Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
ANDRES
Texas heat clings to you like honey poured straight from the jar—thick, golden, and unapologetically everywhere. Even at night it sits on your skin, warm and humid, smelling like asphalt, barbecue smoke, and the faint metallic tang of a city during a summer that never fully cools down.
They don’t.
We win.
It’s baseball. It’s chaos. It’s inches and timing and momentum. By the last out, when the ball smacks into a glove and the ump calls it, our dugout erupts like a shaken bottle of champagne finally uncapped.
Jackson finds me in the pile immediately, jumping into my space like gravity is optional, arms around my shoulders, his laugh bright in my ear.
I catch him by instinct, hands locking around his waist, and for a second the whole field becomes only him.
Sweat and sun and that clean, familiar scent—that's just Jackson.
The crowd is a blur. The cameras are a suggestion.
He pulls back enough to look at me, eyes shining.
“We did it,” he says.
“Hell yeah, we did, hermoso,” I shout.
His mouth twitches and he mouths, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I mouth back, and his face softens in a way that makes something tight in my chest loosen. He tilts his forehead to mine quickly, like he’s not trying to perform it for anyone, just reminding me.
Us.
Still us.
Always us.
I let my thumbs press into his sides once before I set him down because the world exists again, and it’s full of people and angles and consequences. But even as he steps away, his hand drags down my arm, fingers catching mine for half a second.
A promise in passing.
The clubhouse afterward is the usual storm.
Music too loud. Guys yelling. Jerseys half off. Tape getting ripped. Someone blasting a playlist that’s half hype songs and half whatever Brooks insists is “vibes.” The win has the whole room glowing, loose, and cocky in the way only athletes get when the work pays off.
Kai is loud, grinning, already talking about going out for drinks like it’s a victory lap written into his contract.
“We’re going out,” he announces like he owns the city.
“It’s Texas,” Gael groans. “I really don’t feel like fighting some cowboy you’ll inevitably piss off.”
Kai points at him. “I promised my wife no fighting. So you're safe.”
Adriana isn’t here, obviously, but Gael still pulls out his phone to send her a video of our post-game chaos, his smile softening when he sees her name on the screen. Kai sends Isla a selfie with a caption I don’t need to read to know it’s obscene. He’s that kind of husband.
Jackson sits next to me at his locker, quiet for once, drinking water slowly, his fingers tapping a rhythm against his thigh like he’s still buzzing with adrenaline.
I watch his body, and he catches me looking.
“Don’t,” he murmurs, voice low, like he knows what’s in my head.
“Numbers?” I ask anyway.
He sighs dramatically like I’m ruining his fun. “One-sixty. Flat arrow.”
Relief loosens my jaw. “I like it. The adjustments are working.”
“You’re hot when you worry about me.” Jackson leans closer, mouth near my ear. “Does my man feel like going back to our hotel room and celebrating?”
I keep my face neutral because the clubhouse is full of wolves and idiots. But I let my hand slide to his knee and squeeze once.
“Eat something,” I murmur, unbuttoning my jersey and tugging my tank top over my head.
He grins. “Mmm, I’d rather eat you.”
Do not pop a boner in this locker room, Dre.
Look anywhere except over at your six-foot-blond kryptonite, who’s currently eye-fucking you.
My breath comes out slowly and he laughs, eyes bright, and for a second I see it again. That shift in him since we stopped hiding. Like he’s letting himself be held in the light instead of only in shadows.
“Alright, you sexy sons of bitches. Hotel and showers. Change into something not embarrassing and meet in the lobby.” Kai claps his hands together.
“Aw, Vaughn, did your wife give you permission to go out and play?” Sean chuckles before throwing a towel at him.
“First off, fuck you, Sean.” Kai points his bat at him, then smirks and says, “She absolutely did.”
Brooks raises his hand. “Do we have to wear shirts?”
“Yes,” Coach Johnson barks from across the room.
Brooks groans, and Mike leans over and whispers something to him that makes him blush.
Jackson leans into my shoulder. “If Brooks gets arrested tonight, we’re ransacking his locker.”
“He has nothing worth taking,” I say.
