Page 16

PIPER

T wo weeks before Christmas break, Boston's weather has settled into a rhythm of crisp, sunny days and freezing, star-filled nights.

Campus is alive with the frantic energy of impending finals, students huddled in study groups like penguins trying to preserve body heat.

I adjust my scarf as I hurry toward the recording studio, determined to maintain absolute professionalism for today's podcast, despite the fact that Liam Sullivan has seen me naked three times in the past week.

Four times, if you count Saturday morning.

Which I absolutely do not.

That was just... morning research.

For science.

"Earth to Piper," Julian waves a hand in front of my face as I enter the studio. "I asked if you're ready to record. We're live in ten minutes."

"Yes! Sorry. Completely ready," I set down notes while simultaneously trying not to remember how Liam's hands felt tangled in my hair just twelve hours ago.

"Great, because your listeners are pumped for today's topic.” He scrolls through his phone. "The comments on last week's episode were insane."

"What do you mean?"

He hands me his phone, displaying the podcast's social media page. "See for yourself."

My eyes widen as I scan the comments.

"Is it just me or has the tension between Piper and Liam shifted from argumentative to something WAY more interesting?"

"The way Sullivan's voice gets all soft when he talks about emotional vulnerability now? I'M DECEASED."

"Scientific evidence of chemistry: THESE TWO. My shipper heart can't take it."

"Oh god," I groan, handing the phone back. "That's..."

"Accurate?" Julian suggests, smirking.

Before I can respond, the studio door swings open and Liam strolls in, looking like every naughty wish an erotic genie could grant.

In a simple navy sweater and jeans, his dark curls are somehow perfectly tousled despite the winter wind outside.

His narrowed hazel eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I'm back in my apartment, sheets tangled around us, his talented tongue working its way down my…

"You ready for this, Thompson?" he asks, each word as hot as his golden gaze.

I lift my chin, hoping it doesn’t shake. “Born ready…Just so you know, today's topic is 'Maintaining Independence Within Relationships.' I've prepared statistics on successful couples who balance togetherness with personal autonomy."

"I bet you have," he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear, and I feel heat climb my neck.

Julian clears his throat pointedly. "Going live in sixty seconds, lovebirds."

"We're not—" I begin.

“We’re colleagues.” Liam says, sliding into his chair across from me. "With deep respect for each other's intellect."

"Exactly," I agree, ignoring Julian's eye roll.

"And on in five, four, three..."

For the next hour, Liam and I navigate our usual spirited debate, though there’s no denying something has changed already.

Where our arguments once had sharp edges, they now curve more gently.

His counterpoints to my research feel less like challenges and more like complementary perspectives.

And when our eyes meet across the table, they linger a little too damn long.

"Studies show that couples who maintain separate hobbies and friendships report higher relationship satisfaction," I explain into the microphone. "The key is finding balance between togetherness and independence."

"But doesn't that balance look different for every couple?" Liam counters. "Some people need more space, others need more connection."

"Which is why communication is essential," I respond, feeling a familiar rhythm develop between us. "Partners need to articulate their needs clearly rather than expecting mind-reading."

His eyes twinkle. “Something you're particularly fond of pointing out.”

"Only because some people believe intuition trumps explicit conversation."

"Hey, intuition has its place.” He leans forward slightly. "Like knowing when your partner needs space versus when they need closeness."

"And how exactly would someone intuit that difference?"

His gaze softens. "By paying attention. Really seeing the person in front of you, not just hearing their words but understanding the meaning behind them."

My skin heats, my entire body warming at his response, so different from the dismissive jokes he might have made a month ago.

When we wrap up the recording, Julian shakes his head. "That was... something else. The download numbers are going to explode."

As Julian steps out to answer a call, Liam moves around the table to stand beside me, close enough that I can smell his smoky cologne.

"Was my intuition right earlier?" he asks quietly.

"About what?"

"That you needed a little space today. Some distance."

I look up at him. "How did you know?"

He shrugs. "I paid attention. You had your 'I'm compartmentalizing important things' face on when I walked in."

"I don't have a face for that."

"You absolutely do. It's cute—your eyebrows get all scrunchy, and you tap your pen exactly three times before setting it down."

The fact that he's noticed such small details makes my heart race in a way that has nothing to do with podcast adrenaline.

"I have class," I say regretfully, gathering my notes. "But tonight...?"

“House is empty. Derek's at an away pickle ball game with Ryan." He snorts. “Don’t ask. They think it’s entertaining as spectators, for God knows what reason.”

"Seven o'clock?"

His smile widens. "I'll cook."

"You cook?"

"I have many hidden talents, Thompson," he replies with a wink that sends heat spiraling through me. "Some of which you've already discovered."

"You're practically glowing," Abigail blinks at me that afternoon as we sit in our favorite campus coffee shop. "It's disgusting. I love it."

"I am not glowing.” I pretend not to notice the stupid smile that keeps creeping onto my face whenever I think about Liam. "I'm just... well-rested."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Because according to Twitter, Instagram, and approximately half the journalism department, you and Hockey Hulk are setting the airwaves on fire with your sexual tension."

“We are not!”

"What? I'm just reporting the facts." She slides her phone across the table. "Look at this TikTok compilation someone made of your 'most obvious moments.' It has twenty thousand views."

I stare, mouth open, at the video montage of Liam and me exchanging looks during our podcast recordings, expertly edited to highlight every lingering glance and subtle smile.

