The Screw Ball (Indianapolis Lightning Book 3) Read online

  “Yeah, yeah. There is one woman who I wouldn’t mind pursuing,” I let slip, and know I’ve made a big mistake.

  “Wait, hold up. What did you just say?” Tiffany says, sitting up and giving me a WTF look via the camera.

  “There might be one woman who drives me insane—the good kind of insane–but I don’t think she likes me all that much, so I’m sure it isn’t going to happen,” I tell her.

  “And who is this mysterious woman that has piqued your interest?”

  “Carmen Gibson, she’s the team’s PR manager.”

  “Tell me more. A workplace romance, and the one person who has to deal with all your fuckups. I love this.”

  “Yeah, well, she doesn’t usually like me all that much, so I don’t see how I’d ever convince her to go out with me or give me a chance. She sees me as nothing more than a player man-child.”

  “Well, little brother, maybe it is time that you show her you are a man and have given up your childish manwhore ways.”

  “This whole baby thing isn’t helping that image at all. And to think, I was doing good. I haven’t been with a woman since the strip club incident.”

  “Well, give it a few days, maybe a few more weeks. Let all the chips fall as they’re going to fall and then move forward. Even if this Abigail chick is telling the truth and the baby is yours, it isn’t like you’d be the first guy to have a baby with a stranger. It is what you do to step up and take care of the baby that shows your true character. You know I love you, but I’m here to tell you, little brother, that sometimes you get in your own way. Just lay low, and I’ll be right by your side as things unfold.”

  “Thanks, Tiff. I love you. Give Milo a kiss from Uncle Lucas.”

  “He’s sleeping, but I’ll do so in the morning. Maybe on your next day off you can come over for the day. He’d love to have a day to hang with his favorite uncle.”

  “Damn straight he would,” I tell her before we say our last goodbyes and end the call.

  Thanks to my manager and attorney, a nurse is coming to the stadium today to draw my blood for the paternity test. Abigail agreed to the test, eventually. Tried to swindle money out of me to do it now, but the threat of a lawsuit had a way of convincing her that she needed to agree to this, and now. Everyone agreed that she could also show up here at the facility so the same nurse could draw her blood, as well, to take it straight to the lab to be processed. I paid the extra money to have the results rushed to us by the end of the day.

  “Just a small poke,” the older lady tells me after wiping my arm down with an alcohol wipe. She pushes the needle into my arm, and the tube immediately starts filling with my blood. Since they’re only running the one test, she only needs the one small vial of blood. “Apply some pressure here for me,” she says after pressing a cotton ball over the needle before pulling it out of my arm. After shaking the tube with my blood back and forth a couple times, she places the label on it, then drops it into the bio-hazard bag. She offers me some medical tape to hold the gauze in place, now that my arm has stopped bleeding.

  “Thanks, now I’ll have the results by close of business today?” I ask her.

  “Yes, you should have them by five p.m. If you don’t, then, call the office. We’re open until eight, so it is possible they’ll go out after five, but we do our best to get same-day rush orders out by five.”

  “Thanks,” I tell her, rubbing my palms along my pants. They’re damp from sweat as I worry about the outcome from this test.

  I watch from a window as the nurse takes Abigail’s blood. I didn’t really want to see or talk to her today but watching with my own two eyes the blood being drawn helps calm my anxiety that she’d somehow tamper with the test to make it come out with fake results. I don’t know why I’m so convinced that she’s trying to trap me. Probably because since she made the announcement and my attorney contacted her, it was all about the money to her, added to the fact that I don’t remember this girl from anywhere.

  With the blood draws done, I head for the gym. I need to do some heavy lifting or something to get my mind off watching the minutes tick by on the clock.

  “How many more miles are you going?” JJ asks, jumping on the treadmill next to mine.

  “Until my legs can’t go any farther,” I pant out between breaths. I look down and see that I’ve already put in about five miles. “Maybe another three or four?” I toss out.

  “Any word yet?” he asks. The guys all knew what was going down today, and therefore have given me a wide birth as I await the results.

  “Nope, still waiting,” I tell him. I hit the button and the belt slows me down, bringing me to a stop. I gulp down my bottle of Gatorade, then follow that up with a full bottle of water. With as much as I’ve sweated out today, I need all the hydration I can get.

  “Just don’t kill yourself, in the meantime. No number of squats or miles run are going to make the results come in faster or change them.”

  “Just trying to keep my mind focused on something other than the email that hasn’t arrived and the time on the clock,” I tell him honestly.

  “Man, I know what it’s like to be waiting on that test. I’ve done it myself not that long ago. Yes, my situation was a little bit different, as the baby was already born and was in my care, but I still needed to know for sure that she was mine. The lab I used didn’t offer a same day rush option, so I had to wait a few days. They were the longest days of my life. Seriously, they were. When the results came in, I was almost too scared to open them. By that point, I didn’t want them to say that Evie wasn’t mine. I had already fallen in love with her by then, and in my heart, it didn’t really matter what a piece of paper said, I knew she was mine. She looked way too much like me to be anyone else’s kid.”

