16. Chapter 16

"You need to handle that situation?" Deke asked, leaning back in his chair, gesturing over to where Connor was holding court at a table of four young women, all with stars in their eyes, their casual touches on his arms and shoulders making it obvious what they hoped might happen for one of them at the end of the night.

"No," Jackson said.

"You sure about that?" Deke asked, chuckling, rising to his feet.

Jackson watched as he headed towards the bathroom and told himself that he wasn't that transparent, but maybe he was.

At first, he'd been resigned, assuming that when Connor had walked over to those women, he'd made his choice for the evening.

After all—they'd never promised each other exclusivity.

Maybe it had felt that way, but he, and certainly Connor, had never used those words.

But then, with every glance Connor shot over towards Jackson's table, it had become clear, over the next hour, why exactly Connor was over there, flirting up a storm.

He was trying to provoke Jackson.

Trying to make him jealous.

It shouldn't have been hot, but it was. Jackson certainly hadn't needed any additional motivation to take Connor home at the end of the night and take him apart, but his behavior further solidified his plans.

Why had he said yes to Deke's offer of a drink at the Strike Zone?

The truth made him squirm in his chair.

He'd been afraid. He'd wanted Connor so badly, felt the need of him rising so sharp and fast inside him, so undeniable, it had terrified the hell out of him.

He's not for you. Not to keep.

But he wanted to.

One night and one morning together—only three orgasms—and he was already thinking of Connor as his.

And that was not going to work.

"I decided," Deke said, and Jackson looked up as he settled back in his chair.

"You decided what?"

"That you got it bad."

"Why? Because I'm sitting over here, sulking that Connor's flirting with anyone with a pulse?" Jackson didn't need to say he couldn't go over and make it clear who Connor belonged with.

Not just because he wouldn't out Connor that way, but also because Connor didn't belong to him. Or with him. No matter how much he wished otherwise.

"No," Deke said, grinning.

"You gonna enlighten me?"

"Because you're making him work for it. And he's got it bad, too, because he didn't even hesitate to do it."

"I didn't—"

Deke just raised an eyebrow and okay, maybe he had felt that way a little. But he'd also been afraid. Afraid of what he was falling into, if he let himself get swept away by the irresistible pull of Connor Clark.

"Okay, fine," he grumbled. "That might've been part of it. And well . . .he's over there, isn't he?"

"Not even working hard to get their attention. Working hard to get your attention," Deke said with a chuckle. They watched as Connor flexed his biceps to a round of excited applause from the girls.

"It's . . .there's no point to it. Me and him," Jackson clarified.

"No?"

"I thought you were going to help me resist him," Jackson pointed out wryly.

"If I thought you actually wanted to, yeah. But it's way beyond that now. I can tell."

"Even if we . . ." Jackson swallowed hard. It was tough to admit to Deke that he'd broken his no teammates rule, even though it was probably obvious to Deke. "Even if we did hook up, it's not like it's going anywhere. We both know where he's going, which is the majors. And where am I headed? Nowhere good."

"Don't you think you're being kinda hard on yourself? You're staring right down that minor league home run record," Deke objected.

Jackson shot him a look.

"What?" Deke said. "I heard about it from Andy. Was surprised you hadn't even mentioned it."

"It's not exactly something I want to brag about. Spending all this time in the minors? Hardly worth celebrating," Jackson said wryly.

"You're wrong. It's fucking amazing. Most of us never make it anywhere. We maybe spend a few games—maybe a whole season, all together, if we're lucky—in the majors. We don't make many waves in the minors. We just exist, floating around, until we can't play anymore. Until nobody wants us to play anymore. But you've done more than that, Jackson. Your name is gonna be in the record books, forever."

It was a big part of the reason why he'd initially stayed. He'd wanted the record, even as he'd hated himself a little for it.

"Well, thanks," Jackson said. "Not sure it's gonna happen. Not that many more games left."

"But there's enough, and you've got that swing that could make my momma weep," Deke said, reaching out and patting him on the arm. "Now are you gonna go over there and get your boy?"

The girls were screeching again, and Jackson didn't even want to look over to see what stunt Connor was pulling now.

"And don't say he's not, 'cause we both know he is," Deke said, lowering his voice until it was just above a murmur, barely audible over the girls—and Connor too, for that matter.

Jackson considered continuing the argument. But Deke had already seen right past him, but even more importantly, he'd seen right through his own argument.

