Page 14 of Miami Ice (Miami Sports #2)

“I’m so glad you loved the house,” Sofia says, prepping a large salad in a bowl. “And a month from now you’ll own it, Little Brother!”

I’m hearing what she’s saying, but my eyes are on Beckham. We’re over at the house he’s rented for Sofia and Aaron, having dinner and going over our official launch plans for next week.

I’m standing next to Sofia in the airy kitchen, but I’m watching Beckham play with his nieces in the living room. Right now, he’s tossing Stella in the air and catching her, and she’s squealing happily in response.

“Yes. And you’ll be free to leave me to my own devices and manage my fake relationship from Atlanta,” Beckham says dryly.

“You promised you’d be serious about this,” Sofia warns, pausing and staring at him. “I’m giving you both detailed instructions for what is going to happen this week. It’s important we get this launch right.”

“Me!” Lucy cries, throwing her arms up to Beckham. “My turn!”

My heart melts as Beckham dips Stella upside down and plants a huge kiss on her cheek, which elicits the cutest giggle I’ve ever heard. I think my heart just melted a bit.

I love that Beckham is the man bringing these children so much pure joy. And from the look on his face, the feeling is mutual.

“Your turn, Luce,” he says, scooping her up, which causes a burst of giggles to escape her lips.

“I’m trusting you to keep him focused when I’m in Atlanta,” Sofia says softly. “Would you mind picking up those oven mitts and getting the lasagna from the oven for me?”

“Of course,” I say, sidestepping her request to keep Beckham in line.

Because so far, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.

He’s done everything Sofia has asked him to, but more than that? He’s doing things I never expected. Like agreeing to get milkshakes with me. Asking me to take a look at a house and give him my opinion.

If anything, he’s being more than agreeable. And it’s of his choosing.

I open the door to the oven, and I’m greeted by the delicious scent of red sauce. I love a good red sauce. Growing up, Mom always used a jar sauce, which is fine—but the first time I had dinner at Chloe’s house? When her mom spent all day making red sauce from scratch for spaghetti?

There’s no comparison. It was life-changing.

And Sofia’s lasagna smells the same way.

I lift out the heavy dish and set it on the range. The cheese is bubbling on top, with browning, and those are the best bits. Well, actually, I lied. The best bits are the edges of the pasta that get a little bit crunchy. That’s the best bit.

“This looks delicious,” I say. I turn to look at her. “Is it too forward to reserve a corner piece for myself? I’m a bit obsessed with the crunchy pasta edge.”

“I didn’t know you could make a reservation for an edge of lasagna,” Beckham calls out from the living room.

I grin. “Yes, you can. I’ve already booked the right-hand corner of lasagna for myself. If you want a crunchy edge, I suggest you put in your reservation for one of the three remaining corners before they are fully booked out. Then you’ll be left with a middle piece, and that’s a bit disappointing when you could have had the joy of a crunchy lasagna edge.”

“Do I need to go online to get this?” he teases. “Reserve two corners for Beckham Bailey at six-thirty?”

“Two corners? One for you and your date? Are you cheating on me already?” I tease back.

“You obviously haven’t dated an athlete. I need two pieces. Make a note of that for future reference, Cupcake.”

I become aware of Sofia staring at me. I meet her gaze, and she’s watching me with that curious expression on her face again.

“Interesting,” she says quietly.

“What?”

“Just … interesting,” she repeats, shifting her attention to slicing up a loaf of crusty bread.

I feel my cheeks and neck grow warm. Is she noticing how I look at Beckham? How the lines are already blurring between pretend and reality in my head?

Aaron joins us to help Sofia finish up dinner. Before long, we’re all seated at the farmhouse table in the kitchen, digging into our food.

“Oh, would you like some wine, Georgie?” Aaron asks, picking up a bottle of red.

“No, thank you, I’ll stay with water.”

“I’ll do the same,” Beckham says.

He nods and sets the bottle back down.

“Aaron, my love, you’ll have to forgive me, but I need to talk business at the table tonight. I have to lay out the plans for Georgie and Beckham next week.”

Aaron shakes his head.

“What?” Sofia asks, staring at him.

“Fake dating. I didn’t even know that was a thing until you hatched this crazy scheme.”

“You obviously aren’t on BookTok,” Beckham quips, taking a bite of his lasagna.

