Page 27 of Miami Ice (Miami Sports #2)

“This is not normal.”

I glance at Chloe, who is being such a grump this morning that even Beckham would be impressed.

It’s four-thirty in the morning, and we are standing in line outside of Home Joy, along with at least thirty other people, waiting for the five o’clock opening to get first crack at all the Black Friday specials.

“No, and that’s what makes it special,” I declare.

Chloe scowls, and she’s so grumpy, it makes me grin.

“I promise, when we’re done, I’ll take you out for a big Cuban breakfast and then you can have a nap.”

“I sound like a toddler. I need a snack and a nap.”

“Well, I’ve already provided snacks,” I remind her, pausing as I take a bite of my vanilla-glazed donut covered with holiday sprinkles. “And a peppermint latte.”

“That does not change the fact that it’s four-thirty and I’m standing outside of Home Joy,” Chloe grumbles.

“But you’re experiencing Christmas magic with your best friend,” I insist. “We’re making memories!”

Now Chloe laughs. “You’re adorable, Georgie. I’ll even forgive you for making me do this. I mean, how can I stay mad at you, you’re practically the Good Christmas Fairy.”

I grin at that as I polish off my donut. I have dressed for the occasion this morning. I’ve done my hair into two long braids and put a pink bucket hat with gingerbread men all over it on my head. I’m wearing a T-shirt that says, “In My Black Friday Era,” and a pair of cut-off denim shorts. I’ve got gingerbread-men earrings in my ears and pink gingerbread socks on my feet.

My mood matches my outfit. I’m buzzing. I love Christmas, I love Black Friday, and I love, love, love the fact that I’m going to decorate Beckham’s temporary home for Christmas. I’ve already got a theme in mind for him, and I can’t wait to bring that Christmas magic into his house.

I take another sip of my peppermint latte—thanking Dunkin? for being open twenty-four hours so I could get a coffee and donuts for this adventure—and smile as I think of Beckham.

He was fast asleep when I left him, with Minnie curled up next to the top of his head. I had to resist the urge to kiss him before I left, but I know how important sleep is for him and I would have been upset with myself if I would have woken him up. So I slipped out unnoticed, letting him get all the sleep he needs before practice this morning.

And now I’m standing outside of Home Joy, ready to fill my cart with all the things needed to make his home feel like Christmas.

I blot my lips with a napkin and wipe my hands. “Come on, let’s take a selfie,” I say, moving next to Chloe.

“You can’t be serious. I look like I was just scraped off the bottom of someone’s shoe,” she declares.

“How did your brain come up with that?”

Chloe grins. “I don’t know, but I’m even impressing myself with that one.”

I move next to her and hold out my phone, ready to capture us together in a picture. “Okay, here we go.”

I watch as the timer counts down on our image. Chloe is wearing her luxurious chocolate-brown hair up in a messy top knot, freckles splashed across her nose and cheeks, her free hand holding up a peace sign while the other holds her coffee. She’s dressed in a black T-shirt and a pair of camo leggings.

The anti-Georgie , I think with a smile.

I take the picture, and then Chloe—the ultimate non-morning person—resorts to scrolling through her phone. I know not to bombard her with any more excitement over our shopping, so I turn to my phone as well. Being the sap that I am, I go to Beckham’s Connectivity page and access his account, staring down at the pictures of us that he shared on his social media last night. I especially love the one Sofia snapped when we weren’t looking. Because when I see the way he’s looking at me? With that deep affection in his eyes?

I fall a bit more for him.

I look at the comments underneath and recognize some of the names from the Manatees lineup. Then I see one that makes me happy:

@MiamiManatees We live to see this.

Mission accomplished! The team has taken notice of Beckham’s status and even commented on it! It shows they’re paying attention to his social media, and they see the new Beckham who has been evolving since he’s landed in Miami.

Another comment jumps out at me:

@WyWentworth Does she have a friend?

Hmm. I wonder if Wyatt is a romantic. Perhaps he’s looking for a girlfriend? I glance at Chloe for a second. She hasn’t dated anyone since her last dumpster fire of a relationship this past summer.

