Page 4 of Hot Streak

Maybe that was true, but it wasn’t a crime, was it? To make sure every eye in the place swiveled in his direction whenever he walked in?

Hell no.

Millie, the sweet blond waitress who he had unsuccessfully been flirting with for two months now, sashayed over, three more shots on her tray.

“Hey, y’all, I got a round for you,” she said, setting the glasses down on the table.

“We didn’t order these,” Ro said, frowning. That was also why he’d never make it in the majors, Connor thought, he always looked before he leaped. Notoriously risk-averse.

’Course that hadn’t stopped Ro from getting somewhere with Millie, when he certainly never had.

“From that guy, over by the bar,” Millie said, gesturing towards the bar, to a dark-haired guy sitting on the last barstool.

“You recognize that guy, Connor?” Ro asked. “Maybe he’s trying to drug us.”

“Don’t be a stupid shit, Millie poured the drinks,” Connor said, picking up one and gesturing to the guy. Waving him over. He didn’t swing that way, but maybe he was a fan. Maybe he was here to celebrate Connor’s twin records.

“Just said he was with the team,” Millie said over her shoulder as she headed to the next table. She gave Ro a last lingering look that made it clear who’d be going home with her tonight, too.

Argh.

“Shit, he’s with us?” TJ said, gesturing to the guy as well.

He didn’t come over right away. Slid off the barstool a few minutes later, when Connor had nearly forgotten he existed, lost in a haze of tequila.

But then he approached, and Connor nearly swallowed his tongue. He wasn’t tall—not many men were tall compared to Connor, who told everyone he was 6’5” but that was typical, right? Everyone inflated their stats in the pros. But what he didn’t have in height, he made up for in width. The man was fucking built, broad shoulders, and beefy forearms.

“Hey,” Ro said to the guy. “Shit, you’re big.”

He chuckled darkly.

“Wait,” TJ said, “I recognize you. Jackson, right? We played a few games together back in Cincinnati, before I got sent to Montgomery.”

“Tommy Juarez,” the guy said, shaking TJ’s hand, his light hazel eyes traveling over Ro and then falling on Connor.

“They call me TJ here,” Tommy said. “Guys, this is Jackson Evans. That’s Ro—don’t you fucking call him Roland, or he’ll have your ass.”

“Nice to meet ya,” Ro said with a smile. “Thanks for the drink.”

“And this must be Connor Clark,” Jackson said, his gaze skimming over Connor. No doubt finding him lacking, though that was unusual.

People rarely looked at him and didn’t love what they saw.

They looked at his blond hair, his blue eyes, his long, lean build, and the face that Connor knew from his mirror was fucking memorable.

“Never heard of you,” Connor grumbled.

TJ smacked him on the back of the head. “Don’t be an ass, Connor.”

“He can’t help it,” Ro said. “He comes by it naturally, like all that pretty boy hair.”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off Connor. Had barely even blinked. Who was this guy?

“I’m supposed to be your new catcher, but . . .” Jackson grinned slowly. And Connor was not used to having any competition for being the most attractive person in a room. Not that he swung that way, because of course he didn’t. But it was just a fact. An unassailable fact. Jackson Evans was really fucking attractive.

Maybe even more so than Connor himself.

Connor ground his teeth together.