Page 24 of Miami Ice (Miami Sports #2)

I lay sprawled across Beckham’s broad chest, my ear against his heart, listening to it as it comes down from the crazy-hot sex we just had. His fingers absently move over my braids, and I trace patterns with my fingertips on his abdomen, feeling safe and happy and blissful in the warmth of his body.

“Georgie?” he asks, pausing to kiss the top of my head.

I get all fluttery inside. I love how sweet he is with me.

“Yeah?”

“I would call that a hard launch.”

I laugh, and he does, too.

“Beckham?”

“Yeah?”

“Much better than a soft launch, don’t you think?” I tease.

We both crack up all over again. His hand finds my shoulder, his fingertips trailing down the side of it, gently stroking my skin.

“You realize we’ve probably traumatized Minnie,” I say.

Beckham snorts. “For sure. Minnie never saw a girl back at my place in Denver.”

Ooh, this is interesting. I roll over so I’m on top of his chest, facing him. “Stop it.”

“No, I won’t stop it. If I hooked up, it was at her place or a hotel room. I never wanted to bring a woman back to my house.”

Inside, I practically do a full-blown Irish jig at this news, but I decide to play cool.

“Well, you’re in a hotel room now, should I be alarmed?” I ask playfully.

He then takes his thumb and traces it over my lower lip. “NO. You will be at my house as soon as Sofia and Aaron head back to Atlanta, and then you’ll be in my house when I move to the new one.”

Then he replaces his thumb with a sweet, lingering kiss.

I could practically sigh aloud in sheer happiness.

“I want you to know something,” Beckham says, his deep, dark eyes becoming serious. “I’ve never felt this way before.”

I find myself growing emotional from his heartfelt words. My throat goes a bit thick, and I have to clear it before I can speak.

“That makes me so happy,” I say, my voice going hoarse as I brush my fingertips across his cheekbone. “Because I feel the same way about you. Everything is different. Everything. And it’s all because of the man you are.”

Beckham is quiet, his eyes locking with mine as my words wash over him. I can feel his heartbeat pick up again, and I know it’s because of what I’ve said.

“When you say things like this, I want to drop down on my knees and thank God you ran into Sofia. That she was in her hockey BookTok era, and you somehow didn’t call the police but listened to her. You came here that night and you agreed to help me. And allowed yourself to trust your heart to me.”

Now I’m blinking back tears.

“I don’t see how I deserve you,” he says, his voice thick.

“You deserve me,” I say, “by being the man you are now.”

Beckham’s mouth finds mine, and suddenly I hear “Daylight” by Taylor in my head.

I find myself smiling against his full lips.

And it’s golden.

* * *

“So quick review, Cupcake. Your dad is Greg, his girlfriend is Tasha, her sister who she hates is Kaitlyn, her husband is Drew, and they have two teenagers named Larissa and Daniel. Tasha’s parents are Lana and Keith. Your paternal grandparents are off on a cruise to the Bahamas. And their dog, Blue, is horribly trained and will try to steal food off the table, have I got it right?”

I smile at Beckham as he pulls up in front of my dad’s condo in Coral Gables. We have arrived for our first official Thanksgiving function today, and that is brunch with my dad, his girlfriend, and her family.

Beckham left this past Saturday and played Sunday and Tuesday on the road before coming back home in the early hours on Wednesday morning. While he was gone, we did Connectivity Video Connect every night, and obviously he listened carefully to everything I told him about my family in preparation for today and recorded it in his brain.

Because it matters to him, I think, a warm feeling coursing through me.

“You have everything correct,” I say happily.

He turns off the engine and exhales. I watch as he rakes a hand through his hair, and I swear he looks anxious. “I’ve never been the kind of guy you take home to meet the family,” he says quietly.

“You never let anyone get close enough to you to bring you home in the first place,“ I point out. “Who you were in the past doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t matter to Miami, who brought you here and onto their team. And who you were in Denver certainly doesn’t matter to me. All that matters is the man you are now. Remember that.”

“I don’t think you’ll let me forget it.”

“No, I won’t,” I promise. Then I give him a reassuring smile. “Are you ready?”

