The Screw Ball (Indianapolis Lightning Book 3) by Samantha Lind (the lemonade war series .TXT) 📕

doing yesterday. It doesn’t pertain to her or the team; therefore, I don’t feel the need to share my day's details.

“It was mandatory,” she seethes, and that pretty red shade I love seeing her skin turn makes an appearance. I can’t help but smirk, thinking back to our conversation in her office not long ago when she asked me why I call her Red occasionally.

“And I’m sorry, Red.” I smirk again when the nickname slips from my lips and the daggers become even more intense. Damn, someone needs to pin this woman against a wall and fuck her until she can’t think straight. “But as I said, I had something personal come up that I couldn’t get out of,” I tell her, staying as calm as can be as I try and hide the fact that her being all pissed at me is turning me the fuck on.

“Carmen, I can vouch for Lucas. While we can’t guarantee that the same thing won’t happen again, we did come to the agreement that if he’s tied up with this matter again, he’ll reach out to me before he’s supposed to be somewhere and let me know what’s going on.”

I watch as she digests his words. Her level of disgust with me appears to change as the wheels in her mind start turning as she starts to wonder what it was that Coach is so easy to let me off the hook for.

“I guess if you’re okay with this behavior, I have no choice but to go with your decision,” Carmen says to Ian.

I watch as she turns and walks down the hallway. I can’t help but observe the way her hips sashay down the hall in her tight pencil skirt. That tight ass would feel amazing pressed up against my groin as I pound into her from behind. Fuck, there goes my mind again.

“Are you good for tonight’s game?” Coach asks, pulling my thoughts from stripping Carmen from her clothes.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I tell him. I run a hand around my neck, squeezing the tight muscles, hoping that they’ll loosen up some before the game.

“You look tense; maybe go visit one of the therapists to see if they can get that out of you.”

“Will do, I’ve got a few things to finish up in the weight room, and then I can check with them,” I tell him, pointing my thumb over my shoulder at the door we’re standing outside of.

“You’re a good player and a good kid. Don’t forget that, now,” he tells me before walking off down the hall toward the team offices.

I try not to think about the events yesterday, if I focus on them too much, they will affect my play, and none of us need that right now.

It’s the bottom of the ninth, and we’re down by one run. We’ve got a runner on second when I step up to the plate. I tighten the strap on my glove, tap the end of my bat against home plate and take my stance as I watch the pitcher go through his head shakes as the catcher flashes him ball signals until he lands on one he likes, followed by his throwing routine before the ball leaves his fingertips and is headed my way at over ninety miles per hour. I stay still, not flinching as the catcher has to lean to the side to catch the stray ball. I hear the umpire call the ball before we all reset. This pitcher hasn’t been on the mound long and isn’t having the greatest night so far. He gave up a home run with his first batter, JJ, followed by a fly ball that went deep into the outfield by Matt O’Riley, one of our first basemen.

I watch as he goes through the same routine, this time changing up what he’s sending my way. Unfortunately for him, he places it perfectly, and the ball loudly cracks against my bat as I send it sailing high into the air as it floats further and further away. I take off like a bat out of hell, quickly rounding first as Matt clears home plate, tying the game for us. My ball continues to fly, eventually going out of the field and into the stands, giving me my first ever MLB home run of my career. I slow my running slightly as I take in the crowd's loud sounds as they are all cheering at the top of their lungs as they stand on their feet. As I approach home plate, I’m met by my entire team as they join me to celebrate our win.

“What are you doing to celebrate the win tonight?” Matt calls out across the locker room once all the media has been kicked out by Carmen so that we can get on with our evening and get showered and changed.

“Nothing planned; what did you have in mind?” I ask him.

“We could hit up a club; I’ve got nothing else going on,” he suggests.

“Sounds good to me; I’ll grab my shower now,” I tell him, pulling out my bag from my locker. I remove the last of my compression clothes and wrap a towel around my waist before heading for one of the showers.

I walk out of the locker room, looking fresh and ready to hit the club. While I hadn’t planned to head to one after the game, the clothes I brought with me to change into are appropriate enough to hit up a club in. I’ve got on dark-washed jeans with a polo that pulls tightly across my chest and around my biceps. Not many shirts can hide these guns.

“Lucas,” Carmen’s sugary sweet yet annoyed voice greets my ears. “Nice way to close out the game tonight,” she says, standing just a foot or so away from me. My eyes quickly drop down her body, taking in her casual yet professional attire. While she’s changed out of the pencil skirt and blouse she was in this morning,