Switch Pitching (Off the Bench #1)

11. Ethan

11

ETHAN

MAY

The bus ride from Midway into Chicago takes way too long, but I’m buzzing with excitement. It’s my first time here, and it’s cool to travel with the team on our first long road trip of the season.

I stare out the window, watching the skyline rise up as we approach the city center, crawling the last couple of miles to our hotel. We eventually arrive, file out, and grab our bags. I crack my shoulders, trying to loosen them up as the coaches handle room assignments.

One of the coaches calls out, waving two keycards. “Sullivan, Hernandez, you’re rooming together.”

“Seems like you’re stuck with me, no matter what,” James says.

“Oh no, living with you is gonna suck, how will I survive?”

James laughs and punches my chest before grabbing our keycards and heading for the elevators. I follow him, eager to get some rest.

“Not bad,” James says, surveying the modern, sleek room. The windows stretch from floor to ceiling, giving us a partial view of the city. James drops his bag onto the luggage rack, clearly satisfied with the setup.

“Which bed do you want?” I ask. At least we have two in this room. They look decently comfortable, too.

James fixes me with a sly expression, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Whichever one you’re in, babe.”

Then he winks. And swats my ass. Straight men, I swear.

“Hey!” I protest, feigning annoyance and failing miserably.

James scoffs. “Oh my god, Ethan, you don’t like sharing a bed with other dudes! What are you, straight or something?”

“Oh yeah, I’m super straight now. You making moves on me all the time is what flipped the switch,” I deadpan, barely managing to hold back a laugh. Go back a few years, and I would have totally fallen for James’s joking flirtation, but spending any time around athletes will build up your tolerance to this kind of stuff.

It’s just that James dials the act up to eleven while being frustratingly hot.

“Whatever, man, suit yourself,” James says, pulling random things out from his bag and dumping them on the desk. “I’m gonna shower and then I’ll take whichever bed you aren’t on.”

James saunters into the bathroom with his wash kit and starts running the shower. I sigh, trying to shake off my feelings while unpacking my bag, attempting to focus on anything other than the fact that James is just a few feet away, naked under the stream of water.

Shut it down, shut everything down.

I rub my temples. Sharing a house with him is one thing, but a room? That’s a whole other level.

A short while later, I’m chilling on one of the beds when I hear the water shut off. Then, the bathroom door opens and James steps out humming to himself. I glance up, and then I freeze.

He’s wearing a towel. Only a towel. Not even a bath towel, but one of the hotel’s small, skimpy hand towels.

My eyes are seeing everything in high definition. There are droplets of water glistening on his muscular chest, sliding down his skin and pooling on his abs. He turns away from me, not noticing my stunned stupor, giving me a full-on view of his crazy back muscles and firm ass that’s barely covered up. It’s like I’ve been ambushed, and it takes everything in me to tear my eyes away.

My home screen is suddenly super interesting and requires my full attention.

Don’t look at him.

James strolls over to his bed, smoothing his hair back which flexes his bicep. “So, what do you want to do tonight?” he asks. He’s acting like he isn’t almost naked and super fucking hot.

I force my eyes to meet his, and to stay above his smooth, defined pecs. “Uh, I don’t know. Maybe chill after dinner? It’s been a long day.” I manage.

James agrees, giving a nonchalant shrug as he scans the room for some clothes. “Yeah, sounds good. I’m tired.”

He gathers the clothes he needs for the night on his bed, reaching for his boxers with one hand while tugging at the towel with the other. I need to leave before I lose it. Grabbing my clothes, I head to the bathroom, eager to leave before James takes off the glorified washcloth that’s serving as the only barrier between his cock and my defenseless eyes.

I shut the bathroom door behind me and lean against it before I realize that I’m rocking a semi. Fucking hell. I didn’t jack off this morning and now my hormones are raging, so I can’t think straight. Out of habit, my hands wander down and cup my dick, which does nothing to relieve the tension that’s brewing. If I want to act normal around James, I need to deal with this.