Maybe he and Connor hadn't made any declarations out loud, but every time they'd touched each other—yesterday and today, both—had felt like a promise.

Besides, he was supposed to be watching Connor, wasn't he? It was his right to go over there if he wanted, to keep him in line.

For a moment, he worried that maybe they'd been transparent to more than just Deke. But nobody who knew Connor—who knew the string of girls he'd hooked up with—would think that anything was happening. They'd just assume, Jackson decided, that he was doing his job.

Jackson stood, finished his beer, set it down with a decisive click, and then walked over there.

He approached from behind, and Connor didn't seem to be aware of his presence, though everyone else at the table sure seemed to be. Several of the women's eyes grew big and one of them shot him the most obviously flirtatious smile he'd seen in awhile.

No. That was wrong.

Connor's flirty smiles when he'd been attempting to seduce him had been even more blatant—but only by a hair.

"Hey," Jackson said.

Connor turned around, and God, Ro was right, he didn't have a poker face at all. If any of these women suspected they'd been pawns tonight, the look on Connor's face would tell them the rest of the story.

But of course, nobody seemed to notice.

"Hey," Connor croaked. "What are you doing here?"

"Seeing what you're doing," Jackson said. He faced the table. "Ladies, I'm sorry but I'm gonna have to pull him away."

There was a chorus of disappointed cries. "He's got an important throwing session tomorrow," Jackson added. "But y'all should come catch a game sometime. He's something to see."

"Bet he's not the only one," one of the older-looking women added slyly.

"That's true," Connor said, his eyes lighting up. "Jackson's here got a swing that'll . . . well, you'll just have to come see it to find out what it makes you do."

Connor seemed like he was about five seconds away from telling them what it made him want to do—which was going to do nobody any favors—so Jackson grabbed him by the arm and dragged him towards the bar.

"What are you doing?" Connor hissed under his breath. "I was having fun with them."

"Yeah, you were toying with them, like a kitten plays with a mouse. You weren't ever going to pounce on one of them. You know it. I know it. They just don't know it. And that doesn't seem real sporting now, does it?"

Connor made a face. "I might've pounced."

"No, we both know who you want to pounce on, and it isn't any of those girls."

The look of bare-naked longing on Connor's face should have made Jackson feel better. But it didn't.

"Well, I didn't know what was going on," Connor protested. "I thought you were . . .I was . . .we were . . ."

"Deke's a friend and most of the team was out tonight, with us. It's good to build team friendships," Jackson said, even though none of that was really why he'd accepted Deke's invitation.

Connor rolled his eyes. "No, you wanted to make me sweat it out. Ask you again. Maybe even beg you a little."

And God, that sounded fucking amazing. He could see Connor pressed up against his front door, pants at his ankles, a stream of begging pleas falling from his lips as he played with his cock, dragging out the pleasure as long as he could.

Taking his time.

Really enjoying having Connor at his mercy, instead of wondering, with half of his brain, how quickly it needed to end.

Connor must have seen the way the fantasy took him over, because he reached out and clutched, briefly, at his wrist. "Come on," he murmured under his breath. "Have some mercy on me, like you wanted me to have on those girls. Take me home."

Jackson didn't need another invitation.

"Alright," he said, casually, like his pulse wasn't already accelerating, like the sharp edge of anticipation wasn't already making him bleed.

"I gotta close out my tab," Connor said.

"You still playing knight in shining armor? Taking care of everyone else's bill?" Jackson asked.

Connor shook his head. "Not always. Sometimes. But not always. And not today."

"Good. They're adults. They wanna drink? They should be able to cover it themselves."

"Yeah but—"

"No buts," Jackson said and grinned. "Go on, take care of the bill. I'll meet you outside."

As he walked towards the door, Deke shot him a knowing look, and Jackson couldn't help but smile in response.

Yeah. Okay. He'd gone and gotten his boy.

He was only lingering outside for a minute or two before Connor joined him and after grabbing their stuff from the field house, they set out for the quick walk towards Jackson's studio apartment.

"It's nothing special," he warned after they'd climbed the steps to the third floor and he had his keys out, unlocking the door.

"Are you in it?" Connor asked guilelessly.

It was funny; only a week ago, Jackson had genuinely believed that he was immune to Connor's flirtations. That none of his lines would ever work on him.

But it was impossible to ignore the pulse of heat inside him at Connor's words.

He'd never forget the little groan Connor made at the back of his throat—surrender and desire—as Jackson pushed him against the closed door and nuzzled into his neck.

