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Olive would not describe herself as a nervous person, and yet, her nerves always got the best of her.
…Well, nervous might be pushing it. Actually, it was the right word but the wrong reason. She wasn’t truly anxious at the world around her…Rather, she felt her nerves course through her body in nearly every situation.
And what she meant by ‘nervous’ is that she was ‘full of nerves.’ Excitement. Energy. She loved humming when she was running gels on a microscope. She bounced on her feet when waiting in line at the supermarket checkout. And when she rode her bike through traffic, there was always a song escaping her lips - a tune for the road to keep her occupied especially when some errant driver decided to make an unmarked right on red, or cut her and her shitty ass bike off.
But when she was with Adam, her mind stilled.
She always likened her life to a pool of water that ebbed and flowed, waves rippling across the surface as each monumental moment made its impact. When she sang a solo in Kindergarten, it was a small disturbance; when her mom died, it was like a bolder crashing into an endless ocean, creating a whirlpool of despair and hurt and loneliness that seemed never-ending…not until she interviewed at Stanford, and landed a position in her biology cohort.
And yet, with Adam…the waves quieted. The waters that flowed through the recesses of her mind became so calm - so clear and tranquil - that she actually understood what the term ‘inner peace’ meant, and could picture how it might look if she ever managed to achieve it in her life.
Although he never said it outloud, she felt it was likely the case for Adam, too. He was notorious for his gruff, extreme personality, and their relationship had only propelled his reputation further.
Is that actually Carlsen with a girl on his arm?
The bastard can smile after all.
Who knew he enjoyed anything other than cell mutation and undergraduate misery?
Of course, this was all hearsay - as in, it was just rumors from other students who were in the same department. That was one thing Malcolm (and honestly, Holden too) was good at - getting the hot goss. Especially since people often sang like birds when it came to confessing their sordid feelings to a gay man, and no one ever seemed to realize that the four of them had a very close, very real life connection.
It didn’t matter, though. There were no words that could come between her and Adam. And if his reputation meant she didn’t have to share, well - he could remain as antagonistic and unapproachable as he wanted to.
It just meant that Olive could keep him all to herself.
While Olive conceded that her Adam and Dr. I-Shit-On-Your-Thesis-For-Breakfast Carlsen were one in the same, it was a tad difficult to reconcile the two when they were alone, in the darkest hours of the night, wrapped up in each other’s arms and sighing from a night of unbridled passion.
There were moments, though, when Dr. Carlsen snuck through the cracks to rip her apart. However, unlike someone’s thesis or presentation or experiment, this Dr. Carlsen ripped apart her body.
And admittedly, she loved it.
When the door closed and it was just the two of them, he began his hunt - animal-like and feral. His pupils dilated with want. He prowled. He attacked. Olive was convinced that Adam actually blacked out or dissociated during sex because there were times he could not remember or recall or fathom the endless, submissive pleasure that he bestowed upon her naked body.
(“You came four times? And I ate you out three of those times?” A smirk. “That’s a record I’d keep trying to break.”)
And when the time came that their affairs were over - when their bodies finished quaking with searing pleasure, and their breaths came uneven and ragged from bearing their souls to one another - the waters stilled again, and Olive and Adam found solace in the quiet - the afterglow, the sweet limbo that came after passion, and settled into something softer and more personal and intimate.
Adam lay still in her arms. His head was pressed firmly on her chest; his nose gently pushed up against her sternum as he rested his face between her breasts. His thick, sweat-drenched hair cascaded in uneven waves against her skin, and with every breath he took, Olive could feel a soft heat radiate from his lips. Her own arms formed a lazy loop around his shoulders, and she played with his dark locks as her own mind settled and recovered from yet another evening of lovemaking.
A shift, and Adam tilted his neck up to gaze at her. The animal was gone, quelled for the evening - Dr. Carlsen, the almighty Big Bad Scientist that feasted on the souls of uninspired graduate students - was now docile. His lips twitched in a relaxed smirk. “Hey,” he spoke, his eyes blinking sleepily.
Olive’s heart swelled. “Hey,” she mirrored, unable to help her own smile. His hands moved upward towards her breasts, swollen and bruised from Adam’s own teeth and passion. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice sweet with concern.
She just shook her head - it was painful, sure, to have a behemoth of a man suck on her tits as if they could restore his very life essence - but it made for all the more delicious pleasure. “You never hurt me.”
His face went back to his position on her chest, and he nuzzled the skin between her breasts affectionately. “My girl,” he sighed, kissing the sensitive spot.
