Page 42 of Hot Streak

But Connor was so goddamn talented he made Jackson want to be a better catcher—he also made him want to throw something. These feelings were probably mutual. If they could ever get on the same page . . .well, they’d be something, that was for sure.

Unstoppable, that’s what you’d be.

“I get it,” Andy said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “He’s frustrating. And you’re stubborn.”

It was true. Connor was a force and he was an immovable object.

“Yeah,” Jackson agreed.

He didn’t say, but I gotta keep my temper. Gotta stop him getting under my skin.

But he thought Andy understood anyway.

“No radar this bullpen,” Andy said. “But you tell me what he’s throwing, in your best estimation.”

“Got it,” Jackson said and jogged back to the bullpen.

“He just . . .put it away. Just like that. Just because you asked him to.” Connor sounded mystified.

“Yeah,” Jackson said.

It would defeat the whole purpose to tell Connor exactly why Andy had listened. But he could say something. “It’s okay to speak up for yourself, you know.”

Connor made a face.

“No, I mean it. You’re mouthy enough every other time. Pushing back on me every other fucking pitch. But something that genuinely bothers you? You don’t say a word.”

“It’s . . .it was kinda silly.”

“So?” Jackson challenged. “It still fucking matters to you.”

“Didn’t expect you to be on my side about this,” Connor said cautiously.

It was hard—like staring right into the sun—to look Connor in the eye, but Jackson did it anyway, because this was important. More than important. It was vital Connor understood this.

“That’s bullshit, because I’m always on your side. I’m never gonna be on anyone else’s. Not when I’m your catcher, Connor. You and I? We’re a team, and the sooner you realize that, the easier this is gonna be.”

“But you were a dick the other day,” Connor argued. “You told that batter what I was gonna throw. I gave up a two run homer because of you.”

“Yeah, you did. But you weren’t listening. I did what I had to do to get your attention.”

“Oh, you had my attention. Never lost it,” Connor said. Suddenly he was grinning, and Jackson’s heart stuttered, because was Connor flirting with him? Right now? Straight Connor Clark flirting with him in the middle of a ballpark in rural Georgia?

“Ah. Uh. Good.” Why couldn’t he speak?

Probably because Connor was looking at him, the intentness in his blue eyes unmissable and undeniable.

Was Connor not straight after all?

Maybe he didn’t even know what he was doing—or saying.

Yep, that had to be it. Connor was just fucking clueless and didn’t even know he was playing with fire.

“Come on, let’s get started,” Connor said and put his hand on Jackson’s shoulder. It wasn’t just a quick pat, either. But a lingering touch that Jackson knew he’d be feeling long after he jogged back to his position on the other end of the bullpen.

“Sure, sure,” Jackson said.

Sure enough that spot burned all the way through the bullpen.

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