Page 28 of Miami Ice (Miami Sports #2)

I stare at Beckham, shocked by his revelation as to why he doesn’t like the current Christmas decor.

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

He moves over to me, gently drawing me into his arms. “I thought I’d walk in here and be dazzled,” Beckham says softly. “It would be full of sparkle. Pink. Gingerbread men and candy canes and everything that would have made me nauseous before I met you.”

“I didn’t think you liked that,” I confess.

“I didn’t like it until I began to associate it with you. I know you could make this room look like Christmas in a completely understated way. But that’s not my girl.”

My girl. He said my girl.

Forget going feral over the words “my wife.” I’ll take “my girl” over that in a heartbeat.

“I guess I thought I’d come home and see you in the space everywhere I looked,” Beckham continues. “And truth be told, I like that idea. I like the idea of seeing you when I walk in the door, even if you aren’t here. So yes, that means I want to be dazzled. I want pink and candy and multicolored lights. I want it in my den, I want it in my kitchen, I want it all over my house. I want this space to be what makes you happy, Cupcake. Because that makes me happy, too.”

I blink back tears.

“What did I say?” Beckham quickly asks, a look of alarm filtering across his face.

“You are giving me so many feelings right now,” I confess, my voice wobbly. “All of them good ones.”

“Yeah?”

I nod happily. “Very good ones.”

Then, to punctuate my point, I link my hands around the back of his neck, draw him closer to me, and give him a sweet kiss on the lips.

“Beckham?”

“Yes?”

“I want to promise you something.”

He looks down at me, nodding. “Okay.”

“I will never tell anyone that you secretly love maniacal nutcrackers.”

A huge grin lights up his face. “Oh no. I never said I like maniacal nutcrackers.”

“But I love them, and that should remind you of me above everything else. But don’t worry, Grumpy, your secret is safe with me.”

“There is no secret to keep. I hate your maniacal nutcrackers.”

“You protest too much.”

“You’re right. I’m done protesting. You need to be punished for telling lies.”

Then his fingertips slide around to my ribs and begin tickling me. I shriek with laughter and run away from him, but he quickly catches me. We tumble onto the sofa, landing on a pile of tartan pillows, his hands pinning mine over my head.

“Give?” Beckham demands.

Oh yes, I do.

“I give.”

His mouth captures mine, his tongue demanding access, and I melt into his kiss. Soon I can feel him growing hard against me, and a low, agonized groan escapes his lips.

“Christ, I want to be inside of you so bad, but I have to take a nap,” Beckham says.

I laugh at that comment.

“What?” he asks, letting go of my hands and pushing himself up to look at me.

“Hearing a grown man say he needs a nap over sex,” I say, putting my hand to his face.

“I play hockey. I have to,” Beckham says, punctuating his sentence with a quick kiss on my lips. “I need to eat and go to bed.”

“I know you do. It’s one of those weird facts about being a hockey player that I’m just learning about. I need a nap, too. I can take it in the guest bedroom so I don’t distract you, though.”

Beckham sits up and then pulls me to a sitting position. He plucks up a tartan pillow and smiles softly at me. “So you’ll replace this with an ‘OH-OH-OH’ pillow?” he asks, his eyes dancing mischievously at me.

I give him a narrowed-eyed look. “With a ‘HO-HO-HO’ pillow, yes. I’ll return all this and give this house the Georgie glow.”

“I think I saw the Georgie glow last night. After an ‘OH-OH-OH’ in the bedroom.”

I can feel heat radiate in my cheeks and travel down my neck.

“Aw, you’re so cute when you blush,” Beckham says.

“Stop.”

“Stop saying you’re cute or stop teasing you about the orgasm you had last night?”

“You’re so annoying when you’re not grumpy,” I tease, standing up.

Beckham grabs my hand and playfully pulls me into his lap, and I happily rest against him. One hand slides around my back, and his other hand is on the outside of my thigh. “I can’t wait to see you at the game tonight,” he says.

“I’m so excited. I can’t wait to be there, wearing a tube top with your name on it.”

“What a time to be alive. I don’t get to see you wearing my name on the back of a jersey, but on a tube top.”

“Lucky you.”

“Lucky me,” he murmurs, kissing me again.

I break the kiss and put my hands on his face. “Okay, enough of this. Let’s have lunch and take naps. I won’t have you play poorly tonight because I distracted you from your pregame ritual.”

