Page 19 of Hot Streak

“You totally fucking would.”

Kevin had the nerve to laugh. “Yeah, I probably would.”

“I don’t know why Deke’s not more pissed—the guy’s here, taking his slots at DH. And yesterday, I saw him working with him at first base. I thought he was a fucking catcher, not a first baseman.”

Kevin shot him a look. “Yeah, you’re not obsessed with him at all. Not at all.”

“I’m just saying,” Connor said, throwing up his hands. “First base. With Deke.”

Deke was a terrible first baseman. He couldn’t scoop a ball out of the dirt if his life depended on it, but he could hit the ball damn well. Which meant he was destined to spend the rest of his baseball days being the designated hitter.

At least he had been, until Jackson had shown up. It was already clear their manager wanted Jackson in the lineup for way more games than if he was just catching for Connor.

“Nothing wrong with trying to be better. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing here, in the minors?” Kevin paused, taking in Connor’s sudden frown. “Of course some of us are just marking time til we hit the show.”

Connor wanted to argue and say that wasn’t true but hadn’t he said it himself enough times?

Raleigh was just a temporary stop for him. They all knew he was destined for the bigs.

And he’d never felt so lonely and completely fucking alone when he thought of it before.

"Great win,” Mikey said as he entered the clubhouse. “Great team win.”

Jackson looked up from where he was standing in front of his locker. Tugged on his shirt.

It had been a good win. It was nice to be with a team on the rise, with a roster of solid players. Back in Ohio, the team he’d been with had lost far more games than they’d won, the facilities had been piss-poor, the crowds distracted and only there to drink overpriced beers, and everyone on the team had stunk of a bone-deep desperation to get out as quickly as possible—and not just because it was fucking Ohio.

But Raleigh was different. The field was gorgeous, the facilities some of the better he’d found in the minors, and the crowds excited and engaged. Probably because the Rogues won a lot more than they lost.

“Connor’s startin’ tomorrow, so I want to get him some good run support,” Mikey continued. “But good news, with the win, and y’all working so hard earlier this week, no batting practice tomorrow. Take the afternoon off. Be here at five, for pregame warmups.”

There was a smattering of catcalls, and Jackson glanced over, noticing that Connor didn’t look up or even acknowledge Mikey’s announcement. He didn’t look nervous exactly, but blank. Like he was burying all those feelings deep down, under that ridiculously attractive surface.

“Hey, you wanna go grab a beer?” Deke asked after he finished getting dressed.

He could go grab a beer with Deke. He genuinely liked the guy—it felt good to know he wasn’t alone, even if it was very obvious, very quickly, that they weren’t attracted to each other. Of course, even if he had been attracted to Deke, he wouldn’t have acted on it. Jackson had only gotten involved once with a teammate, and he wasn’t about to repeat that mistake.

But the last thing he wanted to do was to be cooped up, in a dark, crowded bar on this clear night with its slight breeze cooling down the air.

“Nah,” Jackson said. “Rain check?”

“Sure, we’ll be down at the Strike Zone, if you change your mind.”

“Yep,” Jackson said, patting Deke on the back. “See you later, man.”

On the way out of the building, Jackson stopped at Sheila’s office, dropping off the clean casserole dish. She’d made him one, for his first week here, she’d said.

He leaned in the open doorway and gave the wall a brief knock.

“Oh, hey, Jackson.”

“Miss Sheila,” he said nodding as he set the clean dish on her desk. “Thanks so much for the food. It was delicious.”

She smiled up at him.

“Oh, I know that kitchen’s barely enough to heat up anything, nevermind cook something. Not that y’all would.”

“Truth,” Jackson said.

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