Page 92 of End Game

I can hear Sienna saying it now. Laughing about it. I’d almost guarantee Ever didn’t laugh about it at all. She lived that moment with mewhen Portia tried to break down my bedroom door. It was bad. Made me look bad too.

Maybe Iambad.

Fuck.

The moment I come storming into the locker room like a massive black cloud about to rain down upon everyone in my path, Gav is giving me shit. “Whoa there, buddy. You look ready to kick some major ass.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I practically snarl, sending him a death glare.

Gavin actually has the nerve to laugh. “Damn, bro. Did Portia finally sink her claws into you again? Back in the day she always put your ass in a bad mood.”

That he would dare to bring up Portia has me wanting to tear him apart. And he’s one of my best friends, so this isn’t normal for me.

“Keep this up and I will definitely kick your ass,” I mutter as I go to my locker and open it, shoving my backpack inside.

The room goes silent, and I can just imagine everyone sharing a look. I ignore all of them and strip off most of my clothes, changing into my gear and practice uniform with jerky movements, not saying a word to anyone. Not even to Coop, whose locker is right next to mine. I can feel his eyes on me, but I refuse to look at him.

I can’t lose it on him. I live with the guy. I respect him. I respect Gav, too, but I hate it when he gives me shit. I’ve turned into the epitome ofHe can dish it out but can’t take it.

Yep, that’s me.

My teammates eventually start changing into their practice gear, even Gavin, and by the time I’ve got my emotions under control and I’m shutting my locker, the team is mostly dressed and ready to go.

Turning on my heel, I come face to face with Dollar, nearly smacking into him. I shove at his shoulder, putting a little more force behind it than usual. “Watch where you’re going.”

I realize a second too late that I pushed his injured arm and immediately feel like a complete dick.

“Youwatch it. What the hell is your problem?” Dollar takes a step back, glaring at me as he gently massages his shoulder. “You’re an asshole.”

I’m fuming. He didn’t even give me a chance to apologize.

“And you’re a stupid fuck who believes anything a woman says to you,” I toss back at him, referring to Portia.

His gaze narrows. I’ve pissed off Frank Dollar more than once. More like multiple times. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look this furious.

“You better watch what you say about Portia,” he mutters, taking a step closer to me.

I don’t back off. Hell no. Dollar is giving me exactly what I’ve craved since I woke up this morning.

I thrust my face in his, reminding him that I’m taller and bigger than he is and I’m not injured. Meaning I could totally kick his ass if I wanted to.

Not that I want to.

“Are you with her?” I hope he doesn’t think I care, or worse—that I still might have feelings for Portia.

Hell no.

Dollar lifts his chin, his golden gaze meeting mine. “That’s none of your damn business.”

I’m guessing that means they’re not. She’s playing her usual games and leading him on, which she tried on me. But I’m a game player, too, and I was always the one who had her running to me.

God, I regret some of my past behavior, considering it’s helped me lose my chance with Everleigh.

“Listen, take it from a friend. She’s going to end up making you look like a complete asshole,” I warn him. Rationality comes into play again, and I take a few steps back, away from Dollar. “If you don’t watch it, she’ll have you doing and saying things you never believed you’re capable of.”

“Like screaming at her while locked inside your bedroom during a party on a Saturday night?” Dollar’s brows shoot up.

A couple of the guys start chuckling, and I scan the room, glaring at all of them. They immediately shut up.

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