Page 92 of Hot Streak

It was exactly what Jackson had hoped for, in terms of baseball.

But in terms of everything else that had fucking happened last night, he was floundering.

He hadn’t known what it would be like if he gave in, because he’d never let himself get that far in his imagination. He’d cut the thoughts off hard and fast, and now he felt unmoored and lost, floating in a sea he didn’t quite recognize, that he’d never been in before.

Okay. He had, once.

For four days, he and Davy had had something very like this. Sharing secret looks, trying to find ways to get each other alone. Stolen kisses and stolen orgasms and so much happiness lighting him up inside it had felt like everyone could see, the moment he walked out of his hotel room.

It was the same, now, with Connor, and it also wasn’t.

He couldn’t be the same reckless person he’d been, grabbing and holding on, like he had back then. He was older now, and he’d gotten burned. But it was more than that too. When he’d hooked up with Davy, they’d been the same. Young and hungry and full of optimism for the future. Back then, he’d believed, with every molecule in his body, that he’d make it to the show and stay.

Jackson recognized that belief now, in Connor, but he didn’t have it in himself, not anymore, because for him, those days were long gone.

He and Davy might’ve been on a similar trajectory—but he and Connor? They were heading in opposite directions and no amount of hoping or wishing or spectacular sex was going to change that.

Before, he or Davy should have kept their heads.

But they hadn’t, and they’d inevitably gotten caught.

This time around, Jackson was going to be the one who kept his feet on the level fucking ground. God knew it wasn’t going to be Connor.

After breakfast, Connor sidled up next to him at the coffee station while Jackson was filling up a to-go cup with another round of caffeine, and said, mostly under his breath, “Let’s go back to the room and get one last quickie in before this ridiculous long drive today. How about in the shower? Turns out I really, really like you wet.”

Jackson pinned him with the most no-nonsense look in his arsenal.

It hurt, a little, that Connor looked so shocked at his reaction.

“What?” he hissed. “What’s wrong with that? I thought we were doing this, at least in the room?”

Jackson didn’t say a word, just turned and walked down the hallway to the elevator.

Connor trailed after him. “Are you really gonna pull this crap now?” he asked after Jackson hit the button and the elevator doors dinged open.

He’d hoped someone would ride up to their floor with them, but it didn’t work out that way. Instead they were alone, which gave Connor permission to crowd into Jackson’s space, and before Jackson could argue, could even try to explain, Connor was kissing him hot and fierce, like he could persuade him with his mouth just how much he wanted to get him naked again.

And oh, he wanted to.

Wanting was not the problem.

The problem was that they already didn’t have any boundaries. Sure, Connor hadn’t planted this kiss on him when they were around other people, but he’d acted just the same as Jackson and Davy had six years ago. Arrogant and confident and sure that nobody would notice if they kept sneaking off together to be alone.

Newsflash: people noticed.

And while he hadn’t been able to contain this insane desire for the guy, Jackson wasn’t about to let this derail another career. Not if he could help it.

It nearly killed him, but Jackson broke the kiss, turning his head away.

“What the fuck?” Connor demanded.

The elevator dinged with their floor and they got out, Connor still following as he headed towards the room.

“Why are you being like this?” Connor asked again the moment they got into the room and the door closed behind them. “I thought we were doing this.”

“I told you, we gotta be smart about it,” Jackson said. “Careful. And you don’t know the meaning of careful. Everyone’s gonna find out.”

“So? They already know you’re gay. Who cares if they find out about me?”

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