I get off his lap, and he rises. “Come on. I left my lunch on the kitchen island. Sorry I don’t have one for you. But knowing Sofia, she’s stocked the fridge for me.”

I watch as Beckham heads into the kitchen to retrieve his lunch, my heart so full. This man wants me to decorate his home in a way that I love. That brings me joy.

All because he wants to be reminded of me when he’s here.

I’m so falling in love with you, I think as I watch him.

And something tells me he’s falling in love with me, too.

* * *

I exhale slowly in front of the mirror in the restroom adjacent to the WAGS lounge at Premier Airlines Arena. My stomach is tipping upside down in eagerness and excitement, and no matter what I do, I can’t settle it.

So I decide not to fight it, but embrace this magical feeling instead.

Because I’m about to go down to watch Beckham warm up before his game against Nashville tonight. And I’m wearing his name and number for the first time.

Now, it’s not on a jersey like I envisioned—I had no clue wearing other clothing to support your significant other was a thing—but I think Beckham will be pleased.

I study my reflection again. I’m wearing a black tube top bedazzled in hot pink and crystal-colored beads. It says “BAILEY 92” on it, and over it I have Ella’s black moto jacket. My hair is long and straight, cascading down past my shoulders. I’m wearing soft, neutral browns on my lids, and opted for a mascara that makes my lashes look full and long. I’ve applied highlighter across the tops of my cheekbones, giving a nice glowy finish to my skin. But my lip is the statement point.

It’s a glossy, bold pink that matches the color in the Manatees’ logo.

I smile. It’s a great shade against my pale skin, and I love that it aligns with Beckham’s team. I check my teeth, ensuring none of that vibrant pink has latched on them, and now I feel ready to go.

I exit the restroom, embracing the hummingbirds that are going crazy in my stomach. As I travel toward the rink, through the cavernous halls of the arena, I spot another young woman walking in the same direction. She has luxurious, shiny brown hair that tumbles in waves down her back. Her skin is luminous and pale, and she has piercing blue eyes. She’s wearing a black, off-the-shoulder sweater, jeans, and a strappy pair of high heels. Hoop earrings dangle from her ears, and her lips are painted in a bold, matte red.

I see the lanyard around her neck, which has a credential. I’ve met all of the other wives and girlfriends. I wonder if she’s one I missed somehow. Or perhaps she works for the team. I try to read her credential in a discreet way to find out her identity.

Either I need glasses or the printing on these credentials is too stupid small to read from a distance.

“Hello,” she says cheerfully, looking at me.

“Hi,” I say, hoping she didn’t notice me staring. I suddenly stop walking, trying to remember where I need to turn. “Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to the rink? I’m here to watch my boyfriend, and I can’t remember which way to go.”

“Oh, that’s where I’m headed, I’ll take you there. I’m Scarlett Rivershon, by the way.”

Rivershon. Beckham has said the name Coach Rivershon to me before. Could she be—

She flashes me a beautiful smile. “And yes, I’m the coach’s daughter.”

GAH. I need to hide how the wheels in my brain are turning much better!

“I’m Georgie Goodwin. I’m Beckham Bailey’s girlfriend.”

I pause after those words come off my tongue. I’m Beckham Bailey’s girlfriend.

I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of saying that.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says, smiling brightly at me. “Is this your first game?”

“I went to one last week, but we weren’t dating then,” I explain.

Her eyes light up. “Oh, so this is recent.”

“Yes, very much so,” I say as she leads me down the corridor to the right. Suddenly things start to look familiar from my trip with Sofia and Aaron.

“Do you go to all the home games?” I ask.

Scarlett nods. “I try to. Obviously, I’ve grown up with hockey, so I love it. But I work for Real Miami FC in social media, so I have to go to all their games and travel with the team.”

“Oh, what a cool job!”

“It’s fun. I’ve always wanted to work in sports, and I just started with them this past fall. We’re in our off-season now, so I can take in hockey games at night, which I love.”

Soon I can feel the rush of cold air, and I see the main entrance the players use to take to the ice ahead. “Isn’t there an elevator we need to use? If I remember right?” I ask.

“Yes, it’s right here. Good memory!”

We reach the elevator, and the attendant smiles at Scarlett and then checks my credential.

“Plaza concourse, please,” Scarlett says.

“Of course,” the attendant says, pressing the button.

The doors close, and I turn to Scarlett. “I should take pictures of everything as I walk. I’m afraid I won’t find my way back,” I joke.