Before he can even answer, my phone buzzes in my hand, and I see it’s a text from Ella. I know she’s here because we’ve pulled up right behind Jordan’s car. Curious, I tap open her text:

OMG. Georgie. Kaitlyn is being an uber bitch to Tasha and critiquing all the foods she’s ordered for brunch. And Drew has decided it is going to be a bottomless Thanksgiving and is getting shitfaced. All Daniel can talk about is getting selfies with Becks for his Connectivity Story Share. Oh, and Dad is bragging about how much all this food cost and how it was worth putting it on the Amex. You need to warn Becks of the circus tent he’s about to enter.

Shit, shit, shit. My happy feeling becomes dread in my stomach. Beckham has a normal family, not a circus tent, as Ella so aptly put it.

What on earth is Beckham going to think of this? And it’s only family event number one.

“What’s wrong, Cupcake?” he asks.

God, he’s intuitive.

I know there’s no way to sugarcoat the message, so I simply hand him my phone. “Read what you’re about to walk in to.”

Beckham’s brow creases as he takes the phone from me. I bite my lip as his eyes scan over the message. When he’s done reading, he hands the phone back to me.

“So?” he asks simply.

“ So? ” I cry, aghast. “That’s what’s already going on in that house and we haven’t even walked in the door yet. You must think my family is crazy.”

“Georgie. My sister offered you a paycheck to fake date me. Do you think I think anything in that text message is as weird as that?”

He has a point.

“You need to remember something,” Beckham says, reaching for my hand and lacing his fingers through mine. “I’m here for you. YOU. I know the person you are, and yes, they’re your family, but you don’t control their behavior or actions. Understood?”

I think I just fell a bit in love with Beckham right here in my dad’s driveway.

“Understood.”

“Then let’s brunch,” he says cheerfully.

Winston barks from the back seat.

“See? Even Winston agrees with me.”

We get out of the car, with Beckham attaching the leash I have for Winston to his harness and picking him up so he can set him on the ground. I take his leash, and then Beckham retrieves a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine he picked up on the way over here as gifts for my dad and Tasha.

“Cupcake, don’t worry. Nothing that goes on in there is going to change what’s going on with us.”

I nod. I’m still anxious about introducing Beckham to all this weirdness that is my family, but I’m reassured by his sweet words.

Winston leads the way, his tail swishing eagerly as we head up to the front door. I notice it’s decorated with an elaborate autumn-floral type arrangement that looks like it’s come out of a designer magazine.

I bite my lip. I know this arrangement is extremely expensive, and I have no doubt Dad and Tasha just slapped it on their credit cards, as they do with everything in their lives.

We reach the doorstep and Drew jerks open the door, a Bloody Mary in his hand. “Happy Thanksgiving!” he yells loudly. “Bottomless everything is a MOOD!”

Then he tips his glass toward me and Beckham.

Oyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

“Becks, we can’t believe we have an NHL superstar in the house,” Drew says, slapping him hard on the back. “Would you mind signing some stuff before you leave?”

OH HELLA NO.

“Beckham, this is Drew. Drew, this is Beckham,” I say quickly. “And Beckham is here for Thanksgiving brunch, not an autograph signing.”

“It’s not a problem, Georgie,” Beckham says as we enter the house.

I’m about to say it definitely is a problem when I hear my dad’s voice. “Is that you, Georgie?”

“Yes, Dad,” I call back.

Blue, a black retriever-chow mix, bounds up to Winston, and they greet each other happily. I let him off his leash, and he wanders down the marble-tiled hall to the spacious living room. I furrow my brow. Wait a minute. All the furniture is new. I lead Beckham into the living area, which has a large, L-shaped modular sectional sofa in white, and two minimalist-style chairs in a light gray. There’s a huge round coffee table between the seating arrangements in a greige color.

All new. None of this was here when I visited Dad and Tasha last month.

And they had just purchased furniture the year before.

“Hey, Georgie girl,” Dad says cheerfully, coming up and enveloping me into a huge hug. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Dad.” I step back from him. My dad is dressed perfectly as he always is, with his expensive Travis Mathew golf shirt and pants. “Dad, I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Beckham Bailey. Beckham, this is my dad, Greg.”

