Page 32 of Switch Pitching

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 friendshipworks. 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.

12

JAMES

Ah, Toronto. Home sweet home. I’m pumped to be back in this city, even if we’re being kept on an unreasonably tight leash.

The Toronto Beavers are surprisingly strong this year, and we have a strict curfew before our three games here. That means I can’t go see my parents, despite the fact that our hotel is less than five kilometers away from their house.

Our bus is creeping toward the hotel on the waterfront and I’m catching a close-up view of all the downtown landmarks. I love this city, and it’s kinda weird coming back as an athlete on a rival team. Growing up, I always dreamed of walking into the Toronto clubhouse in Northlink Centre and being a hometown hero, but I can settle for using the visitors’ locker room. I grew up a Toronto fan, but I still can’t wait to crush them while I’m here.

We pull up to the hotel, offload our bags, and head straight to our rooms where a basic catered meal box is waiting. It’s passable, but I consider calling my parents to ask for a care package. I decide against it because I don’t want them to deal with the insane team security that we get for all our hotel stays.

Instead, I shoot them a text as I eat the boxed lasagna and try to see the CN Tower view that the hotel’s brochure promised me.

View or no view, I’m still excited.

I’m home, and I love it here.

The team is riding a collective high after winning our third straight game against Toronto. Our flight doesn’t leave until tomorrow afternoon, so the team decided to celebrate our successful string of away games. My parents came to our last game and said hi, but as soon as they caught wind of the team’s plans, they told me to go along. I know my parents mean well, but I see the team almost every day, while I haven’t been in Toronto since last December.

Still, I’m excited for a night out. Unfortunately, a couple of the veteran players decided to take charge, leaving me, the only player on the team who’s actually from here, to awkwardly follow the group and question their collective sense of direction, or lack thereof. I always try my best to go with the flow. It’s just hard when we bumble around and end up along that one section of Yonge Street that’s all souvenir shops and sketchy clubs.

“We’re here!” announces Tim, one of the self-appointed leaders for the night. I turn to the right and somehow manage to conceal my groan.

“Here” is apparently Four-One-S*x Appeal, the largest, most famous (or notorious) strip club in the GTA, its cheesy name derived from Toronto’s 416 area code. I stare at the neon lights like they’re mocking me. This isn’t how I pictured spending my last night back home. A quick glance over at Ethan confirms that he’s just as unenthused about the whole thing.

As we stand there, I notice that our team has seriously thinned out. Half of them have already bailed, but the rest of them? They’re eagerly eyeing the club.

“Yo, what’s up rookies?” Tim calls out, noticing the look on our faces. “Are you guys too innocent for a little fun?”

Some of the other guys jump in, pitching in playful jabs of their own. “Yeah, come on, don’t be shy,” one of them says with a smirk. “Time to see what Toronto’s got to offer. Consider this your initiation.”

I might be younger than anyone else on the team, but I’m still twenty-one. I went to one of the wildest universities in the US as a student athlete, and I’ve been to my fair share of strip clubs. Sure, it was always my team or some friends who dragged me, but I’ve been.

Ethan and I exchange a glance, both of us shaking our heads at the same time. “Nah, we’re good,” I say, chuckling. “I think we’ll sit this one out.”

“Yeah,” Ethan adds, flashing a quick smile. “We’ll keep it chill tonight.”

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