Jackson’s smile turns wicked. “I’d take his sunglasses, just so I could chuck them in the ocean.”
“Don’t touch those things; they’re practically a biohazard.”
The club we end up at is a beast. Bass thrums through the walls like a heartbeat.
Lights strobe and pulse, turning everyone into fragments.
The air is thick with perfume, sweat, and expensive liquor.
It’s loud enough that you feel it more than hear it, and the crowd parts around us with that subtle recognition people get when they see athletes.
Phones lift, eyes tracking us. People pretend not to stare while staring anyway.
We claim a booth at the back.
Kai is immediately in his element, sitting like a king, scanning the room with that grin that says he’s here to cause problems and call it bonding.
Gael looks mildly annoyed until someone hands him a drink, and then his shoulders loosen.
Brooks disappears for five minutes and comes back with two numbers written on his hand like a teenager.
“You are a disease,” Jackson tells him, then looks over at Mike, who is staring at Brooks like he hung the moon.
The man is so in love it’s painful to watch.
Brooks points at Jackson’s face. “Says the man who’s going to get kissed stupid in a club bathroom tonight.”
Jackson chokes on his drink and I sip mine calmly.
Maybe not a bathroom, but definitely the hallway leading there. Or outside.
Shit, maybe right here in the booth.
“Oh, it’s happening.” Kai leans back and smirks.
Jackson’s ears go red. “Stop.”
That makes Gael laugh, shaking his head. “You guys are so obvious it’s painful. Carnal, nobody cares. Which reminds me…” He turns to Kai and Sean. “You fuckers owe me money.”
The banter rolls, easy and familiar—that fun, platonic filth real teammates toss around like sunflower seeds.
Someone makes a joke about bat length. Someone else says something about “stroking the wood.” Kai nearly falls off the booth laughing.
Jackson hides his face in my shoulder like he’s embarrassed to be seen with these men.
I keep an arm around him, thumb tracing slow circles against his hip, and he leans into it without thinking.
Without fear.
A waitress drops off a tray of drinks, and Brooks tips like he’s trying to buy the club.
The man flirts like it’s an Olympic sport.
Gael texts Adriana again. Jackson drinks water between sips of his vodka soda because he’s learned, because he’s trying, and because he knows I’m watching and he doesn’t want to scare me again.
And I shouldn’t be this proud of a man drinking water, but I am.
He catches my gaze and narrows his eyes.
“What?” he mouths.
I tilt my head. “Good boy.”
His eyes widen a fraction and he kicks my shin under the table, and I smile into my drink.
My good boy.
Later, when the music shifts into something darker and heavier, the team starts migrating.
Some to the dance floor, some to dark corners to flirt.
The booth empties in slow stages until it’s mostly just me and Jackson, shoulder-to-shoulder in the low light, surrounded by noise we don’t have to participate in.
Jackson turns his head toward me, close enough that I can feel his breath.
“I still can’t believe you said yes,” he murmurs.
My chest tightens.
He’s talking about the press. The confirmation. The part where I didn’t hesitate to call him my boyfriend in public.
“I did,” I answer. “Because you’re mine, Jack.”
Jackson’s fingers slide along my forearm, tracing the veins there like he’s grounding himself in the truth.
“It’s weird,” he admits, his voice small under the bass. “In a good way. But… weird.”
“Tell me.”
He swallows. “I keep waiting for it to hurt. For someone to say something ugly to us.”
My anger sparks instantly, hot and sharp. “Who taught you that?” I ask, my voice low.
Jackson’s eyes flick away for half a second, even though I already know the answer. His father.
I catch his chin gently, turning his face back to mine.
“If someone does,” I say, “fuck’em.”
His lashes flutter like he’s fighting emotion and then, because Jackson is Jackson, he tries to dodge it.
“You’re being romantic in a club.” He smirks.
“I can be romantic anywhere, hermoso.”
“Liar,” he whispers, but he’s smiling now.
I stand. “Come with me.”
Jackson blinks. “Where?”
“Hallway,” I say simply.
His eyes sharpen with understanding. “Dre…”
I don’t answer. I just take his hand and he follows.
We slip out of the main room into a darker corridor that leads toward bathrooms and staff-only doors.
