Page 15 of Hot Streak

“No. I’m not.”

“Charlie usually lets me set the tone.”

“Charlie wasn’t calling pitches?” Jackson found that hard to believe. Charlie was a veteran catcher. He knew better than to let a pitcher call his own game.

Pitchers had too much ego and were way too close to the situation to do it right.

“Sure, he was, but . . .” Connor trailed off.

“You shook him off.” Jackson didn’t need to ask it. He knew it.

Connor shrugged.

“Well, you just learned rule number two without me telling you, at least. You don’t fucking shake off my signs.”

“Okay. I’m not stupid, you know,” Connor said. Sounding unhappy about it.

Well, at least that explained what Andy had reminded him of, before this session started. Don’t shake off Jackson’s signs. Let him be in charge.

“What did you want to throw?” Jackson asked, curious. “Because I’m sure you could hit that upper corner in your sleep.”

“’Course I could,” Connor said. “No problem.”

Naturally, that didn’t explain why he wasn’t doing it today.

“You missed it on purpose, then?”

Connor glared. “God, why are you such an asshole?”

And okay, Connor was right there; Jackson had lost his temper. Well, not lost it, not entirely, but a little of the frustration and annoyance he usually kept walled up behind his self-control had slipped out.

That annoyed Jackson even more. Who was this kid to shake him like this? Was it just because he was so goddamn pretty?

Jackson rejected that theory, completely.

Yeah, he’s under your skin. Already. No matter how much you want to dig him out.

“Sorry,” Jackson said shortly, and before Connor could open his mouth to gloat, he kept going. “Don’t get too excited, Clark. That’s only an apology for being a dick when I didn’t need to be. It’s not an apology for trying to make you a better pitcher. Not an apology for getting pissed when you shake off my signs.”

“It’s just . . .” Connor sighed. “Hitting the corner over and over again? It’s boring as fuck.”

Jackson dropped the ball into Connor’s glove. “Then why don’t you prove me wrong? Seems like that might keep you plenty entertained.”

Before he turned and walked back, Jackson caught a glimpse of satisfaction lighting up Connor’s eyes.

It wasn’t the kind of motivation he’d normally employ, but then Connor wasn’t like other pitchers. He was sly and difficult and had gotten by for way too long on his God-given talent and that insane fucking arm.

Jackson settled back into his stance. Held out his glove.

“You get him all settled?” Andy asked.

“We’ll see.”

He made the sign. Fast ball. High upper corner, just skating by on the inside of the zone. The kind of pitch very few players could hit. If Connor could really throw that pitch, consistently, at the kind of velocity Connor possessed, then no wonder Mikey was beside himself.

Connor drew back, his eyes narrowing as he wound up, and with an expression full of determination, threw a pitch of such beauty Jackson almost felt privileged to be the one to catch it.

But he didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile. Didn’t give a single indication that it was as good as it was. Just stared Connor right down. Challenging him to throw it again.

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