Page 2 of Miami Ice (Miami Sports #2)

Oh my God.

This woman is nutters.

I keep a smile plastered on my face, but I’m alarmed. I wish I had a panic button installed under my table so security could come help me.

Wait. I saw the security guard. He was about seventy and asleep at his desk when I walked by to go to the restroom earlier.

Never mind. I’m on my own.

The woman winces. “Oh no, I’ve scared you to death,” she says, biting her lip. “Please, I promise I’m not wheels-off. Will you allow me to explain my thoughts better? And if you aren’t interested, I will completely disappear and I will never bother you again, outside of buying jars because these are freaking amazing.

“I’m Sofia Bailey West,” she continues, extending her hand to me. “Sister to Beckham Bailey.”

I shake her hand. Ah. We’re back to the hockey player who needs me. She made it sound very dramatic. Needs me to do what? Help him save the world? Discover the hidden meaning in a map and locate a secret treasure? Defuse a bomb that will implode the Earth, with us yelling over which wire to cut and making the final decision with a second on the red timer?

Hmm. And I’m calling her nutters. I should rethink that.

But regardless of the reason why this hockey player needs me, I have no clue who this Beckham Bailey is.

Ooh. I wonder if he was named after David Beckham. Now that man is hot and aging like a very good wine.

I couldn’t be that lucky.

“Let me show you,” Sofia says as she begins to tap icons on her phone. Soon she is scrolling and then she stops. “Ah! Here we are!”

She turns the phone toward me, and she’s there, holding one of her twins, the man I assume to be her husband holding the other, with a very attractive man in the middle, wearing a hockey jersey and smiling for the camera.

I study him closely. Okay, he’s not David Beckham, but he’s good-looking. I can see that straightaway. He’s got a head full of thick chocolate-brown hair. Some light stubble shades his jawline. And from everything I can see in this picture, the sport of hockey hasn’t rearranged his face. He has all his teeth in this picture, and even if they aren’t all real, they look very nice.

“That’s my baby brother,” she says. “If you look at us, you can see the resemblance.”

I lift my eyes from the phone to take a moment to study Sofia. She has the same thick dark-brown hair as Beckham. Her eyes are doe-like—large and dark. I glance back at her phone and peer closer at Beckham’s face. He has the same innocent eyes, making him all the more attractive.

But something tells me Beckham is far from innocent.

Otherwise, his sister wouldn’t be approaching women at craft bazaars and, and upon sight of one selling painted jars with Elsa braids and a love of Pinkmas, declare without any other knowledge that I’m the one her brother needs as a girlfriend.

I hand her back her phone. “I believe you,” I say.

A customer approaches the table, picking up one of the peppermint sticks I have on display in a red-painted jar. Then she drops it into her shopping bag and walks off before I can even tell her those were part of a display and not a freebie.

UGH.

Sofia’s brows knit together. “Were you giving those away?”

I sigh. “No.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not letting you do your job. I promise I’ll buy some stuff if you can just give me a few more minutes of your time.”

I perk up. She has my complete attention now. Her sale could push me past breakeven.

“I’ll be honest, I’m confused how I can help your brother, because you know nothing about me.”

“I follow my gut,” Sofia says. “I just know you’re what he needs right now.” She abruptly stops speaking. “Crap, I forgot the most obvious question. Are you single? You have to be completely single or there’s no point to me telling you anything else.”

I freeze. What is this turning into?

I decide I don’t want to think too much about where this conversation is going. “I am. Not even dating.”

“Yes! I was hoping you’d say that.”

WHAT AM I ABOUT TO HEAR?

I go back to not thinking too much.

“Okay, so it’s obvious you don’t know my brother, but he was traded to the Miami Manatees recently. I’m here trying to help him settle in. If you google him, you’re going to see he had quite a reputation in Denver. Beckham has always had things come easily to him—hockey being the main thing. He could be so much better if he applied himself fully, but he hasn’t. He was just out of college when he began his NHL career. And you have a young man who hasn’t been pushed, who now has millions of dollars in his bank account, and has women sliding into his DMs and approaching him wherever he goes. In short, he’s lost his way. And Denver ran out of patience to deal with it.”

I begin painting a picture in my head, as I always do when I hear a story or read one. Now that I’m hearing Sofia describe her brother, I can paint the canvas clearly.

“He thought he was invincible,” she says softly. “But he’s not. Beckham didn’t want to leave Denver, and he’s shell-shocked by the trade. For the first time, he’s got to prove there’s a man who wants to fight to be the best he can be. He’s got to fix his image. And that’s where you come in.”

“Me?” I ask, stunned. “How?”