"That's . . .that's so good," Connor gasped as Jackson's hands slid under his T-shirt, stroking along his overheated skin.

"Yeah? You been thinkin' about this?" Jackson could hear the roughness in his own voice. How desperate he sounded.

"Yes." Connor chuckled. "You don't even know how much."

"All day?"

He nodded, eyes glowing brightly in the dim light of the apartment.

"Me too," Jackson confessed, and it felt torn out of him, reluctantly.

"That's why you . . ." Connor's eyes grew even bigger. "That's why you took Deke up on his offer."

Jackson didn't answer. Instead, he leaned in and kissed him.

He'd told himself—promised himself—that he'd go slow. Take his time. Enjoy every second of having Connor in his bed, but the moment their mouths met, he got lost in the way Connor felt and tasted and smelled.

He angled his head, taking Connor's mouth deeper with his own, feeling rather than hearing his resulting groan.

It was almost impossible not to chase after Connor's hips as they thrust out, searching for some kind of friction to relieve the pressure.

"Please," Connor panted as Jackson broke the kiss. "Goddamn it, I've waited."

"You need to learn some patience," Jackson said, but his own self-control was hanging by a thread, fingers tightening around Connor's slender waist, his skin as smooth as velvet.

"Anything you want," Connor said. "You wanna fuck me? I'd be down for that."

That was not what Jackson had expected him to say. He'd certainly expected if they ever got to that—and he certainly hadn't expected them to—that he'd have to cajole Connor into trying it.

He had not expected Connor to just offer, as easy as that.

And that offer did something that almost nothing else had—it broke the last remnants of his self-control, shattering them into nothing.

One second Connor was lounging against the door, Jackson's hands up his shirt, and the next he'd slid them downwards, making quick work of his shorts and then his underwear.

"Are we—"

It was impossible, even in the throes of the fiercest craving he'd ever experienced for another human being, to miss the uncertainty in Connor's voice.

"No. No. You're not—" Jackson took a deep breath. Tried to get himself back under control, even as it felt like it was splintering every time he grabbed at it. "You've never done that before. It's not something you just do."

Connor grinned, so fucking bright in the dim light of the room. He was so gorgeous he took Jackson's breath away. He missed the days when he'd been able to compartmentalize his attraction, when he'd been able to ignore how stunning Connor was.

Obviously those days were long gone.

"That's not what gay porn would have you believe," Connor said.

Jackson's fingers, tucked into the waistband of his briefs, froze.

"You can't say shit like that," Jackson said, barely hearing his own voice. The roaring demand of take him now, now now now was so loud, it drowned out everything else.

"No?" Connor lifted an eyebrow, the deliberately innocent look on his face warring with the way he licked his lips. He knew exactly what kind of shit he was saying and the reaction he hoped it would provoke.

Jackson shook his head, trying to clear it. But the roar was undeniable, and it occurred to him that maybe he didn't actually need to resist it.

Every hookup he'd had since Davy, he'd kept his head—at least a portion of it. He'd been smart and cautious and careful. Never taking too much, never losing himself.

No more.

It was so fucking easy to give in to the need swirling inside him and slide to his knees, pulling down Connor's underwear with him.

His cock was just as pretty as the rest of him, and so hard it twitched when Jackson leaned in, licking his lips in anticipation.

He glanced up at Connor and didn't think he'd ever forget the way Connor was looking at him, eyes glazed with desire and affection and a little bit of shock, like he'd wanted this, but hadn't known how to ask for it.

Like he'd be grateful for any little thing Jackson gave him.

It had been so long since anyone had wanted him like this. That anyone had looked at him with that mingled awe and desperation. Jackson had forgotten what it even felt like to be valued this way.

Connor's fingers tangled in his hair, not pushing. But just cupping his head, like he couldn't help touching him. Jackson leaned in and licked up his cock, loving the way Connor moaned at just the tiniest touch.

"More, more, God, just like that," Connor groaned out as Jackson finally let the head slip into his mouth, sucking on it.

The very first time he'd given a blowjob, Jackson hadn't anticipated how much he'd love it or how much it would turn him on. Before the first, he'd known, without a single doubt in his mind that he was gay, that he liked and wanted men, but by the end, his certainty had been ironclad.

