Page 127 of Hot Streak

Connor swallowed hard, emotion threatening him again. “Whatever happens, the season won’t last forever. We’ll . . .we’ll be together again. If you want to be.”

“I do,” Jackson said. “Just said so, didn’t I?”

He couldn’t choke the sob—or the laugh—back any longer. “I wish you were here. And not just for the sex.”

“I know,” Jackson said.

Chapter 20

True to his word, Jackson sent over a bunch of links.

Of course, Connor was aware that even though he thought he’d had a lot of experience, there was a lot he didn’t know. But he hadn’t ever expected that there would be pages and pages of men’s underwear that was as . . .pretty . . .as the underwear women liked to wear.

He told himself it was just for baseball, to help him with his pitching, but his fingers trembled as he glanced through the choices.

Couldn’t help but wonder if, as he’d scrolled through the options, Jackson had gotten hard, just at the thought of him wearing a pair of these.

He knew he got packs of underwear shipped out from his mother, every once in awhile. They were usually in plain colors, stretchy and comfortable, and when he’d moved to North Carolina, after being traded, they’d started coming in more “breathable” fabrics. But there were a dozen different terms he didn’t understand, listed all over these pages, and he didn’t have a fucking clue where to start.

There was only one thing to do.

He called Maya.

“Oh, I guess you’re not too big and famous to talk to your little sister, after all,” she teased him after picking up his call.

“We’ve talked,” Connor said defensively.

“We’ve texted. Every once in awhile. I had to find out that I was right after all with a text, Connor,” she chided, but he could hear the affectionate humor in her voice.

“Sorry,” he apologized.

“It’s alright. I figured you were dickmatized and then you got called up, so I get it. Things were crazy.”

“I am not . . .dickmatized,” Connor argued. Though he kinda was.

“Sure thing, big bro,” Maya teased. “So what’s important enough that you need to actually call me?”

Connor hesitated. Maybe he should’ve texted Tristan. There was no way he didn’t know about this. He and Wade probably wore these for fun.

“Come on, how bad could it be?”

“It’s not bad. It’s just . . .awkward. Someone suggested I wear uh . . .a different kind of underwear when I pitch. To help me focus on something else other than what I’m doing.”

“And you’re calling me because?” Maya sounded mystified. “You think I’m some kind of underwear expert?”

“On this kind of underwear, yeah,” Connor said.

“Oh. Oh. You’re gonna wear women’s underwear—”

“They’re designed for men,” Connor interrupted. “But yeah, they look like . . .like what you might wear.”

“Huh. Well, how progressive of you. Not only discovering you like dick, but that you want to wear lacy underwear, too.”

“It’s not for that reason,” Connor insisted. He was now pacing back and forth in his way-too-small hotel room. He should’ve called Tristan—of course, he wasn’t sure this conversation would’ve gone any differently if he had.

“You keep saying that, and okay, if that’s what you want to go with, it’s cool. Anything you want to do, with your own self or your life, it’s fine by me,” Maya said and her tone had gone from teasing to kind.

“I’m not—” Connor took a deep breath. “I can’t say it’s not kind of a sexy thought. ’Cause it is, but, really, what I’m wearing them for is to help me pitch better. So help me figure this out, Maya, please.”

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