It was once hard for Olive to imagine this was her life - that she (a person who swore off romance in lieu of life and science and purpose) would currently be entangled with a man after getting positively fucked sideways, and enjoying hot, amazing sex, and wanting more from it - desiring his mouth on her own tits, salivating for the feel of his cock pulsating inside her folds, his hand steadying her still as she groaned under the touch of his tongue. She wanted to positively dissolve into him, to be as close as humanly possible in every sense of the word.
Because Olive never imagined this in her life. Not once.
It’s not that Olive was born a romantic pessimist - or actually, maybe she was. For most of her life, it was just her and her mom, alone in the world. Her mother was able to navigate life without a partner, and so she felt that perhaps she could do it too. If her dad was any indication of what other men would be like, she could easily swear off men for life.
But in college, Olive could feel her expectations changing - maturing, rather. She was always a late bloomer - not getting her first kiss until she was twenty, and only because it was at a party and her roommate dared her to play Spin the Bottle. Sure, there were attractive guys - some with good bodies, and others with alright personalities - but none of them felt quite right.
It was only when she approached Senior Year when she realized that she was the odd one out in her group of friends - because she was the only one who hadn’t had sex with anyone yet.
And so, she did what any rational-thinking college student would do. She made a pact with the cute guy across the hall.
Well…it wasn’t a pact, per se. A pact implied that it was an agreement between two people, and this pact was only for herself - so it was more of a promise. The guy was easy on the eyes, not terribly annoying, and to be quite honest, easy to manipulate.
The whole thing was actually too easy.
Olive knew that if she spent enough time giving him goo-goo eyes across the gym, complimenting his ever-changing collection of Nikes, and lingering at her door while her roommate was out, that he would eventually cave in and come over.
And when it happened, she just wanted to get it over with.
There was one thing her and her friends could bond over - and it was how much sex in a college dorm room sucked.
Funny enough, she couldn’t tell you what it felt like. Was it painful? Probably. Was it embarrassing? A little. But what stuck out in her mind was the crick in her neck from her head being shoved up against the baseboard, the never-ending grinding of the air conditioner that constantly kicked on and off, and the sound of her suitemate knocking on the door, asking if she could borrow her toothpaste.
Olive squawked out a breathy ‘yes.’ The guy just kept thrusting.
They managed to have sex another handful of times before the semester was over. And when the summer came, they awkwardly exchanged numbers and she never saw him again.
And that was when Olive decided that romance - and relationships - and sex - was not for her.
But this all came crashing down when her first real relationship started - and ironically enough, it was a fake relationship at first. If not for Adam and their fake-dating Wednesdays, and his absurdly firm and chiseled chest that she was forced to smear sunscreen over, and his deliciously ripped arms that just happened to look incredible in a skin-tight black Henley…
And of course, his conversation. His kindness. His protection. His patient, gentle demeanour that he seemed to save for her and her only…
That very set of beliefs - the years of build-up walls, of purpose, of settling for “Romance is not for me and I am not for romance” - came crashing down in a matter of weeks.
Olive had confessed about her experiences (or lack thereof) back in Boston, right at the first ever moment of true sexual intimacy. Of course, she thought her and Adam were a one-off hookup at the time. They were supposed to go their separate ways, and Adam was supposed to run to his ideal mystery woman and Olive would resume pining over him and her lies and their fake relationship.
That obviously (admittedly, thankfully) didn’t happen.
And although they were only together for a few months, everything about Adam felt right. His attention felt genuine, and his affection felt secure and warm. Hell, even his sex felt unnaturally amazing - he always took care of her, ensuring that she had a proper orgasm before chasing his own, and always ensuring that she was comfortable with whatever they were doing - consent and communication and compassion were a given.
She never ‘got it’ until she was with Adam.
And while it was true that he picked up on her inexperience during their first time, and that he really didn’t seem to mind that he was basically her first partner ever, there were times when that feeling crept back in.
That she wasn’t enough. That she was doing it wrong. That her lack of experience somehow made her undesirable and unloveable, and Adam was really only tolerating her even though he showed signs of worshipping the very ground she walked on.
For fuck’s sake. What was her problem?
Insecurity, that little voice said. You’re insecure in yourself. You feel like Adam can’t possibly love someone like you - someone as smart and good looking and well-known as him.
Any woman would want Adam.
The sheets rustled as Adam began to stir, pulling her away from her intrusive thoughts. He blinked to ward off the sleep in his eyes and gazed up at Olive. “You wanna shower?” he asks softly.
Olive simply shakes her head, prompting a slight crease to form in the middle of Adam’s brow.
