Page 10 of Hot Streak

“Wasn’t it weird Millie lost the tab again? I swear to God she’s done that a bunch this season.”

Jackson turned away from the pair of them. Trying to hide the interest he felt when he heard their speculation.

“Yeah, it’s weird, but hey if she’s not getting in trouble,” TJ said. “Free drinks, right?”

But, when Jackson had ordered, he’d immediately pegged the waitress as a pro—she’d efficiently delivered the drinks he’d ordered, and he’d definitely been charged for them.

It hit Jackson that maybe Connor was paying his friends’ tabs every time they went out. But even more, he was making sure they wouldn’t know it was him.

Well, well, Jackson thought.

He’d known Connor Clark wasn’t bad all the way through.

A true asshole wouldn’t have flinched at throwing the ball straight at his chest.

He wouldn’t have overthought. Wouldn’t have missed.

Maybe Connor wanted to believe he’d missed accidentally, but Jackson knew better.

The guy wasn’t cut out to hurt people.

Just the same as he didn’t mind picking up the bill at the end of the night. Drafted in the first round and with a Jag? He had money, and in a way that Jackson knew TJ and Ro didn’t—and he knew because he himself ran on the leaner side.

He spent the time before batting practice meeting the rest of the team, keeping the chatting light and inconsequential—though he did make sure to check in with the other catcher, Charlie Torres. Charlie had taken one look at him and hadn’t been angry, had just patted him on the back in commiseration.

Obviously, he didn’t resent Jackson for showing up, and, even more obviously, he was more than ready to hand responsibility for Connor off to someone else.

Connor showed up two minutes before batting practice began, in dark sunglasses, scowling at everyone as he sauntered in.

In daylight, and not in that ugly bar lighting, he was something to behold.

Then he pulled his glasses off, tossing them onto the shelf of his locker, and he turned, pinning Jackson with those otherworldly dark blue eyes.

Jackson didn’t want to feel it.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t found a few teammates attractive over the years.

He was gay; he wasn’t made of fucking stone.

But there was something about Connor Clark, like he’d been sprinkled with stardust. Like he carried his own spotlight around with him.

The problem was that he fucking knew it.

Any attraction that Jackson might’ve felt evaporated because one, he was a teammate, and two, because there was nothing uglier than a guy who was hot and not only knew it but was smug about it.

“What’re you looking at?” Connor snarked.

Jackson smiled. “Contemplating the state of the world. Think there’s any hope for world peace?”

Connor rolled his eyes. “I took care of the window, you know.”

Jackson had figured that out. “I assumed you would. Since you broke it.”

“Don’t rub it in or anything.”

“Oh darlin’, this is nothing,” Jackson teased. “Just wait til we get on the field.”

“I don’t know why I don’t get to choose my catcher,” Connor muttered.

---