“Such a pleasure to meet you,” Dad says, extending his hand to Beckham. “I couldn’t believe it when Georgie said she was seeing you.”

Beckham grips Dad’s hand firmly. “Sir, it’s more the other way around. I can’t believe Georgie said yes to dating me.”

I can’t stop the sappy smile that I know is spreading across my face.

“This is for you,” Beckham says, handing my dad a bottle of chardonnay.

He looks down at the label, and his eyes widen. “Wow, Beckham, this is quite the gift. Thank you.”

I swallow. Beckham bought my dad a very expensive bottle of wine from France, and my label-loving Dad is obviously impressed by it.

“You’re welcome,” Beckham says.

“Here, let me introduce you to everyone.” Dad quickly introduces him to Daniel and Larissa, who tear themselves away from their phones in order to meet a hockey player. Then we head into the open kitchen, where Tasha is busy putting out an elaborate buffet and her sister is standing idly by, her arms crossed and a glass of wine in her hand, a look of distaste on her face.

“Oh, Beckham, I’m so glad you could join us,” Tasha says cheerfully. “I’m Tasha—or better known as Greg’s better half—and I have a scrumptious brunch planned for today.”

I glance around at all the silver chafing dishes on the large kitchen island. It looks like she’s feeding fifty instead of ten.

But this just sums up Dad and Tasha perfectly. Always living to excess. Getting exactly what they want and spending money they don’t have. It scares me for them and has caused me more anxiety than I care to admit.

“It’s a good thing you’re an athlete. You can eat most of this food because Tasha ordered way too much,” Kaitlyn says.

I watch as Tasha shoots her daggers. Tasha and Kaitlyn are the exact opposite of me and Ella—they never get along, always argue, and for some reason, insist on spending every holiday together with the single goal of making each other miserable.

And making the rest of us miserable, too.

“There is enough delicious food for everyone,” Tasha says, tucking a lock of her black hair behind her ear.

Kaitlyn snorts. “If everyone is an NFL team, yes.”

“It smells delicious,” I say quickly, wanting to get rid of the hostility in the air.

“It does,” Beckham says, backing me up. “And Tasha, thank you for having me. These are for you.”

Tasha’s eyes brighten once she sees the arrangement of flowers. “Oh, thank you so much. That’s so thoughtful. I’m going to set these by the window. Can I get you two anything to drink?”

I tell her I can get the drinks for me and Beckham, and then I ask if I can help in any way.

“Oh no, I’m finishing heating up a few things and then we’ll be ready to eat,” Tasha says. “We hired a chef this year so I’m super excited about the menu.”

Hired a chef.

New furniture.

Gah, I can’t even imagine what they are going to spend in the roll up to Christmas. I’ve seen this repeat itself year after year. The spending is enormous, then the stress and anxiety when bills come in a month later, how they have to make minimum payments on credit cards and the debt keeps building until Dad closes some big sale for the computer systems company he works for …

Why can’t I be like Ella? Ella tells me this is Dad and Tasha’s problem, not mine. I know she’s right. But I can’t help but feel anxious for them all the same.

I decide to try and push the thought from my head for now. “Beckham, what would you like to drink?” I go over to the counter, with beer and white wines in metal buckets filled with ice, and other things to make cocktails lined up next to them.

“A Diet Coke would be fine, if you have one,” Beckham says.

“WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO IT’S FOOTBALL TIME, ARE THE EATS COMING, TASHA?” Drew yells out. “I’ve got my expandable pants on so I can be STUFFIN’ MYSELF!”

Oh my God, Ella wasn’t exaggerating. Drew is already shitfaced, and we haven’t even sat down to eat.

Suddenly I hear the volume on the TV go way up, and the intro music for the NFL game is blaring through the house.

“Please turn that down,” Tasha yells.

“STUFFIN’ STUFFIN’ STUFFIN’, I’m going to be a STUFFIN’ MUFFIN. Or a STUD MUFFIN!” Drew yells.

“Maybe he’ll shut up if we stuffin’ him up,” Tasha snaps.