Steam fills the bathroom as I wait for the water to finish heating up. Reaching down, I give my dick a few tugs through my shorts, and it springs to life almost immediately. After shedding the rest of my clothes, I fling the shower curtain open and step in before grabbing my erection.

I begin pumping and I keep at it, doing what I always do. Before long, sweet, familiar pressure builds up in my nuts and I let out a shaky sigh, spraying all over the shower wall. I give myself a few more strokes, gentler than before, my breathing gradually returning to normal.

The hot water runs all over me, washing off the grime from the day and all the evidence of what I just did. Stepping out, I dry off and pull on a pair of sweatpants before running a hand through my recently trimmed hair.

For a single, fleeting second, I consider walking out naked, just to give James a taste of his own medicine. I shake my head, banishing the idea from my brain. James would probably ogle me and joke about sucking me off, just because that’s his sense of humor. When I leave the bathroom, I’m just shirtless. If James can do it, so can I.

He’s lounging on his bed, also scrolling through his phone, but once he notices me, James does an intentional and exaggerated double take. “Damn, drop those sweatpants and give me a spin Ethan!”

Is James catcalling me? Of course he is.

He doesn’t let up. “New season of Chicago Fire right here!”

I roll my eyes and throw my shirt at him. “Shut up, James. You’re supposed to be straight.”

Yeah, James is straight, even though he makes it way too easy to forget that sometimes.

He catches the shirt and throws it back at me, a playful smirk on his face. “Just messing with you, bro.”

James leaves it at that, and I slip my shirt on just as both our phones buzz. As I wrestle with a folded armhole, James crosses the room to check his texts.

“Are you coming to dinner with the team?” he asks.

I finish fighting with my shirt, smoothing it out as James waits for my answer, casually leaning against the wall with that same smile still tugging at his lips.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” I say, glancing down at my phone to check the time. Dinner is in thirty minutes. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“Some pizza place near the hotel. We’re in Chicago, so, it’s deep dish.”

We head down to the lobby and Will spots us coming down, giving us a wave. Most of our teammates already arrived, and the group heads out as soon as James and I arrive.

It’s a pretty short walk to the restaurant from where we’re staying. The weather is so pleasant that I’m almost disappointed once we arrive.

As soon as we’re all seated, Gabe switches places, planting himself right across from James, with a mischievous grin on his face. “Alright, Ethan,” he says, leaning forward and dropping his voice like he’s about to spill some serious tea. “What’s it like living with this guy?” He nods at James who narrows his eyes.

I raise an eyebrow, knowing exactly where this is going. “It’s fine,” I say, trying not to laugh. “I mean, it’s James. He’s easy to live with.”

“Come on, man, don’t sugarcoat it,” Tim cuts in from the other side of the table. “We all know what James is like. Let’s hope you have thick walls at your place!” He raises a glass in some kind of toast that I don’t return.

Gabe’s eyes glint and I can tell he’s getting carried away. “Yeah, I bet tonight’s gonna be crazy, huh? You two are sharing a room, and I’m calling it now: Ethan’s getting sexiled.” He laughs, clearly enjoying himself.

I open my mouth to speak but Tim beats me to it. “Or better, Ethan should pick up a girl tonight and beat James back to the room! Let him know how it feels for once.”

“Yeah, I’ll pick any of the women who are brave enough to approach me when I’m surrounded by all of you,” I fire back. “But honestly, James is chill. You guys need to stop acting like he’s some kind of player.”

“Oh, come on,” Gabe chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “I’m just saying, if you do pull that move, James might feel outdone and try to join you two so he can keep things even. Eiffel Tower whatever lucky chick falls into bed with both of you.”

I choke on my water, coughing as I try to swallow. The comment catches me off guard, and it makes me cringe as I shut out the image of having a threesome with James. I don’t need that right now. Luckily, James takes over the defense and slings his arm around my shoulder.

