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I roll my shoulders beneath my pads. “If you girls must know, I’m apartment hunting.”

That gets them all to shut up for about two seconds.

Jax’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re moving?”

“No.”

“Then what’s that about?”

“It’s not for me.”

Mercer’s mouth twitches.

“Don’t.”

He holds up a glove. “Didn’t say a word.”

“Didn’t have to.”

Jax looks between us. “What am I missing?”

“Nothing.”

Mercer answers at the same time.

“Delaney.”

I turn my head slowly.

He grins.

Asshole.

“Delaney?” Jax repeats.

“You know, Beckett’s little sis.” Mercer breaks it down for him.

Recognition crosses Jax’s face. “Oh.”

There it is again. That fucking oh.

I point my stick at him. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

Deacon edges closer. “Wait. St. Louis Beckett?”

“There’s only one Beckett you need to worry about,” I tell him. “And you play against him Saturday. So, let’s focus a little more on that and a little less about where I’m going and who is warming my bed.”

“His little sister is in Chicago?” Jax questions.

Mercer skates a circle around us, grinning from ear to ear. “So… does that mean Baby Becks is warming your bed?”

“Careful, Mercer.” I contemplate driving a shoulder hard enough to send him into the boards, but I don’t. He just got back from a hip injury. Can’t risk it. “Last warning.”

Of course, he knows her nickname. He went to North Pines with us. But the last thing I need is him realizing how much hearing her name and my bed in the same sentence gets under my skin. These assholes will never let it go, and worse, they will start reading into every little thing, convinced there’s something that isn’t there.