Page 22 of Miami Ice (Miami Sports #2)

Anxious.

That’s the best way to describe how I’m feeling as the gates to Antoni Nowak’s sprawling contemporary mansion swing open before us, and Beckham drives through. I run my fingers over the braids in my hair, and as soon as I do, he puts his hand on my knee and gives it a squeeze.

“Why are you nervous, Cupcake?”

I blink. “How do you know I’m nervous?”

“You’re touching your hair like you wish you could re-braid it.”

“You’re creeping me out with how well you can read me.”

He eases his car next to a parked Ferrari. “We’ve talked about this earlier today. I’m not supposed to know shit about you at this point, but I do. As you do me.” Beckham puts his SUV into park and looks at me. “So why are you anxious?”

“I don’t know. Antoni’s just one of the greatest basketball players on the planet. Odds are he’s going to lead the Copperheads to the NBA finals this year. He lives in this enormous house, which is like something out of Architectural Digest , and it’s all kinds of intimidating.”

“I’m insulted my house wasn’t intimidating,” Beckham teases.

“It was! But Antoni’s is nearly twice the size of yours!”

“You’re saying size matters?” he asks mischievously.

I begin to turn red, and he laughs.

“Georgie, Georgie, Georgie,” he says. “I can assure you that you don’t have to worry about my size. When you take it like a good girl, you know.”

“Oh, stop it,” I say, laughing, too. “I already know what I’m getting with you from last night.”

Now he quirks a brow. “Did I miss something last night? If so, I’m freaking pissed if I missed that.”

“No!” I say, giggling. “I could … erm … feel you when we kissed.”

WHAT AM I SIXTEEN, WHY AM I GIGGLING AND TALKING LIKE THIS?

“Ah,” Beckham says, his eyes crinkling up in the corners again in that adorable way he has. “So you already know you hit the jackpot.”

We start laughing again.

“But seriously, Georgie? Don’t be nervous. Antoni was nice enough to invite us over, and I’ve never heard anyone say he’s an ass. Unlike things that have been written about me,” he says softly, his mouth curving down in disappointment.

“Hey,” I say, putting my hand to his cheek, “there’s a Denver Beckham and a Miami Beckham. The Miami Beckham was always inside of you.” I move my hand to his heart, lightly tracing my index finger over it and gently tapping on it. “That man was right here. You just had to be ready to be him.”

I lift my gaze to meet his. His dark eyes are staring back at me with a sense of wonder in them.

“You make me want to be that man,” he says softly.

Suddenly I hear a dog barking, and we both shift our attention to the house. Antoni has opened the door, and he waves to us from the doorway.

Our little intimate moment is over, but I’m so touched by Beckham’s words that I’m nearly bubbling over with joy.

“Come on. Remember, it’s just appetizers with my neighbors. We need to get on their good side before you insist I put up some giant inflatable gingerbread man in my front yard next year.”

I mentally pause for a moment, digesting that sentence.

Beckham sees me in his life next Christmas.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The fact that he does makes me so happy l could burst. But I keep that to myself and simply answer his question.

“Beckham. That is a brilliant idea,” I say, getting out of the car. “You have a whole yard that’s ripe for Christmas decorating!”

He groans and shuts his car door, and that makes me grin. I can just imagine doing something way over the top, like filling his yard with inflatables and covering every bit of his house with multicolored lights. I retrieve the cream-colored Mason jar I have filled with red roses and greenery and shut the door. Beckham grabs the pack of craft beer he brought, and we both head up the sidewalk.

“Welcome,” Antoni says cheerfully. “Glad you guys could make it on short notice. Kasia, sit.”

The fluffy white dog that had been eagerly barking at us obediently sits at his side.

I try to settle the nerves in my stomach as I take in Antoni. As you would expect with any NBA player, he’s obviously tall. He’s dressed casually in a T-shirt and jeans. One of his arms is heavily inked. He’s smiling warmly at us, and as we draw closer, I can see it reaches his eyes. And when I see that, the anxiety knot in my stomach begins to loosen up a bit.

“Hey, Antoni, thanks for the welcome to the neighborhood,” Beckham says, smiling as he shakes Antoni’s hand.

“Of course. It’s nice to have another athlete next door,” he says warmly. “This is Kasia, she’s friendly, just let her sniff your hand first.”