The sound drops slightly, muffled through walls, still present but less invasive.
The lights here are low and red-tinted, the kind of lighting that forgives everything and encourages bad decisions.
Jackson presses his back to the wall automatically, like his body remembers this is where we can breathe.
He looks at me, pupils wide.
“This is a terrible idea,” he whispers.
“I know,” I say.
His smile turns dangerous. “We could get caught.”
“Probably,” I admit.
Jackson’s breath catches. “Baby…”
I step close enough that my chest brushes his. I feel his pulse through his shirt. I feel the way he leans in without even realizing it.
“Are you saying stop?” I ask because I will.
Always.
“No.”
“Then be quiet,” I murmur.
His mouth opens, and I kiss him before he can say something that makes me lose control completely.
The kiss is hungry from the first contact.
Jackson grips my shirt with both hands, pulling me in like he’s starving, like he’s been waiting all night for this.
His body presses into mine, and the wall behind him becomes the only thing holding him up.
I angle my mouth, deepening the kiss, letting my tongue touch his, and Jackson makes a soft sound that goes straight to my dick.
My hands slide to his waist, then to his hips, grounding him, holding him steady. He kisses me back with reckless devotion, tongue and teeth and breath, like he’s trying to swallow the fear out of his own chest.
I pull back just enough to breathe.
Jackson’s lips are swollen, his eyes are blown wide, his cheeks flushed.
Beautiful.
“You’re doing that thing,” he whispers.
“What thing?” I murmur, brushing my mouth along his jaw.
“Making me forget how to be normal,” he breathes.
I smile against his skin. “I don’t want you normal.”
His hands slide into my hair, tugging, not hard, just enough to make my body tighten.
“Dre,” he whispers again, and it’s not a warning now.
It’s need.
My lips kiss down his throat, then up to the spot under his ear, and Jackson shudders against me. The world is far enough away that for a few seconds it feels like it’s just us.
Then footsteps echo at the end of the corridor.
Jackson holds his breath, and I lift my head and listen, making sure my body covers his completely from view.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“Like I’d want anyone else seeing you like this,” I whisper back, my mouth brushing his. “Lips swollen.” I drag my thumb over his bottom lip. “Cheeks flushed.” Then I lean in and whisper in his ear, “A little slut that’s all mine.”
“Possessive much?”
I kiss him again, slower now, letting the rhythm of it calm him.
“Look at me.” I pull back, and Jackson’s eyes lock onto mine immediately.
“You’ve always been mine,” I tell him. “There’s never been a second where you haven’t been.”
Jackson’s throat bobs and he nods once. I press my forehead to his for a brief second, then kiss him one more time, softer, like a seal on the promise.
When I pull back, his smile is shaky but real.
“We should go back,” he whispers.
“In a sec,” I say, and I run my hands down his sides.
Jackson rolls his eyes, but he leans in and kisses me quickly anyway, like he can’t resist. We straighten ourselves, fixing the collars on each other's shirts, pretending we weren’t just devouring each other in a hallway like teenagers.
Jackson’s fingers weave between mine, and we walk back together, hand in hand.
In the booth, Kai takes one look at Jackson’s mouth and makes a sound of absolute delight.
“Oh my God,” Kai says, loudly. “LOOK AT HIS FACE.”
Jackson groans and drops into the seat, hiding behind his hands.
Gael laughs and Brooks looks offended he missed it.
Kai points at me. “Have you no shame, sir?”
“None whatsoever.” I sip my drink calmly.
Kai leans in, voice lowering just enough to be heard over the bass. “You good, Jack?”
“I’d be better if you’d stop being such an ass… but it seems like it’s just who you are, so…”
Kai’s gaze flicks to me, sharp and protective even in the middle of a club. “You watching his numbers?”
“Like you even have to ask.”
Kai relaxes a fraction, then lifts his glass. “To the win," he says.
“To health.” Gael lifts his.
Brooks lifts his. “To making out in public places and not getting arrested.”
Jackson flips him off. “Shut up.”
I lift my glass last, eyes on Jackson.
“To us,” I say quietly.
His smile softens. “To us,” he echoes.