Page 69 of Hot Streak

The path you didn’t take.

“I don’t get why you’re the one who’s pissed,” Connor said petulantly. “When you’re the one who was out sharing a nice cozy drink with Deke. Flirting with him.”

“So you were jealous, huh?” It had been painfully obvious, but he’d still wanted to deny it.

“What’s wrong with me? Why are you avoiding me?”

“You know why I’m avoiding you. It’s a bad idea to do . . .well, anything you would want to do,” Jackson said, barely hanging on to his patience.

“So you say,” Connor said bitterly.

“So I know.” Jackson surprised himself with how gentle he sounded.

“You said I’d get over it, that I’d find someone else.” Connor flung his arms out drunkenly and dramatically. “But there is nobody else. There’s just you. Only you.”

Jackson was not dumb enough to believe Connor was proclaiming his undying love. But if he wasn’t, then maybe . . .no. There was no way Deke had been right. He wasn’t the first guy Connor had ever been attracted to. No fucking way.

“You need to try to stand up straight and tell me the truth,” Jackson said, taking a step closer, even as his brain screamed that this was the worst idea.

Connor nodded happily. “Sure. Anything.”

“Did you . . .uh . . .did I . . .have you ever been attracted to a guy before?” Jackson stammered. Trying to find a way to ask the question without sounding unbearably full of himself. Was I the guy who did it for you? The very first one? Because he wanted that, more than he’d imagined; and just like that, suddenly, he was the jealous one.

He didn’t want Connor to have a string of gay hookups under his belt.

You want to be the one who opens his eyes. Who shows him how it could be.

But even if Jackson could, even if he would, he wasn’t the guy for the job. Because Jackson barely knew, either.

He’d had Davy for a few short days, and after that, there’d only been a handful of completely anonymous hookups that cumulatively probably had lasted less than a few hours total.

“Are you asking if you were the first guy? Are the first guy?” Connor licked his lips and leaned in. His eyes were an unbearably smoky blue, his blond hair glinting from the nearby streetlight. He looked like he’d been dipped in gold, and Jackson had resisted this so hard, but goddamn, he wanted to eat him up.

He wanted to let this change both of them.

“Yes,” Jackson said. “Did you know before this?” Before me?

“You’re the first,” Connor said. He reached up and cupped Jackson’s jaw. He could feel the callouses of it, through the scruff. If anyone came by them right now, he could probably laugh this off as Connor being drunk as hell, but was he, really?

Connor was tipsy, certainly.

But he knew exactly what he was doing when his body leaned in against Jackson’s.

“Godamnit,” Jackson ground out.

He’d wanted it—and he’d not wanted it, too.

Because Deke was right, you never forgot your first. The one who opened your eyes. Who showed you that whole other world. Who made you forget yourself for the very first time.

He wanted to be that for Connor. And the possibility also terrified the hell out of him.

“You’re pissed off again,” Connor said, frowning in disappointment.

“No. Yes. I’m . . .” Jackson knew he should take a step away. “It’s easier to deal with you when you’re prancing around shirtless, batting your ridiculous eyelashes at me and saying outrageous things.”

“None of that worked?”

Jackson couldn’t say none of them worked. He’d felt an undeniable pulse of lust when Connor had bent over, tantalizingly, wearing only that stupid pair of tight gray boxer briefs. He was trying to do the right thing; he wasn’t dead. And now he knew every inch of what Connor’s bare chest looked like, even as he’d tried hard not to stare. The faint outlines of his abs, the flex of his pecs, the ripple of his biceps. And God, those endless legs. No matter what happened, he’d be seeing the tan glory of Connor Clark every time he went to touch his cock for many, many months to come.

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