“Got it,” Beckham says. “This is Georgie Goodwin. You don’t have to give her your hand to sniff first.”

Antoni laughs, and I roll my eyes. “Ignore him. It’s nice to meet you.”

He shakes my free hand and then looks at the jar of flowers I’m holding. “That is beautiful, Becca is going to love that.”

“I hope she does,” I say, eager to make a good impression on her.

“She will. Come on in. She’s in the kitchen getting ready.”

I notice the home is filled with large windows and modern furnishings. There’s no Christmas decor in sight, which is a bit of a disappointment, but I have to remember not everyone is as Christmas forward in their thinking as I am.

“Becca, I’d like to introduce you to Beckham and Georgie,” Antoni says.

I stop dead in my tracks when I see the beautiful brunette arranging bruschetta on a platter.

Oh my God. She bought some of my jars at my last show!

The second she looks at me—and then her eyes shift to my Mason jar—her mouth falls open in surprise. “You’re Georgie! Of Georgie’s Jars!” she says, her face breaking into a wide smile. “I know you don’t probably remember me, but I bought some jars at your show last week.”

“No, I completely remember you! You were with your sister and grandmother. Thank you for your purchase.”

“That’s why she remembers you. Grandma Montgomery was let loose in the wild,” Antoni says, his eyes sparkling.

Oh, if Antoni and Becca only knew the truth. They have no idea I remember every one of my customers because, oh, if I get five at a show, that’s a big day.

“She was fairly under control that day,” Becca says with a smile. “I’m so excited it’s you! I admire your art so much.”

My anxious feeling has completely disappeared, and pride fills me instead. “Thank you so much, I appreciate that.”

“Georgie is incredibly talented,” Beckham says, setting the beer on the marble kitchen island, then putting his hand on the small of my back and rubbing it.

“I know she is. I have her jars in my kitchen back at my apartment,” Becca says, putting the last piece of bruschetta on the platter.

“Well, I have another piece for your collection,” I say, extending the jar filled with roses to her.

“Oh! I’m so excited! I might have to put this one on my desk at work,” Becca says excitedly, taking the flowers from me. “Thank you so much.”

“It will fit perfectly next to the Nordic troll doll,” Antoni says, his eyes dancing.

Becca’s neck begins to flush. “Antoni, stop. She’s going to think I’m weird!”

“Georgie is obsessed with maniacal nutcrackers. She’s never going to think you’re weird,” Beckham supplies, his mouth curving up in that teasing smile.

“I think I like you already,” Becca says, grinning at me.

“Same,” I say happily.

“What would you all like to drink?” she asks. “I’ve got wine, iced tea, and I see we’ve been gifted some beer.”

“Thank you,” Antoni says, retrieving a bottle from the pack. “Beckham?”

“A beer is fine, thank you.”

Antoni moves over to a cabinet and retrieves two glasses. “What can I get you, Georgie?”

“I’d love a glass of wine,” I say.

“Sure. What would you like?” Antoni asks as he opens a bottle of beer and pours it into a glass. “We’ve got some chardonnay and rosé. Champagne. And merlot and cab.”

“Rosé would be lovely, thank you, Antoni.” I turn to Becca. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh no, I’ve just got to put a few more things out,” she says, setting out a basket of tortilla chips and guacamole. “I’ve got the bruschetta, the chips, and the last thing I need to get are the mini empanadas.”

“Oh, I love a good empanada,” I say.

“Me too. I’ve got beef empanadas in the oven right now.” Becca moves over to the oven and picks up some potholders. She opens the door, and the scent of hot, savory pastry fills the air. I’m instantly starving.

“Thank you for inviting us over,” Beckham says as Antoni hands him a glass of beer. “I bought the house, so I hope you’re going to tell me this neighborhood is worth the price tag.”

Antoni moves to the refrigerator and opens the door, retrieving a bottle of rosé. “It’s absolutely worth the price tag for two reasons. The privacy and security, for one. Nobody bothers me here, which is nice. The other reason? The view I have from my backyard.”

“We can eat out on the patio if you all would like,” Becca says.

“I love being in a place where eating outside in November is an option,” Beckham says. “That would be great.”

