Page 95 of Switch Pitching

I go to wash my hands in the hallway bathroom and when I emerge, I realize that one of Luke’s university friends recognized Ethan. The two of them are talking baseball, so I decide to put my beer in the fridge. When I get to the kitchen, I run into Luke, who’s stirring the pot of spiced wine on the stove.

What Sofia mentioned the other day has been itching at the back of my mind, and I need to say something.

“Yo, Luke.”

“What’s up, man?”

I take a breath. “Um, Sofia and I talked a few days ago and I owe you an apology.”

“Apology? What for?” Luke asks, genuinely confused.

“For flirting with you way too hard in high school. Apparently, I didn’t realize that it could give you the wrong idea.”

Luke starts laughing and cracks a beer open. “Dude, it’s all good. Yeah, I was confused and shit for a while, but there’s nothing to say sorry for.”

I nervously scratch the back of my head. “To tell you the truth, I did the same thing with Ethan, and look at us now.”

“Dude, that’s funny as fuck. Who would have thought?”

“Not me. I’m clearly not the most observant person.”

Luke opens another two beers and hands them to me. “At least he feels the same way. You’re one of my boys, and I can’t think of you like that.”

Time to lighten the mood a bit. “Makes sense. Also, your athlete kink only includes hockey players, right? Baseball isn’t really your thing,” I tease.

Luke sputters. “Okay, Jamesey-boy. First of all, I don’t have an athlete kink. Second, hockey players are a lot to deal with, trust me.”

“Are you speaking from experience or something?” I ask, raising an eyebrow over a sip of my beer.

Luke glances to the side momentarily, running a hand through his black hair to move a strand out of his eyes. He clears his throat. “There are a lot of moving parts and I’ll circle back once I have better line of sight.”

I scoff. “Okay, bro, I get it. You work in finance. There’s no need to jargon-dump on me.” I can tell there’s something more behind Luke’s nauseating corporate-speak, but I’m not going toprod. Instead, just chirp him because he’s my friend, and that’s what friends do.

Lacking an appropriately witty reply, Luke simply gestures at the two beers I’m holding. “Go take these to your man,” he orders. I comply, and the night gets started.

A couple hours later, our group’s tentative plans to go out are fading fast. Luke’s university friends have sprawled out all over his living room floor, playing some kind of game on the gaming console. Out of everyone here, Ethan, Luke, and I are the only ones who might be able to stand upright for more than thirty seconds. That’s way too much work though, so we’re lying on Luke’s couch, Ethan’s head in my lap.

“This kinda got out of hand, didn’t it?” Luke says, downing the rest of his beer.

“Nah,” I slur. “This is fun. Thanks for hosting.”

Ethan concurs, his eyes closed. “Thanshf.”

One of the floor-sitters, Stefano, suddenly looks at his phone and waves his hands desperately. “Guys! Wehotahurnthishzofandpzakundanon!”

“Say again?” Luke asks, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

Stefano clasps his hands and takes a deep breath while pointing at the TV. “We need to turn this off and put the countdown on.”

I check my phone. It’s 11:57 p.m.

Luke springs into action, flipping the TV to a live stream and then fetching a case of champagne that was chilling on his balcony. And it’s actual champagne. From France.

“I got this from work after the office party got shut down,” he says, procuring some glasses from his bar cart.

Stefano and the other guys manage to stand up and compose themselves, while Ethan sidles up next to me, slinging an arm around my shoulder. We watch the TV intently like it’s an oracle, and then the countdown begins.

Five.

---