Page 106 of Hot Streak

“I was just . . .” Connor swallowed back what he was going to say and went with an alternate thought. “Just wondering if the scout’s gonna be around next time I pitch.”

“I’d expect so,” Jackson said, and his voice suddenly a little more guarded. Like he too understood exactly what that meant.

If Connor kept pitching well, he’d get called up to the majors, and whatever this was, this thing between them that Connor didn’t want to identify with words, it would be over.

And no matter how much he suddenly hated the thought, he was going to have to accept it.

Chapter 17

Sure enough, when Connor made his next start a few days later, the scout was back.

By now, Connor had learned enough what he looked like that this time he was able to spot him himself.

Jackson must’ve done the same thing—which didn’t surprise Connor at all, because the guy was annoyingly and perfectly prepared for any possibility that might send Connor into a tailspin.

It was the kind of behavior that was making sex with Jackson increasingly addictive—and not just sex, but the man himself. And the kind of behavior that once they made it onto the field made Connor want to scream in frustration.

He didn’t want to be handled.

But at the same time, he fucking craved it.

“Hey, I don’t want you thinking about it,” Jackson said, rising to his feet and jogging to the mound. It was difficult to even face him these days without getting half-hard. This was the first time Connor had pitched since they’d started having sex, and when he’d first seen Jackson, slipping into his uniform in the clubhouse, he’d had to actively force himself not to stare.

Apparently his dick was conditioned to get hard whenever he saw Jackson’s bare skin, because he’d been aroused ever since and fighting it.

“What am I thinking about?” he grumbled. The chafing of his cup against his dick was not helping his mood. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but you looked it.”

“What, are you the Connor whisperer now?”

Jackson cracked a smile at that. “Yeah, kinda.”

He was the ultimate professional—always making sure to keep their hookups in private and their relationship at the ballpark and in the clubhouse strictly professional, but Connor still caught the flash of heat in his gaze as he said it.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Connor said. But he was thinking about it. Couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“About the scout in the stands?” Jackson said it so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. But they both knew differently.

“Yeah. Seriously. Does he want to come down here and get a closer look at the merchandise? See if I’m worth it?” Connor hadn’t really realized how being treated like just a number, just a piece of meat, had begun to wear on him. How that was all he’d ever expected for himself, until Jackson had showed up almost a month ago and reminded him that he was a person. Demanded, even, that he stop being the Comet, and start being Connor.

Made him look at himself with value. Not just as Connor Clark, the hottest pitcher in the minors—but Connor.

In some ways, that mindset change had helped him become a better pitcher. And in others, it had made everything so much tougher.

He couldn’t just spiral the way he used to. He didn’t even want to. He had to face everything he felt, head-on, and not shove it away, burying it with booze or sex or reckless, antagonistic behavior.

“Hey,” Jackson said, putting a hand on his arm. “You’ve got this. You were awesome your last start, and I know you’re just going to keep doin’ what you know how to do. Okay?”

“Okay.” But Connor didn’t feel as sure as Jackson sounded.

“Remember, he’s just a man. He eats and shits like anyone else.” Jackson shot him one of those rare smiles that hit him deep and resonated—and also, extra bonus, made his cock twitch.

“Yeah, yeah, so you say,” Connor said.

“You need to warm up anymore or are you good?”

“What do you think?”

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