Page 28 of Hot Streak

“What the fuck,” Jackson spit out. His hands settled on his hips, and there was sweat on his neck.

Connor forced his gaze away from the damp patch. Forced his mind away from the stray thought that it would taste salty sweet.

“I wanna finish this asshole off,” Connor retorted.

“You wanna throw down the middle and let him tee off on you?” Jackson shook his head. “No fucking way.”

“I can get it past him,” Connor said, annoyed, because he knew he could and wasn’t Jackson supposed to believe that he could, too?

“Sure, you can,” Jackson said carelessly. Clearly he did not believe it, and that just pissed Connor off.

“I wanna throw him some goddamn heat,” Connor said. “I still got it.”

“Yeah?” Jackson cocked his eyebrow.

“What I need to do is announce my authority,” Connor said in a hard voice.

Jackson fucking cackled then, throwing his head back in laughter. “Announce . . .your . . .authority,” he gasped out.

“It’s not funny,” Connor grumbled.

“Yeah, it’s not. It’s fucking hilarious.” Jackson handed him the ball, slapping it into Connor’s glove. “Don’t shake me off.”

Connor glared at him. I’ll shake you off if I damn well please.

Jackson jogged back to home plate, his temper spiking.

Things had actually been going pretty fucking well, and of course, in the middle of all this excellence, Connor had to both over and under think the situation.

He turned to the hitter. If Connor wasn’t going to learn to listen to him the easy way, then they’d try the hard way.

“Fast ball. Center of the plate,” he told the hitter shortly. “Be ready for the heat, ’cause he’s bringing it.”

The hitter looked at him like he was a few marbles short, but then just shrugged, like if Jackson was going to give away all his secrets, who was he to deny him?

Just as Jackson predicted, Connor threw whatever the fuck he wanted—in this case, fast ball right down the middle, and it was smoking, Jackson would have to check the stats later, to see if he hit over 100 miles per hour—and the hitter took that gorgeous pitch and hit it right out of the park.

Just like that, Connor gave up two runs.

Got out of the inning too, on the next batter. Sulkily, listening to every one of Jackson’s signs.

It was a hard lesson, but at least he was learning.

Sort of.

“Well,” Jackson said, grinning, as they returned to the dugout. “Guess he hit the shit out of that one.”

Connor glared at him, incredulous and furious. “You told him it was coming, didn’t you?”

“Yep,” Jackson said, not feeling bad in the least.

The Rogues were still up four runs, so it wasn’t like he’d given up the lead on that pitch—and hopefully, he had discovered that you did not fuck around with Jackson Evans and come out unscathed.

Connor only went out for one more inning, and he pitched it succinctly, three batters up and three batters down.

He should’ve been thrilled at the result—a win, and eight strikeouts to boot—but he’d worn a sour expression ever since the fourth inning, and it was likely Jackson was the only one who knew the reason why.

“Stop scowling, or your face is gonna freeze like that and then who’s gonna hook up with you?” Ro said, leaning against the locker next to Connor’s.

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