15. Chapter 15

Sure enough, the next morning, they got the call that the game was canceled, and it seemed as if Mikey didn't even suspect that it had been them—"kids, fucking around," he'd muttered after he'd made the announcement at breakfast.

If he'd caught a glimpse of TJ's smug smile and Kevin elbowing Connor in the ribs knowingly, then maybe their manager might have guessed, but he was already preoccupied, and said something about how they might as well head home early, since this was supposed to be their last game of the road trip.

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?"

"You care. If you don't, you absolutely fucking should. I told you what happened to me," Jackson retorted.

Connor opened his mouth to argue but Jackson didn't let up. Didn't let him get a word in edgewise. Someone had to be smart, here, and clearly, as he'd already acknowledged, it was not going to be Connor. Big shocker, there.

"I know you think you're good enough it doesn't matter," Jackson continued. "It matters, Connor."

Don't be like me. You don't want to look back at your career in ten years and think,I wish I would've done a few things differently.

"You're crazy," Connor retorted. "I kept my voice down. I could've been asking you anything. Am I not supposed to even talk to you in public places now?"

"Not about sex," Jackson said.

But his traitorous body, so long deprived of regular release and unbearably tempted by Connor's nearness and that stupid kiss in the elevator, responded to the word like it was conditioned to.

Connor might be reckless, but he was not stupid and he was not unobservant, either, because he stalked closer, pinning Jackson's legs against the edge of the bed.

"What about in here? Can I talk about sex now?" Connor murmured, and all it took was him leaning in for Jackson to break.

He might've been concerned about how easily Connor had destroyed his self-control, but he didn't let himself be. Instead, Jackson lost himself to the kiss.

Connor's hot, wet mouth on his, his hands everywhere, pulling off their clothes, tumbling with him into bed.

It was quick and hot and wild, and when it was over, Jackson lay there, his heart beating way too fast, and tried to regret it. But it was hard to, when he felt the lassitude of satisfaction stealing over him, his heart clenching with sweet affection as Connor turned over towards him.

"And you weren't even wet that time," Connor said smugly, his forehead resting against Jackson's bicep.

He felt an unbearable temptation to push him away and pull him closer, both at the same goddamn time.

"Guess I'm irresistible dry too," Jackson said wryly.

"You are." Connor's blue eyes were wide and guileless, and it seemed he actually believed what he was saying. "Which is why this is gonna be hard on me."

"You've gotten everything you've wanted pretty easily so far. It's time."

Connor made a face, but he didn't argue, either.

Jackson had known he'd had an easy ride up to this point. With looks like that, he could have anyone he'd ever wanted. God-given talent so obvious he'd been drafted high, and practically soared through the minors.

It explained why Jackson had fucked him up so much.

Nobody else had ever gone toe-to-toe with Connor before. Nobody had ever forced him to take a hard look in the mirror, past that pretty-boy face and those incredible eyes.

But someone needed to demand more from him. If they didn't, Jackson was afraid he'd squander everything he'd been handed. Maybe someone else could do it, but after what felt like years of refusing personal investment in anyone but himself, Jackson discovered he just couldn't do it with Connor.

Even if it wasn't his fucking job, he still couldn't have turned away.

"We gotta get up. Get dressed. Pack up," Jackson said, but he didn't move.

"What are you doing tonight?" Connor asked.

Jackson tried to roll his eyes. Put some real emphasis into the movement. But it came out much more affectionate than exasperated. "You just came."

"Well, yeah, sure, but we barely managed to get undressed. And nobody's gonna interrupt us tonight. We can take our time. Explore a little."

"It's gonna be a long drive back to Raleigh. We might be tired," Jackson said. Why was he trying to pretend he didn't want that, too? Was it that he was afraid? Practically fucking terrified? That was the problem. It was his natural inclination at this point to resist getting close, to doing repeats.

But you already have. You've given each other three orgasms at this point. What's a few more?

"Yeah, okay, sure," Connor said, grinning. He got up and, after using a handful of tissues to clean up the worst of their mess, headed to the shower.

"You," Jackson told himself both firmly and out loud, "are a fucking wreck. Get it together."

Jackson hadn't been lying; it was a long drive back to Raleigh.

Connor spent the first half of it playing poker with TJ and Ro, losing basically all the quarters jangling around in the bottom of his bag.

