Page 59 of Defensive Zone

There was laugher and a few heads shaking, but he ignored them, trying not to feel cornered, which is exactly what they were doing to him. His own damn teammates.

“Just calling a spade a spade. So you hit that yet?” Dom asked.

Max was off his treadmill and gripping the guy’s shirt before he could blink.

Dom laughed. “Yeah, and I’m dramatic.”

“Don’t be a dick, Dom,” Harty said.

“Asshole,” Max muttered. The kid better watch his step because Max could feel a well-deserved prank coming on.

“All right, Baz,” Nessie said, and Max stepped back from Dom.

“Don’t ever talk about her like that,” Max said.

“It was just to get a rise out of you. I’m not that much of an asshole,” Dom said.

“Now, what’s going on with Gabi?” Sully asked.

“Nothing. We’re old friends and she’s helping my sister out. That’s it,” he said.

“Sure. Sure,” Nessie said. “You guys looked good together the other night. You need someone who doesn’t balk under your insanity. She didn’t seem to shrink under your taunts.

“Has Baz finally met his match and she was right under his nose the entire time?” Nessie asked rhetorically.

At least Max hoped it was rhetorical because there was no way in hell he was going to respond to that. Meddling pains in the ass, all of them.

“Whatever. We going to work out or gossip?” he asked.

Sully shrugged. “When have we ever not been able to do both? You’re usually the worst of all. You can dish it but you can’t take it.”

“Please. There’s nothing going on, so you’re wasting your energy,” he said.

“Didn’t you quote Shakespeare to one of us last year about doth protesting too much?” Sully asked, smirking.

“Whatever. Nothing is going on. She’s a family friend and that’s where it ends,” he said, turning his attention back to his treadmill and ramping up the speed. He ignored their laughter and focused on his workout.

And the taste of Gabi on his tongue.

Dammit. Last night’s call hadn’t done anything to dim or satisfy his need for her. It was going to be a long three days before they headed home.

Later that night, he grabbed dinner with the guys and forgot to drop his credit card in the hat with everyone else’s, so he wasn’t on the hook for the bill, the first of many ideas to get back at the gossipy hens.

Afterward, he filled the ice bucket and one of the trash cans in his room with ice and water and propped them up against Nessie’s door. He knocked heavily and took a step back. He could run back to his room, but where was the fun in that?

“What the fuck, Baz,” Nessie yelled when he opened the door and icy water flooded into his room and over his sock-covered feet. “That’s fucking cold.”

“You’ve looked like you’ve been getting homesick lately. I know how much you miss that Loch you used to live in.” He grinned at his friend.

“Seriously? You’re such a dick. Hahaha. The Scot who grew up in the loch,” Nessie deadpanned. He stepped back from the door, but Max caught it before it could close in his face.

“You ever consider writing poetry? Maybe limericks? That almost rhymes,” he said.

“You’re an idiot. Is this because we teased you today about Gabi?” He lifted a brow.

“No. I’m Prank Sinatra, remember?”

Nessie shook his head. “Stop trying to make that catch on. It’s stupid.”

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