“I used to work in social media before I had the girls,” Sofia says. “I’ve been warning my stubborn baby brother since he started playing at the NHL level that he could be an elite player if he decided to ever be serious. But now it’s more than that. He’s got to prove to his new team that he understands he’s been given a new shot. That means no out-of-control partying. No more clubbing with different women every night. It means brand-new optics. I think that could mean you.”

“What?” I squeak loudly. “ How? ”

“Better optics include a Beckham who is going to show up to practice early. Stay late. And have a very sweet, respectable girlfriend for a period of time, especially during the Christmas season.”

My mouth drops open, but no words come out.

“Georgie,” Sofia says softly, “I’m proposing you pretend to date Beckham through the holiday season.”

I need to loosen my jaw so it can drop to the floor like a cartoon character’s would.

“You aren’t serious. This … this is stuff that happens in books, not real life!”

“I know, the fake-dating trope is my favorite,” Sofia says, grinning at me. “But Georgie, listen to me. It would be all pretend. You go out with him to some public places, do some festive holiday crap, post some videos on Connectivity Story Share, quietly break things off sometime after New Year’s. You love Christmas, I bet you have a million ideas of what kind of Christmas dates you’d love to go on, don’t you?”

Now I feel my neck begin to grow hot. I know it’s going into red splotches, something it always does when I’m embarrassed. How can Sofia look at me and know I keep a little journal full of Christmas dates I’d love to do with someone special someday?

“But you would get a lot out of this deal, Georgie. Exposure for your jars. Beckham could even appear with you at one of your shows to get attention. Do you realize the publicity you would get if he posts just one pic saying he’s coming to a show or loves how creative you are?”

I blink. That would be massive.

“You would also be paid.”

“Paid?” I croak.

“Of course, this would be work for you. Beckham will be a complete grump about it, and if I get paid merely to organize his life down here, you will absolutely get paid to spend lots of your free time with him.”

“You have to pay Elsa,” one of the twins says.

Sofia makes a face. “I forget they are sponges at this age. Yes, Mommy is going to pay for some of these pretty jars. Should I get pink?”

“Pink!” the other twin cries cheerfully. “All of the pink ones!”

Sofia turns back to me. “You’re going to have to go out with this grump, infuse some Christmas cheer into him, and give Miami a view of a whole new Beckham with a girlfriend. You’d get publicity for Georgie’s Jars and a substantial paycheck for your time. It will be some of the hardest work you’ve ever done. You will earn every penny of this. The offer will be generous, because I know what you’re in for.”

My head is spinning. Is this even happening?

“Does Beckham know you’re going to craft shows looking for fake girlfriends for him?”

Sofia smiles knowingly at me. “Beckham told me he knows he has to make a change and begged me to help him. That’s why my family is spending this month in Miami. My husband works remotely, so it was easy enough to do. I told Beckham I wanted no arguments with my suggestions. He’s upended by this move. He’s still in shock. I’m dealing with getting him a list of houses to look at, picking out his furniture, et cetera. I also had a fake girlfriend on the list, but nobody I’ve run across has ticked every box like you have.”

She takes out her phone and begins typing. “I’m going to show you the number you will be paid. Then if you’re interested, perhaps you can have dinner with us this evening? Beckham just had practice today. They don’t play again until tomorrow.”

“I need time to think,” I say. This is the craziest thing I’ve ever been asked to do. Is this family completely mad? Who does this? Really, isn’t fake dating only in books or some kind of Netflix movie?

Sofia turns her phone around and shows me a number. I’m so caught off guard by it, my hand slips and knocks over my big red Mason jar, sending peppermint sticks flying all over the floor. I gasp and my hand flies to my mouth.

Because the number is … the number is…

One hundred thousand dollars.

I’m speechless. Beyond speechless.

Sofia reaches for a business card out of the holder and retrieves a pen. She flips it over and scribbles on the back of it. “Think about it and then text me if you’re interested in having a further conversation about it tonight. If you’re available for dinner, we can meet at Hotel Fredrico.”

I take the card and stare at it.

“Oh, and I will take all the pink jars you have,” she says cheerfully.

I glance down at the pink Mason jars. I have ten of them.

“All?”

“Yes,” she says, flashing me a mischievous smile. “I didn’t know Pinkmas was a thing, but now that I do? I think I’m hoping for a very Pinkmas Christmas this year. For me and my brother.”

With shaking hands, I wrap up all ten jars and ring up the sale. Sofia and the girls say goodbye, and I watch them leave. I can’t help but think I feel the same shell shock that Beckham felt when he was traded to Miami. A move out of the blue that changed his life.

If I say yes to fake dating Beckham Bailey, I’ll be doing the exact same thing.

Making a move that will completely change the course of my life.

If I decide to do it, that is.

And right now, I don’t know what my answer will be.