"You're really bad at this, you know," TJ said, probably more kindly than he deserved, as he raked in the last pot, cleaning Connor out for good.

"No poker face whatsoever," Ro added.

Personally, Connor didn't give a shit about the quarters. But he did care about Ro's comment. What if he couldn't keep his feelings under lockdown when it came to Jackson?

If Jackson even got a hint that anyone suspected they were hooking up, Connor knew he'd pull back again—and that was the very last thing he wanted, when every molecule of his body craved him closer still.

"Yeah, it's all right there, written all over that pretty face," TJ teased.

"Thanks, I know," Connor retorted, plastering a free, easy grin across that pretty face.

"Modest, too," Ro added.

Truthfully it was hard to be modest—harder even than normal—when he was practically floating around on the knowledge that he'd seduced Jackson Evans. Jackson wasn't pretty, no, he was grade A Hot, and he didn't even do this. He'd only slept with a teammate once before, and he didn't need to tell Connor he'd never intended to do it again for Connor to know it.

After the last two days, modesty was a fucking pipe dream.

The game broke up then, and Connor thought he'd go grab a nap in the back of the bus—they still had hours left to go, on an endless stretch of I-95—but when he headed towards an empty row of seats, he passed right by where Jackson was sitting.

To Connor's surprise, Jackson looked up from his tablet.

"Hey," Jackson said. Actually patted the seat next to him. "Come sit with me a minute."

Connor considered making a sarcastic comment that surely the whole bus would know they were fucking if he sat down next to him even for five minutes, but he didn't, because if he did, it wouldn't get him where he wanted to be later—in Jackson's bed, naked.

He sat.

"What's up?" he asked.

Jackson's gaze was warm. "You get cleaned out?"

"Yeah, but it passed the time," Connor said with a shrug.

"Yeah, you can't hide anything on that pretty face of yours," Jackson said, smirking.

"Why is everyone suddenly realizing this?" Connor teased right back. "You and Ro, apparently. Trust me, I've always been this pretty."

"Maybe," Jackson said, dropping his voice down, to nearly a whisper, "I didn't let myself look before."

"You lookin' now?"

The warmth in Jackson's brown eyes flared into undeniable heat. Connor felt singed around the edges just by that look.

"Guess you are," Connor said, laughing under his breath.

"Guess I am," Jackson said.

"So what, you didn't have any real reason to talk? You just wanted to flirt with me?"

Jackson didn't respond—and again, his look answered for him.

Alright then.

"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.

He's here. Trying to be a friend.

Ugh.

Stop worrying and go back to telling me how much I'm gonna like it when Jackson fucks me.

Even with the warning clanging in his head, even just the thought sent a frisson of . . .something . . .racing up his spine. A little bit of nervous apprehension. Even more anticipation.

He didn't know what it would feel like, but he wanted to know, anyway.

LOL. If he's any good he's gonna ruin you for anyone else.

Connor thought about what they'd done already. How intense the pleasure had been every time they'd touched each other. Maybe Jackson had only been having brief hookups for the last few years, but he still knew just how Connor wanted it. Exactly what Connor craved.

He's good.

Tristan replied: I thought so. He's got a look in his eyes.

Connor wanted to disagree, but as he tossed and turned on the bench seat, he thought he knew exactly what Tristan meant.

It was buried. It was restrained. But it was there, burning bright, all the same, if you really looked for it.

And Connor wanted him to unleash it on him, demolishing all the carefully cultivated self-control he'd lived with for the last few years.

It was almost ten at night when the bus finally pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the field complex.

Normally at this point in the trip, Connor would be yawning and tired, just from all those hours of forced inactivity.

But instead, all those hours had instead been devoted to thinking and then thinking, about what he and Jackson were going to do when they were finally alone, again.

He couldn't remember ever being so horny in his life, even before Jackson had touched him. Connor pulled his sweatshirt on and tugged it down, past his crotch, hoping it would hide his erection as they all filed off the bus.

"Hey," Deke said to the group milling around, waiting for the driver to unload their luggage, "who's up for a drink?"

Not much of Connor's blood was currently in his brain, so it took a minute to realize that the first fucking person to answer Deke in the affirmative was Jackson.

"Yeah, sure," Jackson said casually—not even looking at Connor for confirmation.

He'd spent this whole fucking bus trip in an agony of arousal and anticipation, and now Jackson was just going to dismiss him and go out for drinks with Deke?

