Page 25 of Switch Pitching

Rolling my eyes, I try to regain my composure. “Whatever,” I say, even though I’m secretly enjoying the banter more than I should.

I spot a clearance sign and do a quick pivot. There, nestled among a wall of pastel-colored fabric, is a buy-one-get-one-free deal on last year’s sheets.

James looks at me as I pick out a king-size sheet set, feigning disappointment. “No California King, huh?”

“In your dreams.”

“Yeah and you’ll be there too,” he jokes, turning his attention back to the blankets.

It’s so hard not to dwell on this. He’s just messing around. I’ve been on the receiving end of this same brand of straight guy jokes countless times, and I’m usually okay at keeping these feelings in check. But for some reason, it gets to me more when James does it, and I can’t tell him to stop without sounding weird.

He points back to the same blanket as before, his enthusiasm back in full force. “I swear, this one is perfect!”

“Do we really need something that big?”

James smiles back at me. “You vetoed the California King so I’m allowed to decorate the living room.”

I can already picture us lounging on a giant couch, watching a game, James sprawled out beside me?—

No, stop. Stop it.

The service door to our apartment finally slams shut after James brings the last massive box up.

“Is that everything?” I ask, exhausted.

“Yup,” he pants.

I survey our living room, now filled with boxes and bags and crates from our combined Target-Costco haul. James insisted on bringing both of our cars so we could get everything in one trip, and I still ended up needing to tie a bunch of stuff down to my truck bed.

At least we’ll both have beds to sleep in tonight. Plural beds. Separate. One for each of us. In different rooms. As things should be.

James, who’s apparently well-rested enough to soldier on, leaps up from the box and springs into action. “I’ll start building the dining table.”

I jolt back to full consciousness and head for one of the Target bags. “Sounds good. I’ll wash our bed stuff and then set up the kitchen.”

Unpacking and assembly are pretty efficient, and hours later, most of the boxes are gone. Even though it’s James’s place on paper, it already feels more like home than anywhere I’ve been since moving out of my parents’ house for college.

James, freshly showered, emerges from his room and collapses onto the spacious couch before immediately wrapping himself in way too many blankets.

“Dude, come test out the couch. You worked hard,” James says, nodding at the space next to him.

That’s exactly what I need. I walk over and drop into the amazingly firm cushion beside him. “Not bad,” I say. “This couchmight be the best thing we bought.” The cushions compress slightly as I lean back, ready to relax.

James has other ideas. He jumps up, flinging all his blankets off, and throws one over my head.

“Gotcha!” he shouts, grabbing the edges of the blanket and pulling it tight around me.

“Hey!” I protest and blindly try to pull the fabric off my face, eventually managing to poke my head out. James fixes me with a smug look before leaning over and trapping me in a fleecy prison. My heart’s racing, and I’m not sure if it’s from being suffocated by blankets.

“Dude, we’re basically cuddling,” I say, trying to play it off casually.

James shrugs and tightens a blanket around both of us. “So? What’s a few cuddles between dudes?”

I snort. “This is more than a few cuddles.”

“Nah, this is the optimal amount. It’s math.”

“Alright, whatever you say.” I can’t counter that. This is totally normal, right? I just have to ignore the fact that the heat from his body is radiating through all this fabric, and if I don’t move too much, I might forget to think about it.

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