“You’re in your head,” he observes, speaking low and without judgement. And it is just one of the reasons why Olive loves him so truly - he just knew. Adam was overall not the most empathic or even sympathetic person, opting for blunt facts over feelings any day.
Yet with Olive, he felt it. He just knew.
“Tell me,” he says, glancing up at her in earnest.
Olive’s nerves spoke before her brain could filter the words.
“How many people have you had sex with?”
Truthfully, the thought of Adam with another girl - even if it was practically in a past life - makes her stomach curdle, and her own insecurity spike.
But…if they had a future together, then they needed to be honest with each other.
And for whatever reason, Olive wants this question answered.
For a second, Adam’s face drops in confusion. He blinks rapidly as if Olive has presented the question in Portuguese. “How many…what?” he asks, genuinely taken off guard.
“I just…” Olive lamely starts, feeling embarrassment creeping up in her cheeks, “want to know how many sexual partners you’ve had.”
This time, Adam pulls away from her body. He leans up on his elbows, gazing at Olive’s face as he worries his lip. “Was I…was it not good tonight?"
“No,” Olive says instantly, suddenly sitting up. “Not at all. Having sex with you is amazing, always.” She takes his face in his hands, but he doesn’t move from his spot on the bed. “I just…I was thinking about this. Because it’s always so good with you and I just…want to know.”
He doesn’t seem convinced, though, and Olive starts to feel a little bad for asking this question to begin with.
Adam stares at her for a long moment before responding with a question of his own. “Can I ask where this is coming from?”
Insecurity, Olive’s subconscious whispers, but she keeps that thought to herself. “Do you not…want to tell me?”
He is uncomfortable, that much she can tell. Adam pulls his body up into a sitting position, his jaw tight and his eyes hardening with each second. “No, it’s not that…” he says awkwardly, letting out a small sigh. “I don’t know, exactly.” He scratches his head. “It’s not like I keep a list.”
Olive wrings her hands. “Can you give me an estimate?”
Adam’s face is dangerously neutral as he meets her eyes. He shakes his head a little, apparently trying to do mental math for his (what Olive assumes) several sexual partners.
Her stomach hitches, and she feels a nauseating wave of anxiety as Adam contemplates for a good minute.
“I guess…” A breath. “Three, if I had to say?”
Oh.
“That’s it?” Olive blurts out before she could - once again - censor herself. She feels herself sputtering. “But - but - but - you’re older! And Holden - - “
Adam’s eyes lower in mild irritation. “Do I look like a horny ass gay man to you?” he deadpans.
“No,” admits Olive, feeling silly once again. “But you’re…a genius! And…and fucking hot!”
Now Adam exhales through his nostrils. “Did it ever occur to you that physical and mental attributes do not equate to the amount of sexual partners?” he retortes, his voice growing increasingly growly. “I work out because I want to, Olive. Not to bone a bunch of women.”
Then, just like that, his back is turned to her. He swings his legs over the bed, and Olive can feel the temperature drop in the room. “I’m..” he begins, almost reluctantly, “I’m a little surprised you’d think me that shallow.” He stands up then, grabbing his plaid pajama pants and starts to put them on.
Shit. Olive herself shoots up from the bed, her legs tangling in the sheets as she rushes. “Never, Adam - - I would never - - !” She runs over to his side to reach him, grabbing his hands and pushing him pack down on the mattress.
Obediently, he lowers himself on the bed, and for once, Olive looks down upon him. His gaze is even but guarded, and his eyes roam over her naked body.
Just for a second, however. With a fluid motion, he grabs his own black pajama shirt where it sits discarded by the foot of the mattress. Slowly, he slips it over Olive’s head so that she is decent while having this tough conversation.
“Olive,” he says, in that special, intimate way of his. His eyes are wide, searching. Trying to understand. But Olive can also see they also hold something that absolutely tears her apart: hurt, put there by yours truly.
“You are so good to me,” she sputters, before he has a chance to continue and get even angrier. “Everyday I am grateful for everything we have - for meeting you in that bathroom, for kissing you in that goddamn hallway - “ She feels tears pick her eyes - dammit - but she will not let them fall just yet. “And I feel like I am not enough for you. Not pretty enough. Not smart enough. And - fucking inexperienced! “ She violently spits out that last word. “I want to be everything for you - and I just feel like I am not enough. Because I…” the words die off on her tongue. “Because I’m not…experienced in relationships. In sex. In all of this. And…” Shit. A tear slides down her face. She shuts her eyes. “I don’t want to mess it up.”
There are hands on her cheeks, large and warm. Two thumbs glide under her lashes as Adam attempts to wipe away the tears. “Sweetheart,” he says, his deep voice gentle against the quiet night. “You have no idea, do you?”