Antoni hands me a glass of wine, and I thank him. Then we all pick up platters and plates and follow him to the back of the house. Through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, I see a gorgeous pool framed by palm trees, and the bay coming right up against his property. The sun is shining brightly in a cloudless sky, and the palm trees dance lightly in the breeze coming off the bay. We all take a seat around the table, with sounds of the fountains from Antoni’s pool bubbling in the background, along with the sounds of boats cruising by.

“I can’t get over this,” Beckham says, staring out at the bay. “It’s November .”

“Back in Poland, I’d be shoveling snow,” Antoni quips, reaching for an empanada. “I think I’ll take this scene.”

“I’ve only seen snow in person once. On vacation,” I say, following his lead and picking up an empanada. “Dad took us skiing, and I thought it was pretty amazing. Until I got cold, so my joy lasted for ten minutes. Then I was missing palm trees and sunshine.”

Beckham stares at me. “Wait. The woman who is obsessed with Christmas isn’t obsessed with snow?”

Antoni laughs. “That’s a bombastic side-eye if I ever saw one.”

Becca laughs, too. “Yep.”

I shoot my own quizzical look at Beckham. “I never said I was obsessed with snow.”

“But isn’t that part of the Christmas vibe? White Christmas and all that stuff?”

“Not for me.”

“Nobody is singing about dreaming of a palm-tree Christmas,” he challenges, pausing to dip his tortilla chip into some guacamole before popping it into his mouth.

“Well, they should, because lit palm trees are beautiful,” Becca declares, taking a bite of her empanada.

“I agree. I love a Florida Christmas,” I say defiantly.

We begin to chat about being in Miami, and what the neighborhood is really like—as in the neighbors, of course. Antoni says people are friendly and welcoming, but also respectful of maintaining privacy, which I’m glad to hear for Beckham’s sake.

As we talk, I’m struck by how absolutely normal Antoni and Becca are. From the way he speaks, you would never know he’s one of the most famous athletes in the world. He simply comes across as a kind, funny man. A man who adores his girlfriend, too. I notice the way he glances at her or reaches over and tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. It’s similar to the way Beckham puts his hand on my knee, lightly drawing circles around it with his fingertips.

Eventually Beckham and Antoni begin talking sports, and Becca and I have our own conversation.

“So how long have you been seeing Beckham?” she asks.

Hmm. Do I answer in fake dating terms or reality terms?

“We officially started dating this week,” I offer.

“Oh wow, from the way you interact I would have thought it was much longer,” Becca says.

“It feels that way to us, too,” I say, taking a sip of the crisp, chilled rosé in my glass. A gust comes in off the bay, drifting over us, and as I watch the palm trees sway overhead, a sense of home washes over me. I love Miami. I love the energy, the vibrancy, the weather, just everything about it.

Snow is fine. But I’ll take this any day over a white Christmas.

“Have you been to any of Beckham’s games yet?” Becca asks, taking a sip of her own wine.

“I’ve been to one with his sister, brother-in-law, and nieces. Next Friday night is my first one where I’ll be attending alone as his girlfriend.”

Becca’s dark eyes alight with understanding. “Oh, so your first game sitting with the wives and girlfriends. How do you feel about that? I was petrified the first time I had to do it.”

She understands , I think. Becca is beautiful and dating one of the most popular athletes on the planet, yet she not only understands how I feel, but admits to having had the same feelings herself.

“I’m so glad to hear you say that because I’m nervous,” I admit. “I just hope I fit in.”

She grins. “I can tell you haven’t heard my story.”

I furrow my brow. “Your story?”

“I’m the ‘Falling Into the Weekend Like’ meme girl. The girl who tumbled down the steps at the Copperheads game and sent Antoni running into the stands.” Becca raises her hand. “That was me. And I did it at the first game he invited me to.”

I gasp, my hand flying over my mouth. I know the meme, but I had no idea Becca was the girl in it. “No!”

“Yes, it’s true. So, Georgie, I promise you, you’ll never have an introduction like that and you’re going to do just fine,” she says reassuringly. “I survived that. And I have made some lovely game buddies with some of the wives and girlfriends. It’s like any other organization or group you join, you know? You’ll like some. Some you won’t. But you’ll find your people.”

“I feel like I need a handbook. I have no idea what to do. All I know is the captain’s wife has made me a bedazzled tube top to wear with Beckham’s name and number on it.”

“Bedazzled,” Beckham says, chuckling. “My name is going to be bedazzled, and I didn’t even know that was a thing until last week.”