I’ll have to get to know Wyatt and see if that could be a possibility. But I won’t play Cupid unless I think they’d be a match.

Then I see another comment that makes me laugh:

@AidenWentworth I wasn’t aware @GeorgiesJars was a dating service. Do you get a date if you buy a jar?

“What’s so funny?” Chloe asks, stifling a yawn.

“Beckham’s teammates are commenting on his pic of us,” I explain.

She takes another sip of her latte. “I think I’m awake enough for a donut now.”

I reach into my tote bag and retrieve the box of donuts I bought this morning. I open the lid, and the heavenly scent of sugar and vanilla wafts toward us.

Mmm. I love that sweet smell. I swear if they made a donut-scented perfume, I’d buy it.

Chloe studies the donuts for a moment before picking up an apple fritter, which I bought just for her as she loves anything with an apple in it.

She takes a bite, and a contented sigh escapes her lips. “This makes me happier,” she declares.

“I know. There’s something magical about fried dough loaded with sugar,” I say, carefully setting the box back inside my tote.

Chloe is still quiet—I know she won’t be fully functional until we’re walking around and she’s more awake—so I stay wrapped up in my thoughts. Today is a big day for me. Not only Black Friday and decorating Beckham’s house, but tonight is my own debut of sorts.

I’m going to Beckham’s game, this time as his girlfriend.

A ripple of excitement runs through me, nearly as strong as the hummingbird wings I felt in my stomach last night.

I’m meeting Megan in the family lounge before the game so I can get my custom tube top and change into it. I’ve borrowed a black leather moto jacket from Ella to put over it. I’ve already washed the jeans I want to wear, I just need to pick out my accessories and I’ll be good to go.

But I will also need to nap this afternoon, just like Beckham does before a game. I want to be refreshed before I get to the arena tonight.

Chloe slowly becomes more animated—it’s almost as if the latte is a life-infusing caffeine drip for her—and we’re talking by the time five o’clock comes around. As soon as I see the salesperson approach the door, that buzzing feeling appears in my chest once again.

“When we go in, make sure we grab two carts,” I instruct Chloe.

“How much crap are you planning to buy?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“No, not that. Beckham is starting from scratch with Christmas stuff, and he’s going to need a tree. So we’ll need two carts for sure.”

I start running through everything he’s going to need in my head. There’s the obvious, like a tree, ornaments, and multicolored lights. Garland for that floating staircase. Decor for the mantle in the den. His kitchen will need decorating, as will the guest bathroom. Oh, and Christmas in the bedroom is a must. Maybe a second tree.

“We’re going to need three carts,” I amend.

“Georgie. I guarantee you he does not need three carts of Christmas decorations. He’s a dude. Throw up a tree and call it a day.”

I shoot her a look as the doors open, and the line begins to file into the store.

“Chloe with C not a K, have you developed amnesia and forgotten who you’re talking to?” I tease.

“Oh right. We should each get two carts,” she cracks.

Soon we’re stepping through the doors and grabbing carts. As we enter the store, I stop for a moment and take it all in. There are brand-new displays from when I was here with Beckham last week. Tables filled with ornaments and tree decor. Large wreaths and garlands. Pillows. Bed linens. Then a whole display of food, from peppermint bark to holiday coffees. Another with mugs and holiday plates.

Overhead, I hear Ariana Grande singing “Santa Tell Me,” and as I stand on the precipice of Christmas shopping glory, one thing runs through my mind.

This is my ultimate championship.

“Where do you want to start?” Chloe asks, showing more signs of life.

The caffeine and sugar must be kicking in now , I think wryly.

“We need to split up,” I say. “I want you to go to bed linens, and chuck anything into your carts that’s a Stewart plaid. King-sized duvet, shams, things like that. We can always put stuff back later.”

Suddenly a woman with a cart pushes her way past us, clipping mine as she does. She stops to look at me, and with shock, I realize it’s the woman who argued with me over the life-sized nutcracker. She’s wearing a T-shirt that says, “Out of my way, it’s Black Friday!”

