Page 99 of Hot Streak

“I didn’t—”

Deke just raised an eyebrow and okay, maybe he had felt that way a little. But he’d also been afraid. Afraid of what he was falling into, if he let himself get swept away by the irresistible pull of Connor Clark.

“Okay, fine,” he grumbled. “That might’ve been part of it. And well . . .he’s over there, isn’t he?”

“Not even working hard to get their attention. Working hard to get your attention,” Deke said with a chuckle. They watched as Connor flexed his biceps to a round of excited applause from the girls.

“It’s . . .there’s no point to it. Me and him,” Jackson clarified.

“No?”

“I thought you were going to help me resist him,” Jackson pointed out wryly.

“If I thought you actually wanted to, yeah. But it’s way beyond that now. I can tell.”

“Even if we . . .” Jackson swallowed hard. It was tough to admit to Deke that he’d broken his no teammates rule, even though it was probably obvious to Deke. “Even if we did hook up, it’s not like it’s going anywhere. We both know where he’s going, which is the majors. And where am I headed? Nowhere good.”

“Don’t you think you’re being kinda hard on yourself? You’re staring right down that minor league home run record,” Deke objected.

Jackson shot him a look.

“What?” Deke said. “I heard about it from Andy. Was surprised you hadn’t even mentioned it.”

“It’s not exactly something I want to brag about. Spending all this time in the minors? Hardly worth celebrating,” Jackson said wryly.

“You’re wrong. It’s fucking amazing. Most of us never make it anywhere. We maybe spend a few games—maybe a whole season, all together, if we’re lucky—in the majors. We don’t make many waves in the minors. We just exist, floating around, until we can’t play anymore. Until nobody wants us to play anymore. But you’ve done more than that, Jackson. Your name is gonna be in the record books, forever.”

It was a big part of the reason why he’d initially stayed. He’d wanted the record, even as he’d hated himself a little for it.

“Well, thanks,” Jackson said. “Not sure it’s gonna happen. Not that many more games left.”

“But there’s enough, and you’ve got that swing that could make my momma weep,” Deke said, reaching out and patting him on the arm. “Now are you gonna go over there and get your boy?”

The girls were screeching again, and Jackson didn’t even want to look over to see what stunt Connor was pulling now.

“And don’t say he’s not, ’cause we both know he is,” Deke said, lowering his voice until it was just above a murmur, barely audible over the girls—and Connor too, for that matter.

Jackson considered continuing the argument. But Deke had already seen right past him, but even more importantly, he’d seen right through his own argument.

Maybe he and Connor hadn’t made any declarations out loud, but every time they’d touched each other—yesterday and today, both—had felt like a promise.

Besides, he was supposed to be watching Connor, wasn’t he? It was his right to go over there if he wanted, to keep him in line.

For a moment, he worried that maybe they’d been transparent to more than just Deke. But nobody who knew Connor—who knew the string of girls he’d hooked up with—would think that anything was happening. They’d just assume, Jackson decided, that he was doing his job.

Jackson stood, finished his beer, set it down with a decisive click, and then walked over there.

He approached from behind, and Connor didn’t seem to be aware of his presence, though everyone else at the table sure seemed to be. Several of the women’s eyes grew big and one of them shot him the most obviously flirtatious smile he’d seen in awhile.

No. That was wrong.

Connor’s flirty smiles when he’d been attempting to seduce him had been even more blatant—but only by a hair.

“Hey,” Jackson said.

Connor turned around, and God, Ro was right, he didn’t have a poker face at all. If any of these women suspected they’d been pawns tonight, the look on Connor’s face would tell them the rest of the story.

But of course, nobody seemed to notice.

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