This wasn't his first blowjob now, not by any stretch, but there were so things that reminded him so viscerally of that first time. How much he loved the weight of Connor's cock, the taste of it, the way his fingers scrabbled in his hair when he took him deep. The flex of his thigh muscles as he tried to restrain himself from just taking Jackson's mouth.

It was all a fucking turn-on, but what turned him on more than anything else?

The words spilling from Connor's mouth. Dirty talk. Praise. A lot of moans. And underpinning everything was an affection and a familiarity that Jackson hadn't even realized he'd missed, but he did.

This wasn't just some anonymous hookup in a bar bathroom.

This was Connor.

He'd wanted him, and now, he'd gotten lucky enough to actually have him.

Curling his tongue around the head of Connor's cock, he gave a particularly determined suck, then let it slip deeper into his mouth and then deeper still. Connor wasn't huge, and he could almost take him entirely without gagging. If they made a regular habit of this, he'd learn to take it all.

Couldn't wait to see Connor's face when he did.

But for now, Jackson had a few more tricks up his sleeve. He wet a thumb with saliva and slipped it back, behind Connor's balls. Didn't press it into him, but just circled his hole, gently at first and then firmer.

Not everyone liked this. Connor might think he would—might've offered, but nothing proved the truth like actual experience.

Jackson could feel his hole flexing around nothing, wanting more, and Connor was crying out, and that was all the warning Jackson got before he was coming down his throat, finally losing control of his hips as the last bit of pleasure spilled from him.

"Oh my God," Connor said, exhaling sharply, as Jackson sank back on his heels, feeling both very pleased with himself—and not nearly pleased enough.

His cock, trapped in his jeans, was a hard inescapable reminder of just how much he needed to come.

Reaching down, Connor pulled up his briefs and shorts and then lifted Jackson to his feet. He was surprised at how unsteady he was, but then with how good that had felt, and how good he still wanted to feel, maybe it wasn't such a shock.

Before he could ask how that had been—though that had seemed superfluous, considering the wonderstruck look currently on Connor's face—he kissed him.

Apparently he wasn't worried about tasting his own come, or anything else, because Connor's tongue entered his mouth and stroked Jackson's without hesitation.

If he'd been turned on before, Connor wholeheartedly throwing himself into this, without anxiety or fear, ratcheted his arousal up even hotter.

Connor pressed a palm against his cock, right where he needed it, and Jackson groaned into his mouth. Pleasure rocketed through him, even though there were two annoying layers of clothing between Connor's bare skin and his cock.

"Please, yeah," Jackson exhaled as Connor finally unbuttoned and unzipped him, yanking down his boxer briefs and finally closing a hand around him.

"Yeah, baby, let me hear you," Connor crooned into his ear, his voice still rough and desperate. "God, I can't wait until you bury this in me. I wanna feel it. All the way in. All the way up to my ears."

That was all it took.

Jackson came for what felt like forever, pulsing again and again into Connor's grip, until he felt emptied out by the sheer ecstasy of it.

"That," he panted, when it was finally over, "was what I needed all day."

Connor's expression was smug, and maybe it would've annoyed Jackson if he hadn't been feeling so goddamned good in the aftermath of his orgasm.

"Could've had it," Connor said, pulling off his T-shirt, leaving Jackson with a memorable impression of golden-tinged chest-abs-pecs, and cleaning off his hand. "You just had to say the word."

"I'm . . ." His brain wasn't working yet. From the orgasm, yeah, but it was more than that. It was Connor casually pulling off his shirt, and how fucking gorgeous he was, a bright, perfect thing in this dim, worn-out studio apartment. He cleared his throat. It wasn't really rough from the blowjob, but it gave him a second to recover his wits. "I'm not in charge of when and how we do this."

"No?" Connor chuckled. "I disagree. But it's good. I like it. I love it, in fact. Turns me on a lot. I spent that whole bus ride at least half-hard, just thinking about how you'd bring me home and take me apart."

God, Jackson didn't want to think about what that meant.

What that could mean.

He wanted to say, I think this is more than sex.

But he didn't know how. He did know how to reach out for Connor's hand and lead him towards the bed, situated in the corner of the room.

"Let's see how quick you can recover," he teased as he finished stripping his clothes off.

Connor's eyes grew wide. "You wanna have sex again? Right now?"

"Don't sound so worried. I'll wait til you're ready—if I'm patient enough."

"I'm not worried. I'm . . .I'm excited. Happy I don't have to convince you again," Connor retorted with a grin. "You gonna fuck me yet?"

