Page 90 of Hot Streak

“It was a few years back. Five? Six? It was my first time in the majors. I ran into someone—a teammate—and it was electric. Like a lightning bolt. I couldn’t have said no to the guy if I’d wanted to. We fell into bed together. And for a few days, it was so fucking good. I was in the show, and I was pretty damn good, too, and I had this guy . . .and for the first time I thought, this is it, this is what happiness feels like.”

Connor found he was holding his breath—because he knew how this story was going to end, without even hearing Jackson tell him.

Jackson glanced back then, and there was a raw pain in his eyes that Connor wanted to flinch away from, but how could he, when Jackson was being brave enough to share this incredibly personal revelation?

“Obviously,” he continued wryly, “it all fell apart.”

“How?”

“We were stupid. We got caught. Everyone on the team found out. The other guy . . .he was going places. Kinda like you. They traded him away. And they sent me back down to the minors.”

“You were punished for it?” Connor couldn’t quite believe it. Yes, this was baseball. It was a fucking misogynistic, homophobic sport full of a bunch of old white men who thought they knew how to run the world better than anyone else. But still. Jackson Evans was a force to be reckoned with now. He had a beauty of a swing, and was, hands down, one of the best catchers Connor had ever worked with. It hadn’t been easy to admit that, because so much of what he did and said was contrary to what Connor wanted him to do and say, but it was impossible to deny, now.

“I guess, yeah,” Jackson said, shrugging. Like he could just shrug off that kind of bullshit.

But Connor knew you couldn’t. Not even Jackson was capable of doing it.

“That’s why you didn’t want me to do this,” Connor said slowly.

Jackson nodded. “I didn’t want it to blow back on you, the way it did me.”

“It’s not gonna,” Connor swore.

“You can’t guarantee anything in this business,” Jackson said, chuckling under his breath.

“No, but I can pitch so fucking good they can’t deny me,” Connor said.

“Yeah.” Jackson’s tone was wry. Like he knew better but didn’t want to burst Connor’s bubble.

Well, this time it wasn’t going to be Jackson teaching Connor something—it was going to be Connor showing Jackson that things had changed.

He could be himself. He could lean over and kiss Jackson now and still end up pitching in the majors.

“So, you still didn’t tell me, was this just a one-time-only thing?” Connor had tried to swallow the question down, but finally, he gave in to it.

Maybe he hadn’t ever wanted to seem overeager with anybody before this, but Jackson was extraordinary.

“I did,” Jackson said seriously.

“No, you didn’t. I wouldn’t have missed it.”

“Yeah.” Jackson wiggled closer. Pressed a kiss against Connor’s bicep, so tender that he didn’t think he’d ever experienced its equal. “If I wasn’t willing to keep doing it, I never would’ve done it once.”

“Oh. Oh.”

“I fought against this as long as I could,” Jackson admitted. “But for however long you want to do it, I’m not ever going to turn you down.”

“No?” Connor grinned. And it felt so easy, the easiest decision in the world, to swing his leg over Jackson’s body, straddling him, and lean down to kiss him again.

All it took was Jackson’s mouth on his to go from half-hard to rock hard and totally ready to go again.

“I’m not gonna regret this, am I?” Jackson asked, between slow, hot kisses. “You’re gonna get me as hot as a twenty-year-old, again.”

And, yeah, he was hard again. Connor wanted to say he was surprised, but he wasn’t really. He should be inspiring the guy to new heights.

As they kissed, Connor unabashedly rubbing his cock against Jackson’s thigh, sweat and precome making the slide nice and easy, and he wanted nothing more than to just get off like this. Jackson’s taste in his mouth, the muscles underneath him flexing, like Jackson couldn’t help himself, and all that gloriousness laid out before him.

“You’re so hot,” Connor panted.

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