Page 38 of Hot Streak

Connor groaned and threw his phone down, but not before he saw Tristan’s second message.

You’re welcome for that image, btw :)

Chapter 6

Connor had been weird for the last two days.

Okay, Jackson reasoned, weirder than he had been, anyway.

He’d let the guy stew. Sat rows away on the team bus as it had carried them farther south for their road trip. Hadn’t really talked to him since Connor’s last start.

Even when they’d hit their room last night, Connor hadn’t seemed to feel like talking, telling Jackson in a short tone that he was tired after the trip, and he wanted to get some shut-eye.

He’d been gone when Jackson had woken up.

But it was time.

Jackson grabbed his half-drunk can of Coke from lunch and headed over to where Connor was sitting in the bottom level of the stands, watching Kevin throw a practice session with Charlie.

They had a game today—the first of this long road trip—and the other team had granted them access to the ballpark facilities a few hours early. Not every team did this, but Jackson considered it a boon when it happened.

“Hey,” he said, flopping down in the seat next to him, not waiting for Connor’s invitation.

Connor gave him a quick sidelong look. He looked like he wanted to tell Jackson to get out of here, but at the last moment, reconsidered.

“You’re pissed,” Jackson said. “Maybe rightly so.”

“Oh, yeah?” Connor drawled.

“Yeah,” Jackson said. “Telling that batter the pitch you were gonna throw was a dick move. A necessary move, maybe, but a dick move anyway.”

“A necessary move?” Heat blazed in Connor’s blue eyes. That was better, in Jackson’s opinion. Connor icing him out hadn’t done them any favors and had kinda pissed him off.

It was worse, too, because Connor’s animated face, even with anger, reminded him that he was attracted to the guy—and didn’t want to be.

“You weren’t listening to me. You weren’t going to listen to me. You’ve got an arm on you, kid.”

“Kid,” Connor said bitterly.

“You’re what—twenty-one?”

“Twenty-two,” Connor retorted.

“Still a kid. The point is that you’re going places, but you won’t if you don’t get your ego under control. You’re too close, on the mound, and you can’t see the situation plainly. So you gotta let me do it.”

“I gotta, huh?”

“You should, anyway. I’m sorry I did it that way. I could’ve . . .” Jackson sighed. He’d spent way too much time over the last few days agonizing in a way he didn’t want to over the way he’d handled the situation. “I could’ve gone about it in a different way. But if you kept going the way you were, they were gonna light you up.”

“I’d only given up a couple of hits and a walk!” Connor exclaimed.

“But they were getting closer every time they went through the rotation. The pitchers in the show, they got sick shit. You got that arm and some raw skill—but they’re gonna eventually figure you out and hit the shit outta you, if you don’t slow the fuck down and listen.”

“And you know this, from all the time you’ve spent in the show?” Connor said it without inflection, but Jackson felt the sting, anyway.

“I spent some time there,” Jackson said slowly. “Enough time.”

Connor didn’t say anything, just looked at him.

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