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PIPER

" C an't wait. But first, maybe you should tell our listeners what makes you qualified to give relationship advice, Piper?"

His words hang in the air between us like a challenge, and for a split second, I consider ripping off my headphones and running straight out of the studio.

Instead, I plaster on my most professional smile—the one my mother taught me to use when interviewing particularly difficult sources—and lean into the microphone.

"Well, Liam," I say sweetly, "unlike some people who rely solely on natural charm and jock stardom to navigate relationships, I believe in a research-based approach."

The corners of his mouth twitch upward.

His hair is disheveled, there's a grass stain on his UB Hockey sweatshirt, and he looks like he sprinted across campus.

But those sharp hazel eyes lock on me without blinking.

"Research-based?" The guy I’m now “co-hosting” with echoes. "You mean you actually study dating like it's a science experiment?"

"Exactly." I shuffle my notes, regaining my footing. "For instance, did you know that according to recent studies, couples who establish clear communication protocols in the first three months of dating have a 64% higher success rate?"

He lets out a laugh. "Communication protocols? Do you make your dates fill out feedback forms too? 'Rate my kissing on a scale of one to ten, please include areas for improvement.'"

A wave of warmth heats under my collar. “That's not?—"

"Because I've gotta say," he slumps into the chair like he's been doing this for years, "in my experience, the best relationships happen when you stop overthinking and just... connect."

Jesus, where the hell did this guy come from?

And just like that, he and I are off to the races—arguing about dating approaches as if we'd planned this debate for weeks.

My carefully organized notes lie forgotten as I counter his every point about "organic connections" and "chemistry" with statistics and peer-reviewed studies.

Twenty minutes in, I’m sitting half-way off my seat as I challenge him.

"So, you're telling me," I scoff, "that you've never once googled 'how to tell if she's interested' or asked friends for relationship advice?"

"Oh, I've definitely asked friends," he admits. "But there's a difference between getting perspective and treating dating like you're preparing for the L-S-A-T’s.”

“It’s pronounced L-SATs, actually.”

"See?" He grins, motioning. "That right there. That's the problem with you over-thinkers. Never living in the moment. Sometimes you gotta let life be messy."

"And sometimes…a little preparation saves everyone a lot of heartache."

The producer—a graduate student named Julian who showed up five minutes late and has been watching us with open-mouthed interest—signals that we have time for one more segment.

"Let's take a caller," I suggest, partly to prove my point and partly because I can't believe people are actually calling in.

Julian puts through a nervous-sounding freshman who launches into a complicated situation involving her roommate's ex.

"I really like him," she finishes, "but I don't want to break girl code. What should I do?"

"Well," I begin, ready to cite the psychological research on friendship boundaries, "studies indicate that?—"

"Wait, wait," this Liam tool interrupts. "Before we throw studies at her…what's your gut telling you to do?" he asks the caller.

The girl hesitates. "I... think I should talk to my roommate first?"

"Bingo.” Liam grins, inkling in his chair. “No research paper needed."

I grip my pen tighter. "Actually, that approach is supported by research on transparent communication and conflict resolution."

Liam laughs. "So, we agree…but it seems you need a journal article to back it up and I just go with what feels right…”

“What feels ‘right’ is unreliable. Feelings aren’t exactly a science.”

His gaze narrows. "Aren’t they? Because right now, I feel like this is the most honest dating conversation I've ever had and I'm pretty reliably enjoying proving you wrong."

I force myself to maintain eye contact despite the tightening in my stomach. It’s purely adrenaline from the debate, definitely not the way that Liam Sullivan’s eyes are crinkling in the corners as he flashes me a smug smile.

The clock shows we've hit the hour mark, and Julian signals us to wrap up.

I blink, breaking eye contact, "And that's all the time we have for today's premiere episode of 'Love & Logic,'" I say, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. "I'm Piper Olive Thompson…”

I barely get it out before the jock beside me jumps in.

"And I'm Liam Sullivan, apparently your new relationship co-host." There's a slight emphasis on 'apparently' that I'm sure only I catch. "Join us next week when we'll debate... what exactly?" He looks at me.

“Um, the science versus intuition of first dates," I improvise.

Note to self: “Have a real topic prepared for next time…

Assuming there even is one.

"Can't wait." Liam grips the mic closer. "Until then, remember…life's too short for spreadsheets."

"And too important for guesswork," I add in.

Julian cuts our mics, and for a moment, there's nothing but the hum of equipment in the room. And the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.

That is, until Liam rips his headphones off, standing.

“Um, you want to explain what in the actual hell that was all about?”

“That,” I exhale, “was about saving my show before it even started.” I sigh.

"My co-host quit literally minutes before you arrived, and I was desperate.

Granted, you walked in thinking it was a sports interview—which, to be fair, it was supposed to be—but then I thought, what if we just went with it, and you actually did amazing, so thank you, but also I'm really, really sorry. "

The words leave my mouth in a rush, but they seem to do the trick.

At least, I’m not being cursed out.

Instead, Mr. Liam Sullivan—temporary savior—stares at me for a beat, before he bursts out laughing.