She peeks through the tears. “No idea about what?” she asks.
Olive then feels her body be pulled back onto the mattress. There is a shift of sheets, and before she could say another word, Olive finds herself laying back on the pillows, swallowed in Adam’s secure embrace.
He kisses her crown, breathing into her scalp. “Remember when I stole your chips?”
Olive huffs, a small bit of laughter escaping her lips. “Which time?”
“The first time,” he responds, speaking into her hair as he caresses her cheek. “When we were talking in the breakroom. And then Nigel Thronberry came in and interrupted - - “
“Jeremy,” Olive corrects, smiling despite herself.
“Jeremy,” Adam repeats, although he is trying to be serious once again. “I wanted to tell you then.”
Now Olive can’t help it. She pulls away slightly, and forces herself to meet Adam’s gaze. “Tell me what?”
Adam bites his lip, uncharacteristically bashful in his words. “You asked me why I didn’t have a real girlfriend,” he states, “And I wanted to…be honest with you.”
She can sense Adam’s heart beating on the other side of her chest. He’s breathing steadily, and yet his blood is pumping wildly in through his veins.
“I don’t - - “ he begins, and then seems to correct himself, “I didn’t - ” He hesitates, clicking his tongue against the top of his teeth. “ - - date,” he finishes, punctuating the word as if it offended him. “I didn’t date. Not anyone. Not really ever,” he continues, pausing as if to consider his words. “Until I met you.”
A weak laugh escapes Olive’s lips, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her own head shakes. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t want to. I didn’t have to,” he explains, and he was growing louder despite their close proximity. “No one interested me. I knew I wasn’t gay - Holden actually tried that with me in highschool, and I almost knocked his teeth out for it - but I never felt a fucking ‘connection’“ - he rolls his eyes as he says the word - “with anyone until you ran into my bathroom with your shitty expired contacts.”
It takes a minute to process all this. “You’ve never had a girlfriend?” Olive asks, a little dumbfounded.
“Technically, I did, but it was more of Holden pawning someone off on me.” Hmm. Olive stores that information, making note to revisit it another day. “And even with her…I fucking hated having sex it her. It felt wrong. And I just - - “ he pauses, struggling to articulate the right words, “Figured it was me. That I was weird. That it was a side effect of a genius IQ and absent parents.” He huffs a small laugh. “And my shining personality.”
There is silence then, as Olive absorbs his words and she considers everything he’s now shared with her.
And then Adam speaks once more.
“I didn’t care about any of these things until I met you, Olive.”
Suddenly, everything makes sense.
Her whole life, people had said. They asked why she was single, or asked why she didn’t date. Why she didn’t care as much as other people her own age. And they said, “When the time comes,” or “When you meet the one,” or “When you know you know, and when you don’t you don’t.”
It would all make sense if it was with the right person.
And Adam, she supposed, is the right person. For her, anyway.
“I thought you’d break up with me because I was basically a virgin,” Olive admits.
Adam chuckles, a light rush of air from his lips. “I think someone once told me that virginity is not a continuous variable, it’s categorical,” he responds, his lips tilting in a smirk.
Olive can’t help but smile, too. “And I thought you blacked out during sex.”
“I definitely do sometimes,” he agrees, but steers the conversation back on its previous track. “But don’t let society dictate for you what feels right and wrong about sex. Who cares? The rules are made up by people who don’t give a shit about you and me. Do whatever - or whomever - the fuck you want. Or don’t,” he adds. “It doesn’t fucking matter.”
Olive’s heart swells - with what, she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Adoration? Affection? Love? Everything, probably. It was probably all of the above.
She nuzzles her face into Adam’s exposed neck. “You matter,” she whispers, “To me.” So much. So much you have no idea.
Adam’s arms tighten around her body. Instinctually, Olive winds her legs between his own, craving to be as close to him as possible at this very moment. She breathes deeply, savoring the exquisite scent of his skin as if it were a tonic for her insecurity.
“I love you so much,” she hears him say, a bit choked up but clear and sure, even in the darkness of the evening.
She tilts her head up, and before she opens her eyes, he’s kissing her. Adam is kissing her, and it’s all tongue and teeth and passion and love. He cradles her face in his huge hands, and she feels the swell of his erection between his legs - and her own heat starts to build, too.
But she’s tired. Too soft, too vulnerable from sharing such personal matters. She pulls away, kissing him with one final smack before she meekly asks, “Can I shower now?”
Adam chuckles, plants a kiss on her forehead, and starts to rise from the bed. He tugs her arm gently. “Only if I can join you.”