Page 76 of Hot Streak

“Sure you did.” Connor shouldered Jackson out of the way and pulled the shower curtain back with such force it ripped. But he didn’t look back as he charged right out of the showers.

If Jackson wanted to continue pretending that this wasn’t happening, even after that kiss—that kiss—then he could fuck right off. Connor wasn’t going to be around for taking, not forever. He’d just do what Tristan said. Plenty of hot men in the sea.

I lost my temper. I lost the train of thought. I lost . . .myself.

Jackson’s own words echoed through his head on an insanely frustrating loop all through batting practice and then the game.

He attacked the ball with a ferocity that even had TJ asking him after he’d nailed his second home run of the game if everything was okay.

“You just seem . . .” TJ hadn’t finished his sentence.

“Determined? Focused? Driven?” Jackson had retorted in clipped tones as he stripped his gloves off.

“Something,” TJ observed.

It probably would’ve been more accurate if Jackson had said: Angry? Frustrated? In sexual torment?

Because he was furious with himself for crossing the line. He hadn’t just lost himself. He had self-control; he fucking prided himself on it.

Liar. Even in his head, the voice sounded like Connor’s. You didn’t lose yourself; you found yourself.

He couldn’t even blame Connor. The guy hadn’t even meant to push him, but somehow he’d done it by being nice. By doing everything he was supposed to.

That was the worst of it. The only one to blame for this was himself. He’d lost it all on his own. He’d wanted and consequences be damned, he’d taken.

Not that Connor hadn’t been an enthusiastic participant. Even for a guy who’d never kissed another man before, he’d given as good as he’d gotten.

Now, the worst thing was Jackson knew what Connor tasted like. What he felt like. And how easily he surrendered, giving himself completely over to Jackson’s kiss.

“Funny look for a guy who hit two home runs tonight,” Deke said, and Jackson glanced up from where he sat on the bench in front of his locker.

He’d showered as fast as he’d ever done in his life. Not wanting to spend a second longer in one of those stalls than he needed to. Even then, with deliberately cold water and his hands rough as he washed up, he’d still gotten half-hard, just because everything about this place would remind him of Connor now.

“Just tired. Long road trip. And tough loss again.” They’d lost by one. With Jackson’s homers, they’d been tied heading into the ninth. And one of the newbie pitchers had given up a solo shot in the bottom of the ninth.

Jackson didn’t want to know how many losses this was on the road trip that wouldn’t fucking end, but it was a lot. It was too many.

“You shouldn’t be bummed,” Deke pointed out dryly. “Heard Connor pitched great this afternoon. Lookin’ good for tomorrow.”

“We need more runs,” Jackson said.

“I’ll see what I can do tomorrow,” Deke said, slapping him on the shoulder. “Maybe follow your lead.”

“Sure you will. You got this,” Jackson said, faking an enthusiasm he didn’t feel.

At this point, it felt like the players weren’t pulling for the team as much as they were pulling for themselves, trying to find the silver lining in the dumpster fire that was this losing streak, focusing instead on individual stats, trying to figure out how they’d make it to the next level, the next team. Attempting to make sure this wasn’t the end of their baseball careers.

Jackson had been on plenty of teams where that happened—and it never failed to depress him, even as he was forced to do the same thing. Advocate for himself and his own career over the team’s future.

That was the fucking minor leagues for you.

Deke lingered. “Are you sure everything’s alright with you?” he asked.

Jackson knew what he was really asking. Did something happen with Connor?

“I’m fine,” Jackson said.

Liar.

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