I grin as I break off a crispy edge with my fork.

“What is BookTok?” Aaron asks, a crease forming in his brow.

“Never mind. That’s not the point,” Sofia says. She shifts her attention to cutting up lasagna for the twins, but she talks to me and Beckham at the same time. She’s truly a mommy multitasker.

“I’m thinking a hard launch instead of a soft one. We go hard on Thanksgiving Day with posts of you two as a couple on both your social media pages. Georgie, be prepared for a lot of new followers, which is going to be fantastic for Georgie’s Jars. But you also need to be prepared for trolls.”

My stomach sinks a bit at that thought. I haven’t been trolled for my jars, but I suppose that could start happening now.

Or worse, being trolled for just being me.

“She can turn off her comments,” Beckham says firmly. “I don’t want Georgie dealing with that bull—stuff.”

Sofia twists her lips in thought. “Georgie, I’ll leave that up to you.”

“Do it,” Beckham urges. “I don’t want anyone upsetting you.”

Why is my heart fluttering from his protectiveness?

“Okay,” I say.

“We need to make sure we get some cute pictures of you two together on Thanksgiving Day,” Sofia continues. “Then I need for you to blast them across your social media platforms. I can even write copy ideas for you.”

“ Copy ideas? ” Beckham asks, an incredulous look passing over his face. Then he scowls. “God, no . I can announce my girlfriend in my own words and not from a copy point.”

My girlfriend. My heart is doing a dance inside my chest at how easily those words came out of his mouth.

It’s part of the script, Georgie, my brain suddenly reminds me. What else is he supposed to call you?

“Fair enough,” Sofia says. “Now, looking ahead, Beckham has a home game that Friday night. Can you make that, Georgie?”

I nod. “Yes. I can be there.”

“Excellent. Well, I’ve taken it upon myself to loop one person into the upcoming announcement,” she says excitedly.

Aaron grins. “Buckle up, everyone.”

“I’m ignoring you,” she declares. Then she shifts her attention to me. “I let Megan Dewitt know that you’re coming onboard as one of the wives and girlfriends. She’s the captain’s wife, and she loves making clothing for the other WAGS. She’s bedazzling something amazing for you to wear to the game next week!”

“What?” I ask, nearly choking on my bite of salad. “Bedazzling what?”

“A nutcracker?” Beckham supplies cheerfully.

“No. The cutest little strapless tube top with Becks’s name and number on it,” Sofia explains. “I’m picking it up tomorrow.”

“I thought you were asking my size for a jersey,” I say, not warming to the idea of wearing a tube top to an ice rink. I’ll freeze to death!

“Well, yes, but the Miami Manatees wives and girlfriends wear outfits representing the player they are dating. A jersey does that, but you know, a custom jacket or bedazzled tube top is that extra piece that puts you firmly in the WAG community.”

I’m trying to picture myself wearing a tube top with Beckham’s name and number bedazzled across the top and I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing.

“I don’t want her wearing a tube top,” he suddenly blurts out.

I furrow my brow. Not that I was throwing up jazz hands over the idea of wearing a tube top to a hockey game, but I’m perplexed as to what Beckham’s problem is with it.

“Why not?” I ask.

He scowls, looking grumpier than ever. “It’s not you.”

“You don’t think I can pull off something sexy?”

“Sexy!” Lucy cries.

Oh shit!

“Georgie is sexy!” Stella adds.

“Girls, that’s not a word we use,” Sofia says firmly. “Even if Georgie said it.”

I blush furiously. “I said a bad word, and I was wrong.”

“Naughty corner,” Stella declares.

Beckham begins to grin. “She should go sit in the naughty corner.”

“Let’s have some more dinner,” Aaron encourages, trying to shift the subject.

“Your show next Saturday is in Fort Lauderdale, yes?” Sofia asks.

I nod. “Yes, it’s called the Holly Jolly Christmas Bazaar.”

“Becks? You need to show up there after practice and post a pic of you with Georgie.”

He turns to me. “Text me directions.”

“Of course. Thank you for coming.”

He makes a face. “Why wouldn’t I come? You’re coming to my games to support me.”

“See? You two are already sounding like a real couple!” Sofia says gleefully.

Pretend. Pretend. PRETEND.

I might need to put this on a Post-it note and stick it to my mirror, so I keep it top of mind when I wake up every day.