“What do you say we cut out the middleman tonight? Just you and me taking inspiration from those gossip magazines,” he quips.

The table bursts into laughter. I guess the idea of anyone on the team actually being gay is inconceivable enough to be taken as a joke.

After that, dinner goes smoothly, just a bunch of guys eating too much pizza and throwing around banter about who’s going to choke first in the game tomorrow. After we finish, the team filters out of the restaurant and splits up, with most people heading back to the hotel.

“Alright, boys,” Will says, clapping his hands together as we gather by the door, “no wild shit tonight, okay?”

There’s a chorus of mock groans, but we all know the drill. Don’t mess up the game. As we step back out into the warm night, James walks beside me, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Hey, you wanna go for a walk and clear our heads before tomorrow?” he asks.

I look over at him, surprised. He seemed exhausted toward the end of dinner, and I thought that I’d be the one to drag him back tonight as some kind of payback for that night in Tampa.

“Sure, sounds good.”

We hang back and then turn right, walking through The Loop. James is quiet, which rarely happens. Maybe something’s up with him.

“You good?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer right away, and sighs instead. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ve been thinking. About a lot of stuff.”

I glance at him, trying to read his face. “Like what?”

“I’ve been thinking about how weird it is sometimes. Like, I’m always putting on an act for who I’m supposed to be.”

James pauses, his pace slowing down a bit. “As much as I complain about people seeing me as a fuckboy, I know I act like a typical athlete with everyone, which doesn’t help the stereotyping. But with you, I don’t have to pretend. I don’t feel any pressure to be someone I’m not, and that doesn’t happen with just anyone.”

“I don’t get it. It isn’t like I’m the most talkative person out there.”

James stops and then sits down on a bench facing the Chicago River. “Sure, but you’re you,” he continues. “I honestly can’t tell what it is exactly, but you don’t judge. You’ve never given me shit about the rumors, and no matter what I do, I know you’re gonna be cool with me.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I nod and join him on the bench, trying to process what he’s saying.

Then James sighs again and turns to face me. His expression is soft, almost vulnerable. “Ethan,” he says. “I haven’t said anything like this to anyone before, but you’re my favorite person. For real.”

I freeze. His whiskey-colored eyes lock onto mine, and the gentle smile that follows sends warmth flooding through me.

“Same here,” I offer. I keep it short and sweet. I might say too much if I keep talking, and this isn’t the time.

We fall into a comfortable silence, taking it all in. We’re sitting mere inches away from each other. It’s as raw and intimate as a moment between friends can get, and to me, it straddles that dangerous, dangerous edge between staying friends and a hopeless freefall into an abyss of unrequited heartache.

James, oblivious to my increasingly urgent balancing act, leans over and pulls me into another bro-hug that wouldn’t mean anything more to anyone else. It takes everything in me to not stiffen because James absolutely doesn’t deserve that, not after opening up to me like he did and letting his guard down. He tilts his head up, and for a brief, fleeting second, my brain betrays me. I let myself imagine what it would be like to lean down and kiss him. Just for a second. There’s no way that’s happening, and I can’t let myself entertain that thought.

“Right,” I say abruptly, slapping my knees and standing up. “It’s late. We should rest up before the game.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

James starts following me, and we don’t say much on the short walk back to our hotel, or for the remainder of the night. We just shower again and get into bed, and I somehow manage to not stay up all night dwelling on the conversation we had by the river. I hope that things between us don’t change because our friendship works . It’s been ages since I clicked with someone like this, and I don’t want to mess it up.

The next morning, as I blink the sleep out of my eyes, James brews two coffees from the pod machine in the room, places one next to me, and then proceeds to pelt me with sugar packets from behind a hastily constructed blanket fort on his bed. It’s his way of showing that he cares while also fucking with me at the same time.

I laugh to myself while grabbing a cold water bottle from the mini-fridge and chase James around the room, threatening to slip it down the back of his shirt. Things aren’t weird between us, and that’s the best-case scenario.