Page 78 of Switch Pitching

“Do you want to go somewhere quieter?” Ethan asks.

“Did they replace me with another roommate?”

Ethan laughs. “Nope, I have my own room on road trips now. They didn’t have anyone else to put me with.”

I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “Well, that’s convenient. Do you think you can give me a tour of your room?”

He glances back at me, humor glinting in his eyes. “You want to make use of my single room, don’t you?”

Grinning, I stand up and offer him my hand. “It would be a real shame to have it go to waste.”

After we reach the hotel, we book it to the elevators as fast as we can without attracting any questioning stares, and Ethan leads me to his city-view room that’swayfancier than the one we shared here a few months ago. The door quietly clicks shut behind us and I don’t spare a single second. I walk up to Ethan and crash my mouth onto his, finally getting what I’ve been unnecessarily keeping myself away from for way too long. Ethan tastes like Ethan. Familiar and warm, slightly minty but completely right.

Our kiss starts off gentle and almost apprehensive, like it’s something we’re rusty at. I never,everwant to fall out of practice when it comes to kissing Ethan, but I get a feel for him againalmost instantly. The next thing I know, I’m backing Ethan onto the enormous bed. Darting my tongue between his lips, I deepen the kiss, ramping up the pressure and the heat.

“My god, I’ve missed this,” Ethan murmurs, his face flushed.

“That makes two of us.”

The past month without Ethan catches up to me all at once. My dick swells, constrained by my jeans and pressing tightly against my thigh. I brush my hands against his thick shaft, making him grunt, and I slide my fingers under his shirt to explore the deep ridges of his abs.

Moving swiftly, I unbuckle Ethan’s belt to take off his jeans and underwear as he removes his shirt. I’m faced with the tantalizing view of his cock, and an invisible force compels me to move closer.

I wrap my lips around the tip and Ethan throws his head back, letting out a moan. Taking him deeper, I suck and stroke him just the way he likes, making up for lost time. There are a million ways for me to tell Ethan that I love him, and this is the only one that makes sense right now. Before I know it, Ethan is spilling into me while grabbing the sheets and crying out. His heavy, muscular body goes limp and presses into the soft hotel mattress.

Ethan moves toward me, crawling across the mattress. He’s spent, and his eyes aren’t even open. “Let me get you now,” he mumbles.

I place my hands on his shoulders to push him backward onto the bed. “Later,” I reply, lying down next to him. “You look way too tired.”

With a quiet, unintelligible noise, Ethan seems to agree. He’s completely still on his back for a minute, falling back to earth, and then he wraps me in a warm cuddle. His musky, addictive scent surrounds me, mixing with the faint smells of laundry detergent and airplane. We lie like that for ages, the blue twilightoutside giving way to a dim yellow glow from the streetlights far below. There’s probably an optional team dinner at some point, but if Ethan misses it, I’ll take him out somewhere. He deserves that.

The next morning, Ethan leaves early to warm up at the Northlink Centre, but not before bringing a whole spread back up for me from the team breakfast. I never thought that seeing a blueberry muffin would make my insides all warm and mushy, but I guess this year is full of self-discovery.

The coaches allow me to sit in the visitors’ dugout for our games against Toronto, and I make sure to be there for both. It’s weird being there with the rest of the team when I’m still benched, but it’s worth it for the chance to see Ethan killing it on the field.

And because I didn’t bring my uniform, I wear Ethan’s Falcons hoodie. It’s a size too large and it has Ethan’s number on the back, but I’m beyond caring. Anyone who notices can think whatever they want because there’s only one thing that matters.

Ethan and I love each other.

Boston wins the two games against Toronto, and I fly back with the team on the jet. Hearing the excitement around me, soaking it all in, and brushing hands with Ethan during the flight reignites something in me. There’s still some kind of fuzz in the back of my mind, but for the first time in months, I feel a bit more like myself.

29

ETHAN

There’s a certain kind of sinking dread that you only get toward the end of a game. Specifically, the end of the sixth Championship Series game after blowing a two-game lead with three consecutive losses.

Oh, right. To make things even bleaker, we’re also down by a run.

Thunderstorms over Toronto kept us in Boston for Game Six, and we’re all running on quickly fading hope that home-field advantage pulls through for us tonight. We’re still batting first, though, since this is technically an away game for us.

James and I are sitting next to each other in the dugout. He has full approval to come to games with us, and I’m not in tonight’s lineup. Our team is strong and we’ve gotten this far, but I can’t stop my stomach from sinking further and further down as the game goes on.

We’re at two outs, still down by one. Dave is up to bat, and I hold my breath. He’s one of our best hitters and if we have any hope at all tonight, it’s through him. The pitcher winds up and fires at Dave. It looks easy, almost too easy.

Dave swings and connects with a resounding crack, and he’s off. The ball soars high, and everyone in the dugout tilts theirheads up to follow it through the peak. It’s coming down, and Dave is rounding second, sprinting for third.

And then I see him. An outfielder on Toronto’s expanded postseason roster who I’ve never met, likely from the minors. He’s watching the ball closely while running in what seems like an awkward angle. My eyes flit to Toronto’s dugout, and the coaches are collectively facepalming. A few nervous, optimistic smiles are playing out on Boston’s side, but I’m not smiling. I know what this guy is doing because I’ve done it myself.

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