The Assist

Chapter 3

The mic picked up everything.

Every breath.

Every shift in my seat.

Every damn beat of my racing heart.

And somehow, him.

Liam Ramirez’s voice wasn’t just made for the court. It was made for this—low, amused, lazy in a way that made you lean closer without realizing it. A voice that flirted even when it wasn’t trying.

I should’ve been immune by now. I’d spent the whole morning reviewing my outline, anticipating all the ways he’d try to deflect, charm, or manipulate the narrative.

But nothing prepared me for how he looked up close.

Or how it felt when his eyes locked on mine, like he was daring me to say something reckless.

Kai adjusted the audio levels. I cleared my throat.

And we began.

“Welcome to Campus Unfiltered,” I said, keeping my tone steady, “where we spill what’s real—whether or not you can handle it.”

My eyes didn’t leave Liam’s. He raised a brow.

Cute. He thought this was a game.

“For today’s episode,” I continued, “we have a... controversial guest.”

“Controversial,” Liam echoed, chuckling. “Is that what I am?”

“You tell me,” I said sweetly. “After all, you did inspire our most viral clip.”

“I’ve seen it,” he said. “My teammates loved it.”

I smirked. “I’m sure they did. Especially the part where I called out players who think their jerseys excuse them from accountability.”

He leaned back in his chair. “You’re brave, Maxine. Saying all that when you didn’t even know me.”

“I didn’t need to know you. The culture speaks for itself.”

“The culture or your bias?”

I blinked.

He didn’t flinch. “I’ve seen your episodes. The way you talk about athletes? It’s personal.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“Maybe I just know the type,” I said coolly. “You walk into a room like you own it. You flirt for sport. You play like life’s a highlight reel.”

“And you?” he asked, voice quieter now. “You hide behind a mic and a script because it’s safer than feeling anything real.”

I froze.

Because for a second, I wasn’t in control anymore.

And Liam knew it.

Kai shot me a subtle look from the soundboard, silently asking: You okay?

I nodded.

And smiled.

Fake. But effective.

“So, Liam,” I said, shifting the tone. “Let’s talk about expectations. What’s it like being treated like a god on campus, even when your stats don’t always match the hype?”

He laughed—really laughed. “Damn. You really don’t pull punches.”

“This is Unfiltered.”

“Fine,” he said. “You want honesty? Sometimes, yeah. It gets to your head. But you know what’s harder than the praise?”

“What?”

“The pressure. Everyone expects perfection. Like I’m not allowed to mess up, not even once. On or off the court.”

There was something raw in his voice when he said that.

Real.

I wasn’t expecting it.

And for a second—just a second—I saw the cracks beneath the confidence.

“Then maybe,” I said softly, “you understand why I made that episode.”

He looked at me. Really looked.

“I think you’re smarter than you let on,” he said.

“And I think you’re more dangerous than you pretend to be.”

Silence fell.

But it wasn’t awkward.

It was loaded.

When the episode wrapped, Kai gave me a thumbs up.

I turned off the mic and exhaled.

Liam stood, stretched, and slung his bag over his shoulder.

“That was fun,” he said. “You should invite me again.”

“Maybe when I forget how annoying you are.”

He grinned. “Too bad. I’m unforgettable.”

He walked out like he hadn’t just turned my entire show into a chess match.

And my pulse was still racing.

Later that night, the episode dropped.

And within the hour, Twitter exploded.

"OH MY GOD THE TENSION BETWEEN MAX AND LIAM??"

"Enemies to lovers realness I AM SCREAMING."

"If they don't kiss by the end of the season I will sue."

"I volunteer to be the mic between them."

I stared at my screen, mouth dry.

What the hell did we just start?

I closed my laptop and sank into the studio couch, heart still pounding from whatever the hell that was.

Liam Ramirez.

Was a menace.

And now his face—smirking, smug, and infuriatingly photogenic—was all over my Twitter feed.

Screenshots from the recording. Clips of our banter. Fan edits, for god’s sake.

I scrolled past one with the caption:

"Maxine and Liam arguing like a married couple while falling in love in denial—Academia AU version."

What the actual hell.

“Max,” Kai called from the console. “You okay?”

I blinked at him. “Yeah. Just… processing.”

“You two killed that episode.”

“That wasn’t a podcast,” I muttered. “That was psychological warfare.”

Kai grinned. “You’ve got chemistry. It’s a good thing.”

I gave him a look. “Chemistry is for reactions. Not reputations.”

But even as I said it, I knew I was lying to myself.

Liam had disarmed me with one sentence—one look. And the worst part?

He knew he had.

I was used to controlling the tempo. I guided my interviews like a conductor. But today, Liam stole the baton and made the whole room dance.

And now, people weren’t just watching the show.

They were shipping it.

Max x Liam.

I gagged.

Then my phone vibrated.

Liam: That mic picked up your heart racing, you know.

Liam:Hope I wasn’t too distracting.

I stared at the message.

No. Way.

I replied before I could stop myself.

Me: Who gave you my number?

Liam: A gentleman never reveals his sources.

Unknown: But if it makes you feel better… I only text girls who roast me on air.

I gritted my teeth.

Then smiled.

Why did that annoy me and amuse me at the same time?

Me: Next time I’ll roast you harder. Maybe you'll leave me alone.

Liam: Don’t make promises you’re not ready to keep, Dela Cruz.

He signed his name this time.

Of course he did.

Cocky bastard.

I threw my phone onto the couch, then immediately grabbed it again when it lit up.

Another message.

Liam: I meant what I said earlier, by the way.

I didn’t reply right away.

Me: Which part? You said a lot of things. Most of them annoying.

Liam: The part about you hiding behind a mic because it’s safer than feeling anything real.

That one hit like a direct pass to the chest.

Fast. Unpredictable. Unwelcome.

Because I had worked hard to build this version of me.

The articulate one. The sharp one. The unbothered one.

But Liam Ramirez?

He saw through the armor in minutes.

I stared at the screen for a long time.

Then typed.

Then deleted.

Then typed again.

Me: You think you know me because of one episode?

Liam: Nope.

Liam: But I want to.

I didn’t know how to respond to that.

So I didn’t.

I locked my phone and let it fall between the cushions.

Outside, campus buzzed like normal. Students laughed. Shoes squeaked on the hall floor. A couple walked by the window holding hands like the world was theirs.

And me?

I was stuck in a whirlwind I had created—with a boy I had wanted to avoid.