Page 126 of Hot Streak

Jackson chuckled. “See, that just proves you’re definitely not a kinky bitch. Not the way you keep bragging about. But I know where to look. I’ll send you some links.”

“Okay.” Connor hesitated. Wanted to keep him on the phone, even though if he knew Jackson at all, he’d take advantage of the fact he was calmer now to exit this conversation.

Before the subject could change from baseball to something else.

But to Connor’s surprise, Jackson said, casually, like this was a friendly kind of conversation, not one that had been full of sobbing and then full of barely veiled innuendos, “I thought you’d be out celebrating tonight.”

“I got your text after the game,” Connor said even though that wasn’t technically an answer to Jackson’s unasked question.

“I was afraid I’d sent it too late and I guess I did. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. About that, anyway.” It was funny how with Jackson, he could find that perfect mix of fear and arrogance just fine.

But before Jackson could say more—God, he wanted him to apologize for something else, and was also equally terrified when faced with the opportunity, he wouldn’t—Connor changed the subject. “I didn’t expect the adrenaline or the comedown to feel like that.”

“Yeah, it’s a lot,” Jackson agreed.

“What did you do, after your first major league game? Did young Jackson Evans party in a way old Jackson Evans won’t?” he asked in a teasing voice.

“No . . .uh . . .” Jackson sounded a little bit ashamed, which immediately intrigued Connor. “I’d met Davy by that point. And so, yeah, uh . . .basically used sex to come down off that high.”

Connor told himself he was not jealous. After all, Davy wasn’t around, not anymore. Jackson had given no indication that he’d even talked to him since he’d been traded, all those years back.

But maybe Jackson still cared about him. Maybe he’d even loved him.

Connor didn’t think so. But then he didn’t want to think so, either.

“Too bad that wasn’t on the table, tonight,” Connor said in a hushed voice.

“Connor—” Jackson started to say, but Connor stopped him.

“No. You said your piece the other night. You said fucking plenty. But you never asked me what I wanted. And what I want is you. I don’t want to go find someone else to hook up with. The only person I’m having sex tonight with is my right hand.”

“Well, it’s a good right hand,” Jackson said awkwardly.

“I get it, you don’t want to talk about it, but it’s happening, whether you want to talk about it or not.”

Jackson sighed. “I know.”

“Do you?” Connor challenged.

“Actually yeah.” Jackson’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry about acting like I did when you left. I felt horrible, after, just fucking horrible, and not only ’cause I was hungover. I . . .I wished we’d left things different. And I never thought I’d say this, but I’ve missed you.”

Connor’s fingers tightened around the phone. “I missed you too.”

“For the record, I’m still afraid. I’m still . . .worried.”

“You wouldn’t be Jackson Evans if you weren’t,” Connor said wryly.

“And I don’t know if there’s a future here. I don’t know where I’m gonna be next year. And we know where you’re gonna be. It could be . . .it could be tough, to be together. The way I think you want.” Jackson paused, and Connor felt his heart beating, waiting for what he hoped was coming. “The way I want.”

The truth of Jackson’s words settled into Connor’s chest. “I didn’t expect this, you know.”

“And I did?” Jackson laughed. “Didn’t see you comin’, not even a hint, but if you’re not gonna let me go, I’m not gonna let you go, either.”

“Even after four runs today.”

“Connor, you could wash up tomorrow, and I’d still want you.”

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