Jackson laughed. Settling on the edge of the bed. The mattress wasn't anything special but it wasn't awful, either.

"Really want it, huh?" he asked.

Connor tossed his dirty T-shirt in the vicinity of the hamper. Not surprisingly, it didn't land inside and he didn't make a move to fix that problem. Jackson sighed internally.

"You know I do," he said, prowling closer, stepping right between Jackson's legs.

"I didn't," Jackson confessed.

Connor put a hand on his shoulder but didn't lean in to kiss him like Jackson had been expecting. "Do you think I wouldn't like it?" he asked, the tremor in his voice betraying his uncertainty for the first time. "Do you not like it?"

"I told you—I haven't done more than just quick hookups, the last few years, and it didn't really come up. I don't . . .I don't really know what I like." It was hard, exposing his own soft underbelly to Connor, but how could he do anything else, when Connor had been so unflinchingly honest from the very beginning?

Sure, Jackson had reciprocated his interest, but he knew how hard it was to approach another man and confess an attraction. Especially for the first time.

Connor had been really fucking brave. Maybe naive, too, but Jackson couldn't dismiss the guts it had taken.

"That sucks," Connor said softly, his fingers stroking the ridge of muscle on Jackson's shoulder. "If you don't want to, or don't feel comfortable or . . ."

"Did you like that, what I did, when I was blowing you?" His thumb, just nudging the tiniest bit into Connor's body. He could still feel the phantom clench around it. He'd just come. He shouldn't have a hope or a prayer or getting aroused again, but just the memory of it made him wish he could.

"Yeah," Connor murmured.

"I could do it again," Jackson said.

"More, though?"

There was no denying how eager Connor was. Or how much that bolstered Jackson's ego.

"Yeah. I could give you more." I could give you everything. Jackson was already thinking of what else he could do. How he could make Connor thrash and moan for it, and even though his cock stayed soft, that was definitely arousal spiking through him. "But first, I'm gonna take a shower. I'd offer for you to join me, but it's the tiniest fucking stall in the universe."

"Disappointing," Connor said. "I like the way you look wet."

"You can get in after me, if you want?"

Connor nodded. "Alright."

Jackson waved his hand around the bare bones apartment. "This isn't much, I know. But feel free to make yourself at home. Not sure there's much in the fridge."

"I'm not hungry," Connor said. Then shot him a crooked, sweet grin that made Jackson's heartbeat rabbit. "For food, anyway."

"You're ridiculous," Jackson retorted, but as he headed towards the bathroom, he couldn't deny how gooey and fond his words had sounded.

You're in deep. So fucking deep.

By the time Connor finished his shower, he was buzzing with anticipation and desire, cock half-hard in his hand as he rinsed clean.

He dried off as quickly as he could, even though he was doing his best not to look so eager as he walked from the tiny bathroom into the bedroom slash living space.

Jackson was lounging on the bed, gloriously naked and so fucking gorgeous Connor went from half-hard to fully hard so fast his head spun.

He'd never mistake Jackson for a woman. He was big and brawny and so masculine he made Connor's heart clench. And he wanted him anyway. Wanted him more than he'd ever wanted anybody else.

His sister was always telling him people's sexuality was on a spectrum. That practically nobody was totally, one hundred percent straight.

But he'd never felt it, so viscerally, as he had right now.

Reaching out, he traced the lines of Jackson's abs as he sat up, a warm smile on his face. "You good?" he asked.

Jackson didn't need to check in so many times, making sure Connor was comfortable, but he did anyway.

It made Connor doubt the way Jackson had continually kept saying he didn't like him. Because this seemed similar to like, or something else, even.

Connor had refused to identify it with words, because that was easier—and not nearly as terrifying as it was to acknowledge that they'd hit brand-new territory for him—but it was hard, standing here, Jackson reaching up to cradle him behind the neck and gently pull him down for a long, spun-out kiss, to continue denying it.

He wasn't even sure he wanted to.

He'd had sex before. A fairly decent amount of sex.

Even sex he'd considered pretty goddamned good.

But it had never felt like this before.

It wasn't even that Jackson was a man, and he'd never slept with a man before.

It was the way Jackson fought for him, even when he didn't know how to fight for himself. It was how careful he was, when Connor had never even thought to ask for it. It was the fire that burned so brightly between them, the air practically crackling with desire as they kissed.

"On the bed." Jackson's voice was breathless when they finally broke apart. He was breathing hard, too, his chest mirroring Connor's own as it rose and fell.

