Page 3 of Switch Pitching

With slow, half-reluctant movements, I amble into the shower and turn it on, letting the cold jets wake me up. It’s a shock to my system, but I need it. After a few minutes, I cut the water and step out, grabbing a towel. As I dry off, I try to tame my messy hair without much success. I need a haircut ASAP.

It doesn’t matter. We’re all going to be wearing hats anyway.

Back in the bedroom, I grab the crisp white-and-navy uniform that I hung over the chair last night. I slip the pants and jersey on, the fabric stiff and new. The uniform is almosttooclean, like it doesn’t quite belong to me yet.

To finish, I grab my hat from the nightstand. It’s brand new with a crease still running along the center. I turn it over in my hands and stare at the blue Boston logo standing out against the gray. I slide it on, feeling the brim settle into place. Right before I leave, I give myself a final once-over in the hallway mirror, letting a tiny speck of pride take root in my chest. I made it here. While I might look the part, now I have to play it.

The lobby is quiet when I leave the elevator, and I check the time on my phone. I’m way too early. Classic Ethan move. Sighing, I lean against a pillar while wondering if I should’ve taken more time to get ready.

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the silence, catching me off guard. “Hey there, Sullivan!” The words ricochet off the walls, filling the vast space. I turn to see James Hernandez striding toward me, and I’m instantly star-struck. He’s a pitcher, barelytwenty-one years old, and Boston signed him right out of college. If being the first direct recruit in a decade wasn’t enough, he negotiated a delayed start to his training so he could finish his exams and graduate. He’sthattalented.

Andhe knows who I am, even though I signed my contract two days ago.

He’s walking with easy confidence and a wide grin. I’ve seen his headshot floating around in news articles, but he’s even more striking in person. His dark brown hair is slightly messy and I can’t help but smile back, relieved to see a friendly face.

And yeah, I definitely don’t miss how attractive he is. Catching myself, I shove those thoughts aside. I can’t get distracted by the team’s star recruit.

“Hey James, nice to meet you.” I keep my tone casual, hoping my voice doesn’t give anything away.

James steps up, extending a hand. “Glad you’re joining us.” His grip is firm, the kind that exudes confidence.

My heart skips a beat. Great. I’ve known him for less than five minutes, and I’m already losing focus.

“I’m happy to be here,” I say, meeting his brown eyes.

James tilts his head, his smile widening. “You know, you don’t look as nervous as I did on my first day.”

I chuckle. “Maybe I’m just really good at hiding it.”

“Fake it till you make it, right?” James winks, and the playful glint in his eyes makes it easier to relax.

“Yeah, for sure. Hopefully the team doesn’t go all out on me, though.”

James laughs, poking me lightly with his elbow. “The team? Sure. They’re all super kind. The coaches on the other hand…” He trails off.

I raise an eyebrow. “Should I be worried or something?”

“Nah,” he says, his tone teasing. “Just don’t let them see you sweat too much. They love a challenge.”

“I’ll try my best.”

An engine rumbles to life outside, and James jerks his thumb toward the sound. “Let’s roll out. We should snag seats before everyone else swarms the van.”

Our arms brush briefly as he moves past me, and the subtle contact sends an unwanted shiver of heat down my spine. Again, there’s no way I can crush on a teammate.

“How many players are staying here with us?” I ask, following him and trying to distract myself.

James pauses and thinks for a second. “Not too many. Most of the guys bought places or are renting until April. It’s just us rookies and three others that are stuck together.”

I can’t resist smiling. Training will definitely be tough, but having teammates like James, someone I can see myself being friends with, will make it easier.

Forget what I said about easier. I’m dying out here.

By midday, I’m drenched in sweat, my legs are like lead, and my lungs are burning. The sun is relentless, beating down on me as I push through my conditioning drills. So far, it’s mostly been agility drills, which I’m okay at, but the last round of sprints were super slow, and now I’m an inch from being completely wiped out.

I glance around the field, searching for James. While I’m getting worked to the bone, he’s over on the mound, throwing heat under the watchful eyes of the pitching coaches. His toned, sun-kissed arms blur as he fires pitch after pitch, each one landing with a solid thud in the catcher’s glove.

It’s impressive. I’m trying to focus on resting while I have a rare break, but my gaze keeps drifting back to James. The way his muscles flex with each throw is distracting, to say the least.

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