have a question. A specific research question. Something that I want to find out.” There. Done. This was the answer. “Something I’m afraid no one else will discover if I don’t.” “A question?” She felt the air shift and realized that he was now leaning against the sink. “Yes.” Her mouth felt dry. “Something that’s important to me. And—I don’t trust anyone else to do it. Because they haven’t so far...

What kind of question was that?” Adam interjected. When she glanced at him, he was scowling at Tom, who just shrugged. “What’s cool about your project?” Adam repeated back. “Yeah. Cool. You know what I mean.” “I don’t think I do, and maybe neither does Olive.” Tom huffed. “Fine, what would you ask?” Adam turned to Olive. His knee brushed her leg, warm and oddly reassuring through her jeans. “What issues does your project target? Why do you think it’s significant? What gaps in the literature does it fill? What techniques are you using? What challenges do you foresee?” Tom huffed. “Right, sure. Consider all those long, boring questions asked, Olive.