Page 29 of Hot Streak

Connor just grunted, basically ignoring him, like he’d been ignoring every other player who’d come up to congratulate him on his win.

Jackson had been watching since he’d emerged from the shower.

Well, not watching. Watching insinuated that he was checking Connor out, and he most definitely was not. He was just monitoring the situation and his pitcher, that was all. Making sure he didn’t glower his way into a bad spot.

“’Course,” Ro continued blithely, acting like he didn’t even notice Connor’s mood—but it was hard to miss, and Ro wasn’t an idiot—“not like you’re really hooking up with anyone right now.”

“Roland,” Connor growled.

“Maybe Millie has a friend,” Ro offered.

Jackson could feel the sear of Connor’s glare even from here, a dozen feet away.

Okay, he was going to have to intervene—that much was obvious.

Not to apologize. Nope. Connor had one-hundred-percent deserved to give up that two run moonshot. Jackson had maneuvered the heart of the batting order into the place exactly where he wanted them, and Connor had been dealing like a freaking champ. Sure, the ump had been a dick about that upper corner, but they could work around that. They had been working around it.

Then Connor had suddenly decided to hell with everything that had been working the whole goddamn game.

Not cool.

He waited until most of the players had cleared out of the clubhouse, heading out into the perfect summer night.

Connor lingered, and Jackson came up next to him.

“Feels like crap, doesn’t it?” Jackson said.

Connor’s glance was incendiary. “You’d know,” he retorted.

“Hey, you got the win. A win. Eight strikeouts. And only two earned runs. You post a two-point-o ERA for the rest of your career, you’ll be a first ballot Hall of Famer for sure.”

Jackson certainly hadn’t intended to apologize—the lesson had been an important one and he wasn’t about to remove of the sting of it—but he also hadn’t intended to sound so brash about it.

Something about Connor just rubbed him the wrong way.

Okay.

It was totally the right kind of way.

Except, he didn’t need rules or diagrams to know it was wrong, and that it wasn’t ever happening.

He softened his tone. “Listen, you needed the reminder that we had them. We didn’t need to go out there and ‘exert our authority’ or whatever bullshit you were spouting. You don’t get it, do you? We already were. You were. They were fucking scoreless, with only a few hits and a walk, despite the fact that the ump wouldn’t give us that upper corner.”

Connor turned to him, and his eyes were bright blue, flashing with temper. If Jackson was younger or stupider, he’d have straight up gotten lost in those eyes. Now he just wanted to.

But instead, he took that desire and he set it aside. Pushed it down, way down, where hopefully, someday, he’d forget all about it.

“It’s not your fucking right to ride my ass like this,” Connor snarled.

“No, it’s only my job. I’m here to straighten you out, Clark. If you keep goin’ like this, you’re not going to get to the show, not in the way you think. You’ll burn out. You can’t always get by on your arm. You gotta be smarter.”

“And you think you know how to do that, huh?” Connor’s tone grew hard with sarcasm.

“Sure do,” Jackson said.

“Guess those who can’t do, teach, right?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

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