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“Why are you really doing this?”
That was an excellent question, and one he wasn’t sure if he should answer. Answering it meant one of two outcomes.
Outcome A: Not only would she be okay with the truth, but she’d feel the same way. They could be happy together. Life could be really good.
Outcome B: Once she learned that he’d gone into their fake-relationship completely and totally gone for her, she would be horrified. She’d leave and never speak to him again.
He desperately wanted Outcome A, but B seemed far more likely. She made a joke about him donating money to the campus Starbucks and he couldn’t resist smiling, but then what he had to do overwhelmed him. He had to tell her. She deserved to know the truth. His heart would probably get broken, but wouldn’t it be better to have it break now rather than wait until September 29th? He stared at the empty chip bag she’d tossed on the table. The words felt stuck in his throat. “Olive.” Breathe. I have to breathe. I have to tell her the truth and I have to keep breathing. “You should know that…” Look at her. If I’m going to tell her the truth, I have to look at her. The chip bag does not care about my love. He forced himself to face her. She looked at him with those big beautiful eyes and waited for him to continue. “I’m…not…I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”
“This sort of thing?” Curiosity filled her eyes.
“Dating.” There. He’d said it. Well, he’d kind of said it.
She grinned, “Then it’s a good thing we’re fake-dating. It’ll let you get all kinds of practice.”
His stomach clenched, Shit. “I don’t…want…” he felt like he was going to throw up. It took everything in him to keep looking at her. “Olive, I don’t want to fake-date you.”
She swallowed then nodded. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, and when they opened, he noticed there were tears forming. She quickly stood up and without looking at him replied, “Thank you for telling me. I should…I should get back.”
Without thinking, he grabbed her hand, “Olive, please don’t leave.”
Her voice was so quiet, “I think…I should. I…appreciate…” she didn’t finish, but instead made a choking sound and tried to pull her hand away.
He couldn’t let go. He stood up and looked down at her, “I didn’t mean to upset you.” With his free hand, he reached out and wiped away a few tears trickling down her face. “I don’t want to fake-date you.”
Her head snapped up towards him and her eyes were a mess of pain and anger, “Yes, I’ve got it. You've made yourself abundantly clear. Now let me go. I’d hate for you to waste any more time with someone you don’t want.”
How was he messing this up so phenomenally? He sighed, “I do want you.”
She glared at him, “You just told me you don’t want to fake-date me. So what? You want to real-date me?”
“Yes.”
She froze.
The words started to come, “I’ve wanted to real-date you since you stood in my bathroom crying because of your expired contacts. You’re brilliant and beautiful and you are everything I’ve ever wanted.” He closed his eyes, pain flooding him as he knew she was probably about to walk out of his life, “I know I don’t have a hope of a chance with you. I promise I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.” He opened his eyes and held her gaze. His voice grew softer, quieter, “I’m in love with you, Olive.”
The room was silent. His heartbeat was so loud in his ears that he wondered if she could hear it. She didn’t pull her hand away. There were still a few tears making their way down her face. He tenderly wiped some of them away. She slowly sat back down on the couch, and gently pulled him back to sit beside her. She never broke eye contact, and after a minute she asked, “You’re…in love…with…me?”
He nodded.
She looked down at their hands, “I’m sorry, Adam.”
“For what?”
She looked back up, “I like you. I really like you. But, I’m not sure I’m in love with you.”
He nodded, “That’s okay. I didn’t expect you to be.” He sighed, “Do you want me to leave you alone?”
“No!” the word was sharp. Then she shook her head, “Please, Adam. Please don’t leave me alone.”
He squeezed her hand, “I won’t.” Then, after a beat, he took a chance, “Does this mean you’d be open to real-dating?”
She studied him, “I think so.”
Relief flooded him. His phone began to beep and he sighed, “I have to get back to my lab.”
She nodded, “I probably should too. The blot isn’t going to fix itself.”
They stood up and walked to the entrance. He looked down at their still joined hands. Letting go was the last thing he wanted to do. Unwillingly, he released his hold. Despite that, they still stood there, staring at each other. Memories of their last two kisses flooded his brain, and he found himself asking, “May I kiss you?”
In response, she stood on her tiptoes, and right before their lips met, she murmured, “Yes.”