  “I’m actually relieved that the kid isn’t born yet. I’d feel bad, I think, if it was, and I was here denying it was mine,” I tell him.

  “If the test comes back and you are the dad, what are you going to do?” he asks.

  “Whatever I have to do to provide for it.”

  “And that proves that you’re a good man,” he tells me before putting his earbuds into his ears and turning up the speed on his treadmill.

  Since slowing down, my legs have now turned to Jell-O, so I guess it is time to get off this treadmill and move on to something else.

  I slip my own earbuds back in as I exit the gym and head for the locker room. I strip down to my boxers once in the locker room and sink into one of the ice baths that are always ready for us to use. The immediate sting of the cold water has my body shriveling up, trying to protect itself from the freezing cold water. It takes a minute or so before my body starts to relax, and the cold goes to work helping my muscles recover from the beating I put them through today in the gym. I don’t normally go that hard on gym days, but the situation at hand kind of dictated that.

  “Everyone decent?” Coach’s voice calls out into the locker room. That usually means that a female is about to enter the room. Since you can get quite the eye full in this room at any given time, we make a ritual of checking before any females are allowed in.

  “I’m in the ice bath in my boxers,” I call out, letting him know I’m in here.

  “Do you have a towel?” he asks, poking his head into the area that our ice baths are in.

  “Over there,” I tell him, pointing at one on the bench.

  “How much longer until you’re out? Carmen needs to talk to you.”

  “I can hop out now, take a quick shower, and then head up to her office, if that would be easier,” I tell him, not really liking the idea, but knowing that I can’t get out of talking to her today.

  “I’ll let her know. Now, don’t waste her time, get a hop on it,” Coach calls over his shoulder as he makes his way back to the door. I do as I’m told and hop out of the ice bath. Instead of standing under the hot spray, letting it warm up my cold body, I quickly wash up, then get out and dressed. Fifteen minutes later, I’m walking through the halls of
the team building toward Carmen’s office when my phone dings with a new email.

  I stop in the doorway to her office, scanning over the subject line and sender information. My blood pressure rises as I see that it is the email I’ve been waiting for since my blood was drawn at eight this morning.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, coming to my side. She must be able to tell that something is going on from my stance.

  “I just got the email,” I tell her, turning my phone so she can read what is showing on my screen.

  “Oh!” she says, a little shocked. “How about you come in and sit down, then open it.”

  I do as she suggests, taking a seat on the small couch in her office rather than one of the chairs across from her desk.

  I turn the phone in the palms of my hands, not yet ready to read the results.

  “Lucas,” she says, her voice warm and calming. I’ve never heard it like that, and it squeezes around my heart. She sits down on the couch next to me, placing her hand over my own. “Whatever the email says, you’ll be fine and will get through it.”

  “She’s lying,” I tell her, looking straight into her eyes. I don’t know why I want her to believe me so bad, but I do. I want her to believe me so that maybe, just maybe, I can convince her to go out on a date with me. Convince her I’m not as bad as the media likes to portray me as. Make her see those few times she’s had to clean up my image were the minority and not my normal. Just a few stupid decisions I made in the past year.

  “Do you want me to read it first?” she offers.

  “Yes,” I tell her. I fumble with my phone, turning it around and swiping it open. I hand it over then grab her hand back, linking our fingers together. “Maybe read it to yourself, then tell me,” I suggest, gripping her fingers a little tighter.

  “Sure,” she says. I watch as she taps the screen of my phone, opening the email up. It feels like an entire day lapse before she looks up at me. A small smile starts tugging at the corner of her mouth and I want to devour it.

  “I’m ready,” I croak out, finding her eyes with my own and not letting that connection go.

  “With an accuracy of ninety-nine percent, you are not the father,” she says and her smile now fills her face.

  “Fuck yes!” I blurt out and pull her into my arms. My lips are against hers before I even know what the hell I’m doing, and I don’t even see the hand coming until it connects with my cheek. The sting of the slap has me pulling back and sucking in air like I just ran a marathon at a six-minute mile the entire way.

  “What the ever-loving-fuck, Lucas?” Carmen screeches, her fingers covering her kiss-swollen lips.

  “Shit,” I mumble. “I’m sorry. It just happened. I was shocked and happy over the results,” I tell her and hope that she’ll accept my apology.

  “You can’t just go kissing women without their permission. I could have you written up for sexual harassment.”

  “I said I’m sorry.” I take my hat off, running my fingers through my hair in my frustration. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Damn straight it won’t,” she says, standing from the couch. She hands me my phone back before walking to the other side of her office and behind her desk. I watch every move she makes as she pulls her chair out and takes a seat. “Would you like me to put out any press releases or do you want to leave that up to your lawyer and manager?” she asks, turning right back to business.

  “I’ll let Brent handle it,” I tell her. I tap on my phone, bringing up Brent’s contact and hitting the call button.

  “Lucas, any word, yet?” he asks.

  “Yep, the email came in just a few minutes ago. Just like I’ve been claiming since the beginning, I’m not the father.”