Connor wasn't going to argue. He was going to take, gladly, everything that Jackson was willing to give him. Every single experience. He'd hoard them all, because the one inescapable truth was that no matter how good this made him feel, no matter how much he just plain liked Jackson, he knew all this would come to an end.

At some point, he'd go to the majors, and it didn't make a difference how good he thought Jackson was, Connor couldn't see him following. He'd stay here. He'd be traded again. All Connor would have left would be the memories.

So, they'd better make them really fucking good.

"You still good?" Jackson checked, and as Connor nodded, he lifted a tube from the bed, squeezing a little of the viscous liquid onto his fingertips. Connor swallowed hard as he spread it around his fingers, squishing between them. God, those fingers were going to be inside him. Inside him.

He craved it so bad, even as everything inside him clenched up.

Would it hurt?

But Jackson would make sure it didn't. He trusted Jackson that much—and more.

"Just breathe, and if at any point you want to stop, you just tell me, alright?" Jackson said. He put his clean hand on Connor's knee and gently pushed it apart.

That was the last time he was gentle.

Not that he wasn't careful. Not that he wasn't thorough.

He was all those things.

But he was also insistent, too. Leaning in and sucking Connor's cock down like he was born to do it, even as the pads of his fingers caressed him, making him moan and thrash with how fucking long it took him to even slide the tip of a finger inside of him.

By the time Jackson had finally put a whole finger in, Connor thought he might die with how much he wanted it. Jackson kept him right on the edge with teasing sucks of his cock, little licks here and there, as he fingered him, every once in awhile brushing up against a place inside him that made him want to scream.

He didn't think he could take much more teasing, but then Jackson pushed him further and further, two fingers and then three.

He felt so full, but he wanted more. He wanted Jackson to slick his cock up and just slide it right in, pound him until he didn't have any choice but to simply explode.

"You good?" Jackson asked again, annoyingly.

"If I was . . .any fucking better . . ." Connor panted. "I'd be coming down your throat."

Jackson chuckled under his breath and Connor realized then why Tristan had told him this was something he wanted to try at least once. Because Jackson really started fucking him with his fingers, then, hitting that spot every single time, and all it took to send him over the edge was Jackson's tongue curling around his cock.

Pleasure rushed through him in a dizzying wave and he thought he might've shouted, but he certainly made some kind of embarrassing yelp of disbelief. And with Jackson's fingers twisting and thrusting inside him, his orgasm went on and on, longer than he'd ever experienced before. Deeper and more satisfying than he'd ever imagined.

When it was finally over, Connor collapsed against the pillow, and only had a second before Jackson had a hand around his own cock. A handful of thrusts later, he was coming in long, hot stripes against Connor's chest, his jaw clenched.

"Shit, that was so fucking hot," Jackson ground out as he collapsed next to Connor. "I've never seen anyone come like that."

"I've never come like that before," Connor admitted. He'd never even had an inkling that kind of pleasure was possible.

Now that it was over, he felt vaguely sticky and uncomfortable—which wasn't so much a surprise as an annoyance. Would he be sore in the morning? Connor didn't think so. Jackson had been so careful with him.

Care had never felt like a particularly sexy attribute to Connor, but it did now.

He felt safe and protected and, also, the freest he'd ever been.

Jackson nuzzled against his shoulder and it was easy to lift his arm so Jackson could get closer still.

Connor wanted to ask him, could you just crawl inside me and stay? He didn't, because that would be crazy. And because he already knew Jackson couldn't.

Before tonight, he hadn't even worried about it.

But now he couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Coming that hard is supposed to mean you don't think about anything at all," Jackson murmured, surprising Connor.

"What?" Jackson continued, his lips curled into a lazy smile, when Connor didn't say anything. "You were thinking so hard over there it was amazing I couldn't actually see the words spewing out of your head."

"Am I that transparent?"

"No poker face whatsoever," Jackson said, and he sounded amused about it, not angry.

"I was just . . ." Connor swallowed back what he was going to say and went with an alternate thought. "Just wondering if the scout's gonna be around next time I pitch."

"I'd expect so," Jackson said, and his voice suddenly a little more guarded. Like he too understood exactly what that meant.

If Connor kept pitching well, he'd get called up to the majors, and whatever this was, this thing between them that Connor didn't want to identify with words, it would be over.

And no matter how much he suddenly hated the thought, he was going to have to accept it.