Page 140 of Hot Streak

“Come on, let’s grab a drink. Celebrate another win,” Deke said persuasively. “I’ll even buy you a shot for that double that didn’t quite make it over the wall and give you another homer.”

“Thanks,” Jackson said dryly. “But I’m . . .I’m not in the mood.”

The understatement of the fucking century.

All he wanted to do was go back to his shitty little studio—with all its vivid memories of him and Connor together—and lick his wounds. Try to figure out how the fuck he was going to move on.

He’d never felt this way about anyone. Certainly never this way about Davy, though he supposed given time and space, he might’ve, but even then, Jackson wasn’t convinced. The thing with Davy had been almost purely physical. With Connor, he even liked just talking to him.

There’d been a time when he hadn’t imagined that could possibly be true, but it was so like Connor to have dragged him here, unwilling and unhappy, until he didn’t know how he’d live without him.

And now there was the possibility that he was going to be forced how to do exactly that.

But when they exited the field house, Deke and the others breaking off towards the Strike Zone, Jackson turning in the direction of his apartment, but then he froze, the sight in front of him stopping him short.

Connor unfolded his long, lanky body from the wall he’d been leaning on, a bright, cocky grin on his face—looking not only like everything Jackson adored, but just like he had that first night they’d ever met—that his heart stuttered.

“You’re back,” TJ crowed. “I told y’all that he was coming back!”

Connor hugged everyone else who joyfully approached him. But as happy as Jackson was, love pumping unsteadily through his veins, making him drunk and high with endorphins, he hung back.

Not quite sure he could keep a poker face if he embraced Connor here, in front of everyone.

“You’re here,” he said stupidly.

Connor grinned. “Yeah, I am.”

“But—” Before Jackson could get anything else out, Deke elbowed him in the side.

“And here I thought you were sulking,” Deke pointed out under his breath.

“Not anymore,” Jackson said. He still hung back, uneasy. Convinced they were going to give themselves away. And he . . .well, he mattered less. Everyone already knew about him. But Connor was a different story.

Even if Jackson was no longer one hundred percent sure that his sexuality had ruined his chances to be a major league baseball player, this wasn’t his decision to make.

This was all on Connor.

He hung back, still, waiting. Saw as comprehension dawned on Connor’s face.

“Yeah,” Connor said, and he sounded equally as uncertain. Jackson was about to change the subject and suggest they head to the Strike Zone for a drink—even though that was the last thing he wanted to do, now that Connor was back.

It would mean at least an hour before he could embrace Connor the way he craved, way too long before he could touch him how he wanted.

But before he could suggest heading towards the bar, Connor took a step closer and then another and, before Jackson could react, he was wrapping his arms around him, holding him close.

It was just a hug, but it was as different as night and day to the platonically flavored hugs Connor had given the other guys on the team.

For a second, Jackson felt. Connor’s warm, slender body pressed against his own, fitting together the way they always had.

“Guess you won’t be heading to the Strike Zone with us for a drink,” Ro said wryly when they broke apart. Connor’s gaze hadn’t moved away from Jackson’s face, and his hand fell reluctantly from his back.

“No,” Connor said.

Ro nodded, and Deke gave him a warm, understanding smile. “We’ll see you two tomorrow,” he said.

When the others had all turned away, and they’d started walking towards Jackson’s apartment, Connor tucked a hand around Jackson’s waist. “I guess they know now,” he said.

He didn’t look upset about that, but Jackson would be lying to himself if he claimed there wasn’t any apprehension in Connor’s voice.

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