Page 72 of Hot Streak

“Can’t we talk about Jackson?”

Tristan’s voice was gentler than he’d ever heard it. “I think we are talking about Jackson.”

“You think I’m trying to use him to self-destruct again.”

“Maybe. He is pretty much the worst person you could hook up with,” Tristan pointed out, still so gentle.

“And what about Wade? How was he any different?” Connor asked, bringing up Tristan’s teammate and his boyfriend. His roommate, who he’d hooked up with at rookie camp.

“He just was. He wanted it too, and we have Coach and Beau, who understand,” Tristan said stubbornly. “I’m just saying, you’ve tried. You told him you want him, more than once. You’ve tried to seduce him. Maybe you just accept it’s not gonna happen.”

Connor made a frustrated noise.

“I know,” Tristan said. “You aren’t used to not getting things you want. But Jackson is a person. He’s allowed to tell you no. That he thinks it’s a bad idea.”

“Not even for him, for me,” Connor said in a harsh exhale. “He said he didn’t want me to ruin my career the way he did.”

“So . . .he thinks coming out ruined his career?”

“Well, he didn’t really come out, not the way you’re thinking. He’s not officially out; almost nobody in baseball is. Ryan Flores, who plays for the Dodgers, is, but I can’t think of anyone else.”

“I know,” Tristan said, sighing heavily. “What is up with you guys? Why are you so fucking behind the times?”

“Good question.” Though Connor had a pretty good idea why. Baseball was run by a bunch of old white guys who didn’t want anything to change. Of course, football had been, too, but slowly, the league had changed. It had been slow—and then it had been very fast.

“That sucks he feels like his sexuality was held against him,” Tristan said quietly. “But if he does worry that it’ll burn you too, then that’s proof he gives a shit about you, Connor.”

“That’s just his job. Turn me into a major league pitcher. I’m sure the straight part was just unspoken.”

“Well, then become that pitcher, and then nobody can say shit,” Tristan suggested. “Maybe not even him.”

“Huh.” Connor had not considered this tactic. “You think I should listen to him?”

“He have good advice? He know what the fuck he’s talking about?”

“I mean . . .” Connor hesitated.

“Connor,” Tristan prompted firmly.

“He might,” Conor hedged. Everyone else certainly seemed to think he knew his shit—but Connor wasn’t sure he was convinced, yet.

“Then give him a chance. You want him to fuck you. But you don’t trust him to catch you? What the hell is that about, anyway?”

“I don’t know if—”

Tristan laughed. “I don’t mean literally fuck you, though trust me, you should try it at least once. I mean fuck in more of a figurative sense. You’d trust him with your body, but not with baseball?”

“I—”

“Exactly,” Tristan said triumphantly. “I rest my case.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll give him a chance.”

“Hey, and you never know. You said he mentioned you were a pain in his ass, right?”

“Yeah,” Connor said.

“Then, maybe not being a pain in his ass will do you some favors.”

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