Connor felt like falling to the pavement and beating his fists on it like a child denied the sweet treat he'd been promised.

"Sure, count us in," TJ said and then turned to Connor. He'd worried earlier about his lack of a poker face and he couldn't imagine he was doing any good at hiding his feelings now. "What about you, Connor?"

"I . . .uh . . ."

"Not too tired?" Jackson asked innocently.

The asshole was fucking with him. And not in the way Connor craved, either.

Well. Two could play at that game. He knew that his desire wasn't even remotely one-sided. He'd made Jackson break his long-time rules, hadn't he?

He had power here, too, and he could damn well use it.

"Not at all," Connor said. "I could go all night."

Watched as the corner of Jackson's mouth turned up in a smirk. "I just bet you could," he said.

A few minutes later, their bags were stored in the field house and they were stepping up to the long hardwood bar at the Strike Zone.

"Round of shots for my guys here," Connor boasted, tossing a few twenties onto the bar.

"What's the occasion?" Noel, the bartender, asked as he pulled a bottle of tequila off the shelf. "Weren't you guys supposed to be playing in South Carolina somewhere tonight?"

"Rainout," Deke said, grinning.

"That's what these are for. To celebrate the end of a long ass road trip, and getting to cut it one game short," Connor said.

"Sounds like a plan," Noel said. "You gonna go sit in Millie's section?"

"Yep," Ro said, nodding over to a few tables that TJ and Kevin were already pulling together.

"I'll bring the shots over. You want me to keep the tab open?" Noel asked, and Connor nodded.

When he turned to head to the tables, he noticed that Jackson had taken a seat next to Deke, and they were laughing about something, acting like they were fast friends.

He was not jealous.

He was not jealous.

Connor Clark had never been jealous in his whole fucking life, but the truth was, he couldn't seem to help it.

He wanted all of Jackson's attention on him.

"Hey, Comet!" Millie called out as she sashayed up, a tray full of full shot glasses in her arms and a bright smile on her pretty face. "I got a surprise for you."

"Tequila isn't a surprise." Connor nudged her playfully, because flirting with her came as easy to him as breathing.

"No, no, not the shots," she said, grinning back at him. She gestured towards a table full of girls—as pretty as Millie, and all avidly staring at him. "Some friends of mine are here tonight, and they wanted to meet you."

Right.

For months, he'd been trying to coerce Millie into setting him up with some of her friends. At first he'd genuinely been interested, then when she'd resisted, it had become a challenge, and then when Jackson had showed up and he'd become increasingly preoccupied with the guy, he'd completely forgotten about Millie's friends.

And now they were here?

For a second, Connor wanted to turn her down, tell her he wasn't interested anymore. But what was he going to do tonight? Sit here in silence and sulk as Jackson talked to Deke? Hope he would toss him a bone and invite him back to his apartment at the end of the night?

Hell no.

Connor Clark didn't do that either.

Maybe Jackson could pretend disinterest, but Connor knew, deep down, just how much he wanted him—and it was time to remind him.

"Hey, really? I thought you didn't trust me with them," Connor teased.

Millie shot him a look. "I don't. But Ro keeps telling me under all that pretty fuckboy exterior, you're actually a good guy. So this is on him, if you do mess them up."

"I get it," Connor boasted. "One night with me is enough to mess you up."

"Right." Millie deposited the tray of shots onto the table and folded her arms across her chest. Okay, she didn't look all that convinced. Which was ridiculous, Connor had a reputation. Didn't she listen to the rumors?

He could forward her a whole bunch of begging text messages from girls who'd been desperate to hook up a second time.

"Just introduce me, and I'll do the rest," Connor boasted. He leaned over, grabbed a shot from the tray, and downed it, wiping his hand across his mouth.

She didn't look particularly convinced, but she did lead him over.

There were four of them, all with the kind of manicured prettiness he expected from girls that age, with eager expressions on their faces as Millie introduced him.

"Welcome to the Strike Zone. Can I buy you a drink?" Connor asked, spreading his arms and using the special grin he saved especially for these occasions.

Sure, it had never worked on Jackson. In fact, he'd specifically said it didn't work on him, but that didn't mean it wasn't effective.

And sure, he had no intention of going home with any of these girls, but that didn't mean he couldn't buy them a few rounds and flirt and occupy his time before Jackson got his head out of his ass and realized what he was missing out on.