On brand, I think.

“Nutcracker-stealing asshole!” she spits at me before unhooking her cart and pushing past us.

“What?” Chloe shrieks. “Did she just call you an asshole ?”

I can’t help it. I begin laughing so hard I have tears in my eyes, and as soon as I know Beckham is up, I’m going to text him this story.

“That would be the woman who lost out on the life-sized pink nutcracker I got a few days ago,” I explain.

“Get out,” Chloe says.

“Yep. Apparently she’s very bitter about not getting her own life-sized nutcracker.”

“As one would be,” Chloe deadpans.

We both giggle.

“But seriously, we need to get shopping,” I say, redirecting her to my plan. “We’ll split up and gather, and we can text each other our progress along the way.”

Chloe arches an eyebrow. “Georgie. There are like thirty people here. I don’t think we have to worry about running out of whatever plaid it is that you want.”

“Chloe. Do not jeopardize the mission!” I tease.

She laughs. I take a moment to swipe open my phone. I go to Google, search Stewart plaid, and show her a picture. “This is what I want you to be on the lookout for. If you see it on anything, put it in the cart,” I instruct.

Chloe’s brows shoot up in surprise. “That doesn’t look very Georgie-like,” she says thoughtfully.

“No, it’s not me, but I’m doing a masculine Christmas for Beckham,” I explain. “He’s a grump about Christmas, so I need to carefully curate his space to make him comfortable, but still give a nod to the season.”

“You’re already in love with him if you’re willing to dial down Christmas to plaid, ” she quips.

My cheeks grow hot. “How can I be in love with him? I’m just getting to know him.”

She grins knowingly at me. “Okay. But I want you to remember that I once told you at five in the morning at Home Joy that I knew you were in love with him.”

Then she gets in between her two carts, pushing one forward and dragging one behind her.

Her thoughts ring through my head as I push my carts toward the Christmas trees. I can’t say I love him. I mean, that’s crazy. We just had negotiations in fake dating and went straight to liking each other. I have feelings for him—deep feelings—and I know I’m falling for him. Just yesterday he gave me a bunch of reasons to love him, from the way he didn’t care about all my family drama to the way he supported me, and then when I watched him shower Lucy and Stella with all that love?

I fell a bit more for him.

I stop in front of the selection of artificial trees. I begin to study them, and my heart is flittering around as I think of Beckham. I know I’m falling hard and fast and most people would say it isn’t possible this quickly. Or that if I do have these feelings, they can’t be real. Insta-love can only exist in the realm of books and BookTok, as Beckham would say.

But I know my feelings are real.

And as I look at Christmas trees, determined to find one perfect for him, I decide I’m not going to follow so-called wisdom when it comes to falling in love.

I’m going to follow my heart.

And I know it’s leading me straight to being madly in love with Beckham Bailey.

* * *

I stop and look around the den of Beckham’s Miami Beach home, which has, as promised, been vacated by Sofia and Aaron and the girls, with only the Thanksgiving wreath left as evidence they were here just a few hours ago.

Now? It looks like a Christmas bomb went off inside of it.

It’s going to be a red, black, and amber Christmas for my favorite grump. Chloe and I grabbed some major finds at Home Joy this morning, and she woke up enough that she was agreeable to head to Homes Mart and Target for more shopping. I rewarded her fortitude with a big Cuban breakfast—and I plowed through scrambled eggs, ham croquetas, tortillas, and bacon. I’m starting to come off my Christmas shopping high, and now I’m getting tired.

I look around the room, which is filled with Christmas decor and shopping bags. I’ve kept every receipt, of course, in case Beckham doesn’t like anything or thinks I’ve spent too much. Once he was awake and texting me, I gave him updates on spending until he finally told me to stop sending them—he wanted me to have fun and spend whatever I wanted.

I grin. I adore my grump so much.