“Bedazzling is big,” Becca says. “We all have bedazzled gear supporting our guys.”

“I notice you don’t say WAGS.”

“I used to before I was one,” she says. “But we’re so much more than that. There are some crazy talented women in the Copperheads group, and I notice a lot of them don’t use the term, so I kind of adopted that, too.”

Becca walks me through what a game day is like for her, and what I could possibly expect going to the Manatees game.

“Believe it or not, I’m going to be working in the TATS suite next Friday,” Becca says. “I hostess on hockey nights as part of my job in advertising. If you would like to come up and hang out in our suite between periods, I could get you a pass. It would be nice to have someone to chat with on game nights.”

I can’t explain how elated I am. I’m starting to feel a kindred spirit in Becca, and I hope this is the beginning of a friendship.

“I would love that so much,” I say happily.

Becca’s eyes light up. “Great. I’ll get your email before you leave, and I’ll transfer a ticket over to you.”

“Prepare to be bedazzled, Becca,” Beckham quips.

I turn and shoot him a mock glare.

“Perhaps you should prepare to be bedazzled, Becks,” Antoni teases.

I grin. I love that Antoni is already calling him Becks.

We spend the next couple hours outdoors, eating and drinking and getting better acquainted. I’m both entertained and appalled at some of the fan interactions Antoni has had. Then Beckham shares some of his, with a lot of his stories about being the fixation of BookTok features. Time flies by, and by the time we leave, I have a ticket to the TATS suite next Friday night, new friends in Becca and Antoni, and I feel less nervous about going to the hockey game.

After the door is shut behind us and we’re walking to Beckham’s car, he reaches for my hand and entwines his fingers around mine.

“I like them,” he says. “Antoni said he’ll hook us up with some tickets if we want to go to a game.”

“Oh, that would be so much fun, I’d love that.”

Beckham squeezes my hand in his. “I can’t wait to see you all bedazzled next Friday night.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “So you’re not opposed to the tube top now?”

He grins. “Nah. I just didn’t want you in it when you weren’t mine because I knew as soon as we did our breakup, there would be sharks circling all abound you and the idea of that drove me crazy.”

Swoon.

Then he draws my hand to his lips and brushes a kiss across my knuckles. “By the way, I’ve never kissed another woman’s hand. Ever. You’re full of firsts for me, Georgie.”

We reach the passenger door to his SUV, and Beckham draws me into his arms, holding me tight.

“So are my parents the first you’re going to meet?” I ask, gazing up at him.

He exhales. “Yes.”

“Don’t be nervous,” I say. “Believe me, I’m not worried about what they’re going to think about you. If anything, I’m more worried what you’re going to think of them.”

“Cupcake. Don’t even worry about it. Like I said, I want to impress them. They’re your parents. I know this is important.”

“Not as important as how you make me feel,” I say, framing his face in my hands. “I feel so seen by you. And you’re just learning who I am. Believe me, I treasure that above everything else.”

Beckham’s dark eyes grow soft. Then he lowers his head and kisses me.

I kiss him back, and all I can think of is one thing.

Beckham isn’t used to a family like mine. He’s already picked up vibes on how my childhood was and how it has impacted me, even all these years later.

And all I can hope is that meeting them won’t cause him to have any doubts about getting involved with me.

It’s a new fear, one that has just hit me. Beckham has never met a woman’s parents. What if they’re too much? What if this is moving too fast for a man who has never had any commitments to anyone? Will having Thanksgiving for real instead of as part of a fake relationship be too soon?

I break the kiss and pull back from him. “Are you sure you want to meet my parents next week?” I blurt out. “I know it was all part of the plan when we were fake dating, but now it’s real and that’s a lot to put on you right away. I—I don’t want to do anything to wreck what we have, Beckham.”

He stares down at me, and I can’t read what is in his eyes. Beckham doesn’t speak for a moment, but when he does, his voice is firm and clear.

“Georgie. I’ve spent my whole adult life diving into things without thinking it was too soon or not right. Worse, I didn’t give a shit. But on Thanksgiving? I’m finally diving into something that is good for me. Something that I want. Not just for a day or a few dates. But something real that I hope I have for a long time. And that’s you.”

Then he kisses me as if to punctuate his point.

I kiss him back, my heart reassured by his sweet words.

Beckham Bailey is exactly where he wants to be.

And so am I.