"This is mortifying," I groan, pushing the phone away.

"It's amazing content. And it's probably helping your fellowship application. Speaking of which, any news?"

"Actually..." I hesitate, still processing the email I received this morning. "Professor Bennett called me into his office today. I'm on the shortlist."

Abigail squeals loudly enough to turn heads. "Piper! That's incredible!"

"It's just the shortlist," I raise a hand, trying not to smile too hard. "Five candidates for one position. The final interview is in New York, right after graduation."

"Which you're going to crush. This is everything you've been working for!"

"I know."

“And yet…you look like someone pissed in your Americano.”

I trace the rim of my coffee cup, avoiding Abigail’s eye. "It's just... complicated now."

Her voice softens. “Because of Liam?"

Before I can answer, a voice calls my name.

I look up to see Wren approaching our table, bundled in a colorful scarf that must be her own artistic creation.

"Mind if I join you?" she asks. "I'm avoiding the studio until my final project dries."

"Please," I gesture to the empty chair, secretly relieved.

"So," Wren says after settling in with her tea, "Kellan tells me you've been spending a lot of time at Hockey House lately. For podcast research, I assume?" She throws me a gentle smile. "How are you and Liam defining things? If you don't mind me asking."

"We're not," I admit. "Defining things, that is. We're just..."

"Enjoying each other's company?"

"Something like that."

"While researching relationship dynamics," Abigail adds with air quotes.

"Very thorough research," I mutter into my coffee.

Wren laughs. "Well, whatever you're calling it, it seems to be working. I haven't seen Liam this focused since... well, ever."

"Focused?" I echo.

"Mmhmm. Kellan says he's been better at practice, more present in team meetings. Less the class clown, more the thoughtful teammate."

Something warm blooms in my chest at her words.

Before I can respond, the coffee shop door opens, bringing in a blast of cold air and a group of journalism students, including Marcus—my original podcast co-host.

"Speaking of your podcast," Wren continues, "the latest episode was fantastic. That segment about maintaining personal identity while building partnership resonated with me and Kellan."

Marcus spots us and saunters over, his trademark smug expression firmly in place. "Well, if it isn't the Voice of UB Romance herself."

"Marcus," I acknowledge with a nod. "How's the sports podcast going?"

"Solid listenership, though not quite the viral sensation you've created." His tone carries a hint of bitterness. "Never would have guessed that dating advice from a control freak and a hockey jock would be so popular."

"Careful, Marcus," Abigail warns. "Your sour grapes are showing."

He ignores her, focusing on me. “I do have to wonder how much of your success is actual content versus people tuning in for the spectacle. It's basically reality TV for the ears."

"Our content is thoroughly researched and professionally presented," I reply stiffly. "And Liam brings valuable practical insights."

"Right. I’m sure his 'insights' are what everyone's tuning in for, not the obvious fact that you two are?—"

"Finished with this conversation," a familiar voice interrupts.

Tall and broad, Liam stands behind Marcus, his expression deceptively calm though I can see the tension in his hockey-shaped shoulders.

"Sullivan," Marcus acknowledges with false cheer. "Just discussing your podcast success."

"I heard," Liam replies evenly. "And I think you're confusing jealousy with critique."

Marcus's smile falters. "Just making observations."

"Then observe this," Liam steps closer, voice low. "Piper's podcast has twice your downloads because she puts actual thought and research into her content. She works harder than anyone I know, stays up revising scripts until 2 a.m., and genuinely cares about providing valuable info to listeners."

My breath catches at the conviction in his voice.

"Her journalistic integrity is impeccable," he continues, "which is probably why Professor Bennett relies on her for department initiatives while you're stuck recording locker room gossip."

Marcus's face reddens. "Whatever, man. Enjoy your fifteen minutes." He retreats to his friends at the counter, posture stiff.

Liam slides into the seat beside me, casually stealing a sip of my coffee as if he hadn't just delivered the most impassioned defense of my work I've ever received.

"Sorry I'm late," he says. "Coach wanted to review film before tomorrow's practice."

Wren and Abigail pass glances that I try to ignore.

"We were just leaving," Abigail announces, gathering her things. She coughs lightly. "Right, Wren?"

"Absolutely," Wren agrees, standing. "Projects to finish, finals to study for."

As they head out with barely concealed smirks, Liam turns to me. "What?"

"You defended my journalistic integrity," I say, still processing his confrontation with Marcus.

He shrugs, looking sheepish. "The guy's a tool. And he was wrong."

"Still, it was... nice."

"Nice?" he repeats, a slow smile spreading across his face. "That's the best you can do? What happened to your extensive vocabulary, Thompson?"

"It was an eloquent, impassioned, and surprisingly articulate defense of my professional credentials," I amend with mock formality.

"Better.” He nods before taking a peek at his at his watch. "I should get to the market if I'm cooking tonight. Any food allergies I should know about?"

"No allergies," I reply, suddenly, absurdly touched by the simple question.

By the fact that he's planning to cook for me.

Thinking about my preferences.

Defending me to others.

As he stands to leave, promising to see me at seven, I'm struck by the realization that what's happening between us has long since evolved beyond professional respect or physical attraction.

I'm falling for Liam Sullivan…

His unexpected depth. His genuine kindness beneath the joking exterior.

And the timing couldn't be worse.

New York hovers on my horizon, the culmination of everything I've worked toward, the fulfillment of my mother's legacy and my own ambitions.

And suddenly, terrifyingly, it doesn't feel like enough.