I want to die. What on earth is Beckham thinking? I busy myself with getting a Diet Coke out of the fridge, then get a glass and fill it with ice for him. I retrieve one for myself, but I’m thinking at this point I’m half-tempted to get a mimosa so I can pretend this is not Beckham’s first introduction to my family.

“At least Drew has a personality,” Kaitlyn hisses.

“Oh yes, he has that. The personality of a buffoon!” Tasha retorts.

I dare to do it. I glance at Beckham. He’s already looking at me, and the corner of his mouth is quirked up in a bit of a smile. He slides next to me, puts his hand on my waist, and dips his head down next to my ear, so only I can hear him.

“Two things, Cupcake. I’m entertained. And I know this is not you, but them. If we’re together in the future, I don’t see you sniping with Ella in the kitchen or endlessly throwing back mimosas.” Then he kisses my temple. “Remember that.”

He stands back up and picks up the glass of Diet Coke from the countertop. I stare at him, my heart now racing inside my chest.

He mentioned a future.

I know it’s ridiculous to hang on that one word, but I do. Because I can kind of see it, too.

I raise my glass of Diet Coke to his. “A toast.”

Beckham quirks a brow. “We’re having a toast?”

“Yes,” I say, smiling at him.

“Wait, I have one,” he says eagerly. “A toast to the complete lack of Christmas decor in this home.”

I pretend to glare at him. “No, that should not be celebrated at all.”

He laughs. And I try not to, but then I’m laughing, too.

I only hope I’ll still be laughing by the time dessert is brought out.

* * *

I was completely delusional when I thought I’d still be laughing by the time we all finished eating the main course.

Tasha and Kaitlyn went at each other the whole meal. Drew continued to drink, didn’t eat, and decided he was just going to lie down for a bit as something was bothering his stomach.

Which would be fine.

Except he chose to lie down on the area rug in the living room and completely pass out.

But Blue did take advantage of Drew not being at the table, because he grabbed the turkey that was on his plate and ran off with it, sending the rest of the plate clattering and shooting cranberry sauce across the tabletop.

And splattering the sleeve of Beckham’s white dress shirt.

So. Classy.

Then, when Tasha was cleaning up in the kitchen, and Beckham, Ella, Jordan, and I were helping her, Kaitlyn stormed in, extended her empty wineglass to Tasha, and demanded she refill it. While we were all packing food into containers, rinsing dishes, and filling the dishwasher.

That caused a blowout between Tasha and Kaitlyn. Then Drew started snoring from his place on the floor, and Daniel kept asking Beckham to take selfies with him. I was so embarrassed, but Beckham kept squeezing my hand in his to reassure me he didn’t care.

Now we’re all seated in the living room, football is continuing to blare on the TV, and Drew is still snoring from his position on the floor.

“I have some surprises for dessert,” Tasha says eagerly, walking into the living room.

“I wore my maxi dress for dessert surprises,” Ella declares.

Tasha’s face brightens. “Good! Now, our chef made a delicious chocolate pecan pie, which I know is divine, but I also made pumpkin sprinkle blondies. I highly recommend them, and they’re even better when they’re topped with whipped cream. Because isn’t everything better with sprinkles and whipped cream?”

I bite my tongue. I don’t dare look at Beckham for fear I’ll lose it.

Ella clears her throat. “Erm, those sound amazing.”

I bet they do, Ella Bella , I think.

“Well, I remembered how much Jordan liked the sprinkles and whipped cream on his ice cream on Fourth of July, so why not make it for Thanksgiving?” Tasha continues on.

Beckham lets out a choking sound. Then I begin to laugh. And suddenly, both of us are in hysterics, causing Ella to turn bright red and Jordan to suddenly have a fascination with the Lions game on TV.

Then a thought hits me. This is what it’s all about.

Somehow, through this whole awkward Thanksgiving, Beckham has rolled with the punches. He hasn’t judged me for what my family does and has reassured me it doesn’t matter.

And now he’s laughing with me.

I look at him, and he’s laughing so hard there are tears in his eyes, as are in mine.

I adore this man.

I know he adores me.

Now all we have to get through is two more Thanksgiving meals.

And they can’t possibly be worse than this, I think confidently.