I feel my cheeks heat as he shakes his head.

"You're completely insane, you know that?” He snorts. “Now, do you always hijack people like this, or am I special?"

"I don't make a habit of it," I reply, feeling defensive despite his laughter. "And it's not like I forced you to stay. You could have walked out any time."

"After you announced we were live? What was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, say 'there's been a mistake' like a normal person?"

“Coming from the woman who kidnapped me for her dating show!" He's still laughing, which is infuriating. "I came here for a five-minute sports spotlight, not to debate the merits of relationship spreadsheets."

I stand up, gathering my notes. "Well, thank you for humoring me, but obviously this was a one-time thing. I'll find a real co-host before next week."

"A real co-host?" He raises an eyebrow. "Funny, I thought I just co-hosted a full hour with you."

"Yes, but you don't actually want to keep doing this…” My hands still. “Do you?"

He blinks, his broad shoulder shifting for a second before the studio door burst open.

In rushes Abigail, her long dark hair flying, phone clutched to her chest like it contains state secrets.

"Oh. My. God." She looks between us, eyes wide. "Do you have any idea what's happening online right now?"

Julian appears behind her, equally excited. "We've never had traffic like this. The downloads are crashing the server."

"What?" I blink, not processing.

Abigail thrusts her phone at me. "Look! Your hashtag is trending on the university socials. Everyone's taking sides—Team Piper or Team Liam. The comments are gold."

I grab the phone, scrolling through a stream of posts:

@UBCampusLife: Is anyone else LIVING for the tension between the hosts on Love & Logic? #TeamPiper #ResearchOrBust

@HockeyBros44: Sullivan giving dating advice is the content I never knew I needed #TeamLiam #FollowYourGut

@JessicaT2003: I would pay real money to watch these two go on an actual date #LoveAndLogic #ChemistryTest

"Whoa," Liam says, reading over my shoulder. He’s close enough that I can smell the mint on his breath, and I fight the urge to take a step back. "We're... popular?"

"Apparently," I murmur, still scrolling. "But they don't even know us."

"They know what they heard," Julian says. "And what they heard was two people with insane chemistry arguing about dating."

I snort out loud, the sound sharp. “I’m sorry? Were all of us in the same room? We absolutely did not have chemistry.”

Liam nods, arms crossing. “Ah, that might be the first thing we’ve agreed since we met.”

Abigail and Julian exchange glances that I choose to ignore.

"The station manager wants to see you both," Julian says. "I think she's going to offer you a regular slot."

Despite it all, my heart leaps in my chest.

A regular slot means visibility, credit for my journalism major.

Which means this would be steppingstone to the Williamson Journalism Fellowship.

Everything my little journalistic heart has ever wanted.

Liam claps his hands together. “I hate to break up this little love fest, but I have a life to get back to.” He backs towards the door, dark hair curling over his forehead. “I barely had time for today's interview."

"Which, by the way, wasn't even a real interview," I remind him.

Of course he wouldn't stick around.

He’s a jock. My brother is the only one I know who doesn’t have the attention span of a gnat.

In his case, he has the attention span of a really big fly. And that’s saying something.

"Yeah, well..." Liam rubs the back of his neck, having the nerve to look a bit sheepish. "It was actually kind of fun.”

“Fun?” I ask.

He nods. “A little. In a completely frustrating, make-me-want-pull-my-hair out kinda way."

“Wow. High praise. I’m so flattered.”

"Look," he says, checking his phone, "I've got to run—Coach Murphy is already sending threatening texts about afternoon practice—but..." He hesitates. "Maybe we should talk about this? Later?"

I blink, losing neurons for a second.

"Sure," I say, surprised. "You know where to find me."

"Actually, I don’t.” He points out with a grin. "I was kidnapped, remember? I have no idea who you are beyond 'Piper who likes spreadsheets.'"

"Piper Olive,” I say, extending my hand formally, as if we haven't just spent an hour verbally sparring. “Actually, it’s Thompson, but I figure the Olive works just fine for airwaves. Anyhoo…I’m a Journalism major and, uh, a relationship researcher. And apparently a podcast kidnapper. So…hi.”

“Hi.” He takes my hand, his palm warm and callused. "Liam Sullivan. Hockey defenseman, relationship improviser, willing hostage."

Our handshake lasts a beat too long.

Abigail clears her throat. “Well…if you two are done with whatever this is, the station manager is waiting."

"Right." I pull my hand away quickly. "I should go explain...everything."

"And I should go prepare to be murdered by Coach Murphy.

" Liam lingers, and I try not to notice how he fills the doorway of the studio—all broad shoulders and dark tousled hair, looking like he just stepped out of some Jocks ‘R Us calendar photoshoot despite the grass stain on his sweatshirt.

"Good luck with your manager. Try not to trap any other innocent athletes on your way. "

"Good luck with practice. Try not to overthink it. Oh wait, that's not your problem, is it?"

He laughs as he disappears through the door, leaving me standing in the studio with a viral podcast, a potential career opportunity.

And the unsettling feeling that I've just met my podcast match.

And not in a good way.

Definitely not in a good way at all.