  “Told you the truth would prevail, kid,” he says, and it grits on my nerves every time he refers to me as kid. I know the man has been in the athlete management business for a long time, maybe even longer than I’ve been alive, but I’m still no fucking kid. I’m a twenty-four-year-old man who makes millions of dollars a year.

  “I knew it would. Just tell me what you need from me and let’s make all of this headache go away,” I tell him.

  “Will do, Lucas. We might consider agreeing to a short interview in a week or two. Give your side of the story and explain what you went through, being thrown under the bus, all thanks to someone else lie and attempt at a money grab.”

  “I don’t know about that. Won’t that just keep her in the spotlight longer, and this at the front of people’s minds?” I question.

  “Possibly, but think about it, as it can be a good way to get your side of the story out. Let people hear directly from you what it was like stressing over this news and waiting for the results. Let them know that you would have stepped up and done the right thing had the results been different. We can discuss it more after you’ve had a chance to think it over.”

  “Okay,” I agree before we disconnect the call, even though I already know that I have no intentions of sitting down for an interview about this mess.

  I stand from the couch, taking in the sight before me. Carmen’s lips are still a little swollen, and fuck does that make me want to kiss them again. “Thanks for helping me, and I’m sorry again about the kiss.”

  “Anytime, Lucas. I’m not here to be a pain in your ass, even if you are a pain in mine.” She smiles up at me and fuck, there goes my cock.

  “I’ll work on not being a pain in your ass going forward, how does that sound?” I suggest as a peace offering.

  “Like the best news I’ve heard all day.” She laughs. “Now, go on, celebrate, responsibly,” she adds as an afterthought.

  “Thanks,” I tell her before exiting her office.

  Ten

  Carmen

  I board the team jet; we’re headed to our first playoff series against Toronto. I don’t often go with the team on trips, but there is a lot that happens around the post-season, so I get to travel with the team for these series.

  I take a seat about five or so rows back from the front. From past experience, I know the guys like to spread out in the back of the jet, some sleep, some play games, or watch movies. I’ve got some emails to catch up on, and thanks to the on-board Wi-Fi, I plan to work the entire flight.

  “Is this seat taken?” A deep voice interrupts my attention on my computer screen. I look up to see Lucas standing in the aisle, waiting for my answer.

  “I don’t think so,” I tell him and he slides into the row, taking the seat next to me.

  “What are you working on?” he questions, trying to look at my laptop screen.

  “Just work emails,” I tell him, closing the lid to my computer and turning slightly to face him better. “What can I help you with?”

  “Nothing specific, I just thought we could get to know one another better. We didn’t get off on the best foot when I arrived, and I wanted to fix that, now that I haven’t been a ‘pain in your ass’ as you called me a few weeks ago,” he says, using air quotes around my words.

  “You have done much better staying out of trouble, although, I’ve got my eye on you,” I warn him.

  “Baby, you can keep those beautiful blues on me whenever you like,” he says, winking at me.

  “Your one liners won’t work on me,” I tell him, batting my eyelashes at him.

  “You wound me,” he says, clutching at his heart.

  “I don’t think your ego knows what it’s like to be turned down by a real woman,” I state.

  “I’ve been shot down plenty of times. I wasn’t always this good looking. Hell, back in my high school days, I was the jock who looked more like one of the computer nerds. It took me awhile to grow into my sexiness,” he tells me, running a palm down his torso—his very fit and chiseled torso—that I’ve maybe seen a time or two when he’s had his shirt off. The same one I’ve got a mental image of that might get pulled up when I’m alone in my bed with a vibrator, or in the shower.

  “I can’t even picture you as the geeky kid. I’d h
ave assumed you were always the kid with all the swagger and charm.”

  “Oh, I had charm.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Well, at least, I thought I had charm and game, when in reality I was so far from cool it isn’t even funny. But after my senior year, I found a love for the weight room and started working out more. I started paying attention to what I was putting into my body and the effect it had on my game. How eating too much of one thing might slow me down the next day.”

  “That’s great that you were able to figure it out so early. Most guys don’t even start to pay attention to that until later in their careers.”

  “I realized around that time that if I really wanted to take playing seriously; I needed to be serious about it and everything that could potentially affect my ability to play professional. I wasn’t lucky enough to have colleges recruiting me or offering me scholarships. I played my first two seasons at a community college, while working part-time and busting my ass off to keep my grades up so I was eligible to play. Once I finished my associate degree, I was able to get a walk-on spot at a larger state university, but that still didn’t come with scholarship money right away. My coach pulled some strings mid-season and got me a partial scholarship. I think that was more so that I wasn’t almost passing out on the field because I was tired all the time from working so many hours on top of studying, working out and, of course, practice and games. Once that scholarship was awarded, I didn’t have to work so many hours in order to afford to go to school.”

  “I don’t think any of that is a bad thing. It taught you that if you work hard, put in the effort, that you can achieve your dreams. You just have to want it bad enough and you can make it happen.”

  “Yep,” he says, popping the p. The flight attendant stops at our row, right then, so our attention is pulled from one another to her.

  “Can I get either of you something to drink before takeoff?” she asks.

  “Do you have hot tea?” I ask.