I fill the kettle and set it on the burner. The ignition clicks. Blue flame catches.
"Dante."
"It's tea, Maddox."
"It's my specific tea in your kitchen where I've never had tea before."
"You're reading into a box of tea."
"I read into everything. It's my job."
The kettle begins to hiss. The kitchen stays dim, late afternoon light coming through the window while the overhead remains off. She leans against the counter with the Barry's box in her hands, and her pulse moves fast in the hollow of her throat.
"The profile," I say. "I read it."
"I know. Cole left it on the counter."
"Your analysis of the neutral zone structure is accurate. The timing gap you identified in the weak-side rotation. Addison hasn't caught it."
"I know he hasn't."
"You should send him the data."
"I should send the head coach unsolicited tactical analysis from the press box." Her voice flattens. "That would go over well."
"It would go over better than running it in the Chronicle where opposing coaches can read it."
She stops moving. The kettle whistles. Down the hall, the pages keep printing.
"You're telling me not to run my own story."
"I'm telling you the story has implications beyond the byline."
"And you care about that because it affects your draft stock."
"Yes."
"Your draft stock. Your team's competitive advantage. That's why you're standing in your kitchen giving me editorial feedback."
"Yes."
"And the tea."
The kettle screams between us.
I take it off the burner and pour the water into a mug. Steam curls up between us. I drop the tea bag in and set the mug on the counter.
"Drink your tea, Maddox."
She stands there with steam rising between us. "A month ago you called me a tourist," she says. "Now you're buying my tea and giving me editorial advice."
"I gave you a factual observation about tactical intelligence in print media."
"You bought my tea."
"I bought tea."
"My tea. My brand. Unopened. On the back of a shelf." She lifts the box slightly. "You want to stand there and tell me Cole put it there?"
