Page 82 of Hot Streak

A whole fucking grand slam.

“Listen, sometimes you take the win,” Jackson continued. “You got flustered. But you still hit enough of what you needed to that they couldn’t score. That matters. Remember this later, when . . .”

Jackson didn’t finish his sentence because Deke came over then, to ask him something.

But Connor didn’t need Jackson to finish his sentence to know what he’d been about to say.

Remember this later, when you’re in the majors, and I’m not around to remind you.

His mood, already terrible, worsened, and it hardly improved when the game ended, still one to zero, and he took the loss, even though he’d made barely one fucking mistake.

The mood in the clubhouse was somber.

In two days, they’d be returning home finally, but they’d lost far more on this road trip than they’d won.

“What we need is a fucking rainout tomorrow,” Deke grumbled as they spilled out of the field house door onto the street. He hadn’t even suggested heading to the bar. Instead it was just him, Jackson, Kevin, TJ, Ro, and Connor heading back to the hotel to lick their wounds in peace.

Connor didn’t even feel like teasing Jackson about licking his wounds personally. He might’ve before this, but now it just felt pointless. Jackson wasn’t going to give in. He’d leave Raleigh and Jackson behind without ever getting a taste of what he really craved.

“Yeah, seriously,” TJ agreed.

Connor glanced upwards at the sky. It was dark, but from the stars shining above them, it was clear there wouldn’t be rain anytime soon.

“Too bad,” Deke said morosely.

They got back to the hotel, and Connor asked Jackson if he wanted to watch something on TV but he just shrugged.

Connor wished he hadn’t showered at the ballpark so he could have the excuse of a long hot shower—if Jackson wasn’t going to give him satisfaction, then he’d just have to rely on his right hand—but he also didn’t want Jackson to know what he was doing, either.

So instead, he landed on the bed, and tried to pretend he wasn’t bored as hell.

At first, Jackson tried to ignore how Connor kept shifting around on the bed. Tried to keep his attention to his tablet, where he was unsuccessfully trying to get into the latest mystery he’d downloaded.

He didn’t know if it was the book, or just him.

Deke’s words kept echoing through his head. What we need is a fucking rainout.

They sure did. The team was sluggish. Exhausted, but at the same time, it was clear they were also antsy and bored. What they needed was not just a break, but a way to remind them that they weren’t just a group of guys who’d accidentally ended up together, but a team.

Teams played as one, but right now the Rogues were playing like nine separate players and it was killing them.

And maybe, before, Jackson could have let it continue to kill them, but somehow, in the middle of all this bullshit, he’d begun to care about the Raleigh Rogues.

He turned to Connor, who was drumming his fingers on his knee, scrolling through something on his phone.

“You wanna go out?” Jackson asked.

Connor looked over at him in surprise. “I thought you didn’t want to.”

“It’s better than sitting in here, listening to you fidget,” Jackson said. He had an idea. Kind of a crazy idea. But he thought he knew how they could pull it off—and get away with it, too.

“Sorry,” Connor said. “I’m—”

“I know.” God, he knew, without Connor even finishing his sentence. He was horny. Worked up. And there was not only no end in sight, but only more endless torture to come.

Connor shot him a look. “Nothing stopping you from hooking up with someone.”

Jackson noticed how he didn’t even suggest himself this time. Had Connor finally given up? He didn’t know if he was relieved about that—or disappointed.

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