"What thing?" we say in unison.
"The thing where you're debating but you're really just eye-fucking each other."
"Maya!"
"What? It's true." She grins. "You've been doing it all night. At the game, in the car, now here. It's very obvious."
"We are not—" Lennox starts.
"Definitely not—" I overlap.
"Sure. Okay. Whatever you say." Maya sips her drink innocently. "But for the record? I approve. You'd be good together. Both stubborn, both passionate about the same things, both emotionally constipated."
"I'm not emotionally constipated," I protest.
"You write letters instead of having phone conversations. That's peak emotional constipation."
Lennox's eyes sharpen. "Letters?"
"To Maya," I clarify quickly. "I write her letters when I'm... processing things. It helps me think."
"It's actually really sweet," Maya adds. "Most guys his age wouldn't bother. But Carter's old-fashioned like that." And there she is my little sister trying to set me up with a girl she likes, but I shouldn’t.
The food arrives, saving me from further embarrassment. We eat and talk about safer topics, Maya's school, Lennox's classes, the upcoming tournament.
But I'm hyperaware of Lennox across from me. The way she laughs at Maya's jokes. The way she asks genuine questions and listens to the answers. The way she fits into this moment like she belongs here.
Like she's not just a journalist doing her job.
Like she's someone I could actually talk to, see more of.
That thought is dangerous. So I shut it down. Focus on being a good brother. On making sure Maya has a good visit.
But when we drop Lennox off at her dorm later, Maya insists she lingers at my car window.
"Thank you for tonight. For including me." Lennox looks at me, and why is it taking everything in me not to get out and give her a good night kiss.
Fcuk I’m screwed.
"Thank Maya. She's the one who invited you."
"Still. It was... nice. Seeing you outside the hockey context." She hesitates. "You were right. The story is more complicated than I made it seem." For a moment she breaks eye contact from me.
"Does that mean you're changing your approach?"
"It means I'm reconsidering some assumptions." She smiles, and it transforms her whole face. "See you Monday. Practice observation."
She walks away, and Maya immediately starts.
"You like her."
"I barely know her."
"But you want to know her and she wants to know you. I saw it."
"She's writing articles about me. That's literally her job."
"She came to your game. Stayed for dinner. Smiled at you like you're not just a source." Maya buckles her seatbelt. "Carter, I know you're scared. Of repeating Dad's mistakes. Of being vulnerable. But sometimes you have to take risks."
