Page 6 of Hot Streak

“Must be why you keep striking out with Millie,” TJ said.

“Like you’re doin’ any better.” And yeah, the waitress’ rejection hadn’t felt wonderful, but if he walked into any bar in this town, he knew he could get whoever the fuck he wanted.

And maybe what he wanted these days was a little bit of a challenge with his hookups.

He was tired of it being so easy.

Which was why he kept not-so-subtly suggesting to Millie she go home with him, even though he knew she’d been not-so-secretly hooking up with Ro.

“Ro’s doing better than both of us,” TJ said regretfully. “She’s actually payin’ him some attention.”

She sure was and it didn’t make any fucking sense to Connor. He was way fucking better looking than Roland.

“Probably cause she assumes you fuck like you pitch,” Jackson said, one corner of his mouth turning up in a grin. “Kinda all over the place.”

“You’re such a fucking dick,” Connor growled and slammed his glass down. Took a step closer and then another, sliding right into Jackson’s space. Ignoring the warning bells flashing in those light eyes, ignoring the warning bells clanging in his own mind.

This asshole needed to know who was in charge.

And it wasn’t a fucking no-name catcher without a Jaguar.

“You need to take a step back,” Jackson said, still calm, but he’d stood now. He’d tensed, but there was still that slow, molasses drawl to his words. Like Connor wasn’t even worth getting worked up over.

And it lit him on fire, from the top of his head, all the way to his toes.

That was probably why he lifted his hands and shoved Jackson back, even though he’d been the one who’d crowded in close.

“Watch it, rook.” Warning in his voice now, not just his eyes.

“You watch it,” Connor yelled.

“Take it outside,” the bartender called out. “No fightin’ in my bar. You know the rules.”

“Yeah, asshole, let’s take it outside,” he spat at Jackson.

Connor didn’t look back—just strode out of the bar, out the front door, and stopped on the sidewalk.

When he turned, Ro and TJ had followed, along with a handful of others. Just when he thought Jackson wouldn’t even show, the door opened and he strolled out.

Connor raised his hands. He knew how to throw a punch. Sort of, anyway.

He ignored the flashing red lights in his head, warning that Jackson looked like he definitely knew how to both throw one and take one.

“I don’t believe in fighting,” Jackson drawled, leaning against the brick wall of the bar.

“Well, you’d better get on the page, because I don’t hit nobody first,” Connor said, taking a step and then another.

“Then how ’bout this,” Jackson said, all unruffled calm. He pulled a baseball out of his pocket. Tossed it up and caught it. “Hit me with this.”

“Oh man, no,” TJ interjected. “He’s got an arm on him. He’ll break your ribs.”

Jackson blinked slowly. Did this man do everything slowly, deliberately? He made Connor want to scream. “Yeah, I’ll fucking annihilate you. You don’t want me to throw at you.” He’d wanted to rough the guy up a bit, make him regret not taking him seriously, but he didn’t want to hurt him.

He wasn’t a monster.

“Don’t I?” Jackson tossed the ball and caught it again. “’Cause from what I hear, you couldn’t hit water if you fell out of a fucking boat.”

Shit. Connor saw red.

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