Page 36 of Switch Pitching

In a twisted kind of way, it’s what I need, though. We got our asses handed to us tonight, and I want nothing more than to take a short break. Wincing, I lean back into the seat of James’s car with an ice pack clenched tightly against my groin.

We pull into the garage, and James is out of the car before I can even unbuckle myself. He walks around and opens my door, his hand outstretched. “Here, I can help,” he says, grinning.

I roll my eyes but let him guide me out. My movement is slow, and James is treating me like I lost all my limbs, my eyesight, and any sense of direction.

Okay, James might have a point. Walking hurts and my groin is radiating heat. I stumble into the elevator and lean against the cold metal handrail, closing my eyes and trying to ignore the pulsing coming from below.

James rushes in and stabilizes me. “Ethan,” James scolds. “The doctor told you to rest!”

I laugh through my partially gritted teeth. “He told me to take it easy, not that walking is forbidden.”

He tilts his head at me in apparent disbelief before gazing at me with dark, serious eyes that hold so much emotion, and concern, and?—

Nope. Donotgo there. No.

“Dude, you’re clearly in pain. I saw you limping those last few steps into the elevator,” he argues. There’s some truth there, I’ll give him that.

James continues, undeterred by my screwed-up pain-face. “Just rest, and don’t do anything until tomorrow.”

I reluctantly oblige, slinging my left arm around his broad shoulders. We make it inside, and James helps me up the stairs before unceremoniously plopping me onto my bed. I land with a soft thud on top of the fuzzy green blanket that I’ve had since I was nine.

He disappears and returns a few minutes later with a bag of ice wrapped in a dish towel. He sits on the side of my bed and props the bag on my lap.

“Ice it for fifteen minutes,” he orders, “then I’ll make you some soup.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. This is way too much. What’s next, last rites or something?

“No moving allowed. If you want food, tell me. If you want to watch something, tell me and I’ll grab your laptop. If you want to freshen up, tell me and I’ll give you a sponge bath.”

“Dude! You arenotgiving me a fucking sponge bath!”

He’s not done. “But I need an excuse to get my hands on you!” He winks at me, making me blush in what I hope is embarrassment, and then proceeds to cup my pecs.

I swat him away. “Dude, get your hands off my tits!” I’m sputtering through laughter, and I can’t even roll away because it hurts to move. I settle on giving him the finger instead.

James ruffles my hair, chuckling as he lets up and goes to fulfill his promise of bringing me soup. I sink down into my mattress and rub my chest to erase the imprint of James’s hands on me.

Yeah, I’m seriously trying not to think too much about it.

A few minutes later, James returns with a mug and a tall glass of water with a metal straw in it. “The straw is so you don’t have to move at all if you want a drink,” he explains, placing both drinks on my nightstand.

“Thanks, appreciate it.”

James stretches up. “I think you’re fine, so I might watch some TV or something.”

I stare ahead, trying to suppress, yet again, my bubbling, annoyingly unshakable attraction to James. He’s my friend. In fact, he’s the best friend I’ve had, hands-down. It’s normal to want to spend time with him. It’s just that right now, the thought of him leaving my room makes my chest ache in a way that it shouldn’t.

My thoughts race as James helps me tidy up, moving my perpetual clothes pile from the bed to my armchair. I spend so much time with him, and that does me no favors at all in the “do not fall for your straight best friend” department.

Right now, I should thank him for his help, tell him I’m gonna sleep, and then spend the rest of the night by myself. That’s what I need.

“Thanks for the help, James, appreciate it. I’m gonna go to bed, good night.”I just have to say that. Simple, easy, and effective.

“You should stay and chill for a bit,” is what I say instead.

James shoots me one of his adorable—no, not adorable. One of hispleasantsmiles, and then proceeds to jump into my bed.

I curse silently at how James unknowingly makes not falling for him way harder than it needs to be. I thought I had asolid track-record of not getting straight crushes because I’ve deflected them so many times. In college, I had a ton of hot straight friends that I genuinely wasn’t attracted to because I was able to focus on the friendship.

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