Page 95 of Hot Streak

“I was gonna go take a nap.” Rest up for tonight. Connor didn’t need to say it, either, because he was pretty sure Jackson understood.

He nodded. “A good idea.”

“Well, I’ll just . . .” Connor gestured towards the back and the empty row he’d spotted.

“Yeah,” Jackson agreed.

But even when he got back there and lay down on the seat, folding up his sweatshirt to use as a pillow, he found sleep elusive. When he closed his eyes, he just saw Jackson smiling at him with that knowing look in his eyes, his incredible body as naked as he’d been last night, sprawled out on his bed, every inch of him an irresistible invitation.

Bus rides were normally a shitty exercise in patience, but this one seemed to be worse than ever, because this time Connor knew what was waiting for him at the end.

He’d almost managed to drop off, sleep this close to finally overtaking him, when his phone dinged.

It was Tristan, finally answering the text he’d sent this morning.

Told you it would work out, he texted back, congratulations on finally getting some decent sex.

Connor rolled his eyes. I’ve had good sex before, you know.

No, you THINK you had good sex before this. Trust me—you’re gonna want more.

Connor chuckled under his breath, annoyed and amused at the same time. He didn’t want Tristan to be right—but Tristan was right. Even the frantic, sloppy handjobs he and Jackson had shared this morning had blown his head clean off. He’d genuinely believed that before now, he had plenty of good sex under his belt. Even great sex. But clearly, he’d been wrong.

Because he’d never felt this fierce, unrelenting craving for someone else before.

Never felt like from the first moment they’d touched, they’d kissed, he was not only alive in a way he hadn’t been before, but that it was never going to be enough.

That he’d do anything, take any risk, accept any challenge, to have more.

And not just any guy. It had to be Jackson. It couldn’t be anyone but Jackson.

It’s annoying how right you are, he sent back to Tristan. I didn’t think I could want anyone the way I want him.

It’s a lot, but you’re gonna be just fine. Assuming he’s not throwing up any more roadblocks, Tristan replied.

So far, no. A little nervous this morning. He’s convinced when he got caught with some other player years ago that it destroyed his major league chances.

Tristan didn’t respond for a long time.

Long enough, Connor might’ve dropped back off to sleep—but he didn’t, because he was thinking of what Jackson had said last night and this morning.

It wouldn’t be very hard to figure out who the other player had been. There weren’t that many major league trades. He could look up the team Jackson had been called up to and see who’d been traded during the time he’d been on the major league squad.

But part of Connor wanted, more than he was comfortable with, for Jackson to tell him more, to tell him more than just the bare bones of the story. Had he been in love with the guy? It had only been a few days, sure, but even when he was younger, Connor couldn’t imagine that Jackson would’ve risked his career for anything less than strong feelings.

Just like now. His brain supplied that addition and it jerked Connor awake.

But Jackson kept claiming he didn’t even really like him.

Of course, Connor wasn’t sure he liked him either—but he sure couldn’t get enough of him, and not just the orgasms, either. The whole man. The whole package. He’d liked lying with him, just talking, almost as much as he’d enjoyed the sex.

And that was definitely new.

Things haven’t always been so progressive as they are now, Tristan finally replied. Maybe it did ruin his career. I don’t know. But a little bit of caution probably isn’t a bad thing, Connor.

Who are you and what have you done with Tristan Nicholson? Connor responded, feeling a surge of intense dislike for Tristan’s warning. He’d wanted—no, he’d needed—Tristan to tell him that Jackson was overly paranoid, that he didn’t need to worry as much as he was.

But that wasn’t what Tristan had said at all, and considering that Tristan was basically never serious, it was hard to ignore the cautionary tone.

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