[fanfiction] - Adam Carlson's POV of the Love Hypothesis

terms

"Ground rules?"

So far so bad. I mean, of course, I get it. We need some kind of rules, although I find myself actually quite offended by the term 'ground rules'. 

Couldn't she have used any other term? Like guidance or instructions? Something that sounds less... baseball-y? I actually refuse to see us pretend-dating as some sort of clinical play that has to follow a generic path thats stone-written like a boardgame or a sportsmatch. 

But Olive nods with emphasis, somehow completely unaffected by my prominent frown. 

"Yes!" The nod is getting even more eager. 

"You know." I seriously, absolutely don't. 

"What we are allowed and not allowed to do. What we can expect from this arrangement. I think that's pretty standard protocol, before embarking on a fake-dating relationship."

Ground rules. Standard protocol. It gets worse by the second. Leaving sportsgame-territory right into Navy-Seal-Speak. She'll probably start referring to the whole thing as 'operation desert storm III' soon. But I can't stomach that. Bad enough to talk about all the things around us dating in such an unblemished, neutral fashion, but whats even worse is how eager she seems to tell me the factual process, as if there actually IS a standard protocol for pretend dating. 

Which is... absolutely impossible, isn't it?

"Standard protocol?" I therefore ask, already kind of anxious about her maybe very specific answer. 

"Yup." 

Yup? YUP? 

Suddenly I hear Holden in my head who very loudly sings the starting lyrics of Bohemian Rhapsody to me.

Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?

And suddenly I have a really bad epiphany about exactly WHY Olive would talk in such a routine fashion about this topic. 

"How many times have you done this?"

My heart's in my throat right now, messing with my vocal cords again, so I sound pathetically strangled while forcing out this question. 

"Zero. But I am familiar with the trope."

The instant relief, I feel, when she blatantly answers with zero, a strange undertone in her voice, as if me assuming, she had done any of this before is so far out of reach, that it borders on insanity, has my heart plumbing back into it's supposed position. Right in my chest. Leaves room for all the confusion in my head about...

"The . . . what?"

"Okay." Clearly, she is ignoring me asking about: The trope. I mean: trope. You'll have to forgive me, but: trope? As in... mathematical geometry classifying a tangent line? 

Or what? Trope as in basic formal ontology after Husserl and Schischkoff?

But before I can even jump in, pointing out, that I have no clue, what she is referring to, she does (again!) one of her deep-inhales. Her lips sudddenly pouty, her chest moving. And it's absolutely disgusting, but it (again!) gives me pause. I'm too distracted with staring at her. 

But I get immediately interrupted by her index finger suddenly raising into my line of sight. 

"First of all, this should be a strictly on-campus arrangement. Not that I think you'd want to meet me off campus, but just in case you were planning to kill two birds with one stone, I'm not going to be your last-minute backup if you need to bring a date home for Christmas, or—"

She takes a deep breath and I'm using this opportunity to interfere. 

"Hanukkah." I supply in a monotous voice. That seems to put her out of her drive. Suddenly she's blinking, her lips speechlessly spread for a second. 

"What?" Her being confused is kind of fair. After all, I will be the one tonight, who has to google 'Ground rules on fake dating trope' and probably have to scroll for eternities, before I will find anything. 

"My family is more likely to celebrate Hanukkah than Christmas. Though I'm unlikely to celebrate either." I try to not sound like a jackass, telling her, that the most of all holidays are absolutely lost on me. 

"Oh." Does she seems kind of disappointed? Do I WANT her to be a bit disappointed? What the hell is wrong with me? 

"I guess this is something your fake girlfriend should know." I flash a brief grin - less amused, more self-disgusted - at her. Some reassurance, that I am - in fact! - not disappointed, that Olive Smith, who is not even dating me for real - might not be disappointed ENOUGH, because I don't do holidays. Realizing this, I guess, makes it very obvious, that I should not be pretend-dating her, and rather... search seriously for psychiatric care. 

"Okay. Second rule. Actually, it could be interpreted as an extension of the first rule. But-"

The heavy pause she makes mid-sentence is well-performed. Her BUT wavers in the air between us, and it's ridiculous, but she has me really on edge with that one. 

So, I actually lean in. Over my desk and somehow she kind of does the same, or I am hallucinating again, when I feel like we're actually moving towards each other like material entities in weightless space. Naturally attracted by each others mass. 

And her gaze crosses mine and we look each other in the eye, when the rest of her inhale leaves her lungs, deflates her chest and she proclaims:

"no sex."