Page 30 of Switch Pitching

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 stayabovehis 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 itwaytoo 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.

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