Now adding Christmas to his temporary home is in progress. I have placed red Stewart plaid pillows on the brown leather sofa and the easy chairs, and I’ve added cozy throws in red and pine green. I have some gingerbread-scented candles burning on the coffee table in crystal candleholders. I have greenery up on the mantle, and I’ve affixed some amber glass ornaments and run some tartan ribbon through it. I got some black candlestick holders, and put ivory tapers in them for a clean, masculine look.

I’ll need some help with the tree, as I went for a ten-foot-tall Vermont white spruce, and it’s a two-person job to assemble it. It’s going to be stunning when I get all the amber ornaments on it. Of course, I know it would look better with white lights, but I’m going with multicolored to bring a smile to my loveable grump’s face.

Minnie comes up to me and rubs around my legs, and I sit down among the piles of decor purchases on the floor so I can pet her. To my surprise, she climbs right into my lap.

“Hi, Minnie Pinny.” She circles a few times before finding the perfect spot. Now, I did break my tartan rule and get Minnie some festive cat toys. Like a wand toy with a Santa attached at the end. “Your daddy might be grumpy about it, but he’ll get over it when he sees you playing with it,” I tell her.

Cha-ching!

I grin as another Etsy sale is recorded. I had set up my store with coupons for Black Friday, and I’ve been selling like crazy today. I’m going to have to paint jars for days on end to replenish all my stock! I hit a perfect storm of Becca sharing my jars, Beckham linking me on his Connectivity page—which resulted in me getting hundreds of new followers overnight—and Black Friday.

I hear the sound of a car coming up the drive, and I know Beckham has returned home. Minnie pops off my lap and rushes toward the back door, her tail straight up in the air, knowing her dad is about to enter the house.

I rise, eager to greet him and show him my work in progress. I get up and head to the kitchen, and Beckham walks through the door, wearing a gray Miami Manatees T-shirt and a backward black baseball cap on his head.

What is it about that backward baseball cap that is so hot?

Because it is.

“Cupcake,” Beckham says, breaking out into a huge smile, “you look s’cute.”

“S’cute? Was saying ‘so cute’ too much? We had to abbreviate?” I tease.

Beckham picks up Minnie and nuzzles her to his broad chest, and all the feelings take flight in me again as I watch him with his cat. He puts a container of food down on the kitchen island and moves so he’s in front of me. He leans in closer, tugging on my hat and pulling it down further on my head. “Yes. You’re s’cute today in this gingerbread bucket hat.”

Then his lips drop to mine for a quick kiss.

Mmm.

He steps back from me. “Now let me see what you’ve been up to while I’ve been at practice.”

Beckham is about step into the living room, but I stop him by putting a hand on his chest.

“Before you walk in—” I start, but he interrupts me.

“I should prepare to be dazzled?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips as he sets Minnie down on the floor.

“No. Prepare for a hot mess. I’m still creating my vision.”

Now a full smile appears on his face. “I will keep that under advisement.”

I take his hand and walk with him into the den. I stop once we reach it, watching him as he takes everything in.

“I went with a masculine aesthetic for you,” I say, moving over by the window. “I have a ten-foot-tall tree that will go here. It will have plaid, amber, and black ornaments and ribbons on it. It would look better with white lights, but I went with multicolored lights because you like them.”

I look over at him. To my surprise, his gaze is traveling around the room, but there’s a look on his face that makes my stomach sink.

And instantly I know he hates it.

I swallow down my disappointment as Beckham goes over to the mantle, staring at the ribbons and ornaments I’ve so carefully woven into it. He pushes down on his baseball cap, as if he’s delaying telling me he can’t stand it. He shifts his gaze to me and clears his throat.

“I’m always going to be honest with you, Georgie. And don’t think I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done, because I do. I know how much thought you put into this, and that matters to me. More than you could know.”

“You hate it,” I say, wincing.

“Not hate. I could never hate anything you’ve done for me.”

“But you don’t like it,” I counter.

“Ask me why,” he says, staring down at me through his fringe of lashes. “Ask me.”

“Why don’t you like it?”

“Because I don’t see you in it, Georgie. I need to see you in my home.”