I’ll also need Post-it notes for my car, my phone, my microwave, my remote control. I need them everywhere to tell me this is a business arrangement and Beckham is doing a very good part of pretending to be my boyfriend.

We finish dinner, and by the end of it, Sofia has laid out the next two weeks. Beckham flies out tomorrow, plays in Orlando on Wednesday and returns home that night. He is off Friday and Saturday, and travels out again on Sunday for back-to-back road games on Monday and Tuesday. Then Beckham is off until his next home game on Friday night.

So we’re together on Thanksgiving, all day long, between my family celebrations and finishing with his. We hard launch. I go to the game on Friday night, more pictures are posted. Saturday, Beckham comes to my craft show. Sunday, we should do something like brunch, for more photo ops. Then he has a home stretch of games before he hits the road again.

After Sofia is satisfied with the schedule, we hang out in the living room and play with the girls after they have had their bath. Beckham reads them books, and my stupid heart can’t help but melt as we each have a girl in our lap, with him reading one Peppa Pig adventure after another—complete with unique voices for each character.

I’m so in over my head right now.

And my heart seems determined to follow it down this dangerous path.

Beckham finishes up another book, and Sofia comes over to the sofa.

“Girls, it’s time for bed. Say goodnight to Uncle Beckham and Georgie,” she instructs.

Lucy and Stella protest this mandate, and once again he scoops both of them up and gives them big smooches on their little cheeks. “I’ll see you this week, I promise,” he reassures him.

“Georgie, hug!” Lucy cries, throwing her arms out to me.

I bend down and envelope her tiny body in my arms. “We’ll do Elsa braids when I see you next,” I promise her.

“Yes!” she cries excitedly.

“Me too, hug!” Stella says.

I hug her too, inhaling the sweet scent of bubble bath on her skin. “Bye, Stella.”

After Sofia and Aaron have returned from putting the girls to bed, Beckham stretches and unfolds his massive frame off the sofa.

“Come on, Cupcake, I should get you home,” he says.

We say goodbye to Aaron and Sofia, and head outside in the balmy night air to Beckham’s Bronco.

“Well, you survived that well enough. You almost acted like what Sofia was talking about was normal,” he says.

“It’s not normal, but it’s not hard to go along with.”

Beckham pauses at the passenger door, opening it for me. “It’s not?” he asks, his large eyes zeroed in on me.

Once again, I feel flustered inside. I don’t know how to answer this without revealing that I’m starting to have conflicting feelings about this arrangement.

“No,” I say simply, “it’s not.”

His eyes continue to search mine. I feel my pulse quicken. Then he nods and steps back to let me climb up into the passenger seat before closing the door after me.

My pulse is still fast as Beckham walks around to the driver’s side and gets in. He’s reaching for his seat belt when an unanswered question comes to mind. As he starts the engine, I decide to ask it.

“Why don’t you want me wearing a tube top to the game next Friday?”

The scowl is so deep on his face, I can’t help but laugh. “Maybe the better question is, why does that idea make you so grumpy?”

“I’m not being grumpy about it.”

“Would you stop? You’re being completely grumpy about the idea. But why do you care?”

“It’s not you,” he says quickly, pulling out of the drive and hitting the button for the security gate at the end of the driveway.

“Beckham. I don’t live in Christmas clothing twenty-four seven.”

“Cupcake. Outside of the dress you wore the first night we met, that’s all I’ve seen you in.”

“But it’s my time of year,” I protest. “I have a very limited window when I can wear all of my Christmas wardrobe. But that doesn’t mean that’s all I own.”

“I know that,” he says, sounding frustrated.

“Then what?”

The gates swing open, and Beckham pulls out into the street. “You’ll freeze.”

“I thought of that, and I agree, it wouldn’t be my choice to wear to a game, but if Sofia had someone make it for me, I’ll have to wear it. I’ll just put a jacket over it.”

“No.”

“You’re being weird about this.”

“Am I? Am I being weird because I don’t want the hookup kings on the team checking you out? They’re already asking me about you, circling like damn sharks. And when this is over, do you think I want them sliding into your DMs trying to hook up with you? No. No I don’t. So they don’t need to see what I already know, and that is how freaking hot you are, Georgie. The tube top will put them over the edge. And I don’t care what Sofia says, I won’t have it.”