She grins. “It will be second nature to you in no time, I promise. You should have seen me my first day at Real Miami. They were showing me around and I was like, ‘I will never remember where to get a cup of coffee. Or worse, how to find my way back to my desk!’”

“Yes, that’s exactly it. It’s all so foreign,” I exclaim.

“But look at me. I’ve not only found my way to the coffee, but out of the building and all the way to the Premier Airlines Arena,” she says, flashing me a smile. “I have full faith you will not only find your way to your seat, but back to the lounge at intermission.”

I nod. Although for the first intermission, I’ve made plans to go visit Becca in the Total Access Total Sports suite. I can’t wait to thank her again for what she has done for Georgie’s Jars.

The elevator stops on the concourse level, and we exit. I pause and snap a picture of the location, so at least I can find the elevator if nothing else.

Scarlett waits for me, and then I walk with her toward the end of the rink where the Manatees will warm up.

“So do you come to warm-ups often?” I ask.

“Yes. I love hockey, so I take advantage of watching practices, games, everything I can when Real Miami is off. I mean, I still have my job to do, but now it’s nine to five,” Scarlett explains.

“You say you do social media for Real Miami, but what does that entail?” I ask, curious.

She grins. “I do it all. On a game day, I arrive early so I can get video of each player for a fit check,” she says, referring to what a player is wearing on game day. “Then I go down on the pitch and video warm-ups. I upload content throughout the game, like starting lineup, goal shots, et cetera. Then there’s postgame content, and if it’s a home game, I drag myself back to my apartment and crash. If it’s a road game, then I’m traveling with the team, and the hours are crazier. But I love my job, so it’s all worth it.”

“You have to be skilled in so many different things,” I say as we walk through the concourse, which is filling up with Manatees fans. I see pink and black everywhere and loads of people wearing jerseys of their favorite players. I spot my first BAILEY jersey, and my stomach does a flip-flop.

That’s my boyfriend’s jersey, I think proudly.

“You do. I have to admit, my passion is photography. I love the rush I get from capturing a great moment,” Scarlett says.

“That’s something I have to work at for my business. I sell painted Mason jars, and getting the photography right for my Etsy shop is always a challenge for me. I’m good at setting the backdrop and display part, but I’m not so skilled when it comes to taking pictures. The lighting is tricky for me.”

“Oh, you’re an artist?” Scarlett asks, her face lighting up. “That’s fantastic. I cannot paint. Or even draw a good stick person, for that matter. What’s the name of your business? I want to look you up!”

“It’s called Georgie’s Jars. I have a website, and I’m on Etsy. But don’t judge my photos!” I tease, holding out my hand in a stop motion.

“Here’s the entrance you’ll always want to take for the best view,” Scarlett says, leading me to sections 108 and 109. We enter through the tunnel and begin to walk down the steps, and I’m happy to see the players haven’t taken the ice yet. “Georgie, if you ever want some photography tips or for me to take some pictures for you, I’d be happy to help.”

“Would you really? That’s so generous of you, Scarlett.”

“I have downtime now,” she says as we get closer to the ice. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Yes, I would love that,” I say. “I can pay you for your time.”

“Oh no, I’m offering my services for free. I’m not pitching you for a side hustle,” Scarlett says, grinning at me.

Suddenly I get the same feeling I got when I met Becca for the first time.

Scarlett is someone I could really like.

“Well, if you like my jars, I’ll gift you one.”

“Now that sounds like a payment plan I can get on board with,” Scarlett says cheerfully.

We reach the ice and find a good spot on the glass, and I shiver. I could blame it on the fact that I’m wearing a tube top and I’m standing next to a sheet of ice, but I know that’s only half the reason a chill just raced through me.

I know it’s because I’m excited to show Beckham I’m wearing his name tonight.

Scarlett and I chat easily as we wait for the players to hit the ice. I learn she’s the baby of the family, with two older brothers who also play hockey. One plays for a team in Switzerland, and the other plays in the NHL in Las Vegas. Scarlett has spent her whole life moving from city to city, all over the United States and Canada, because of her dad being a coach. I can’t imagine how hard that would be. To not feel grounded in any place.

“The first time I felt like I had a permanent home was when I was in college,” Scarlett confides, brushing a lock of her glossy brown hair away from her face. “For four years, at college in Connecticut, I knew I wouldn’t be moving. I can’t explain what a relief that was for me.”

I shift my gaze from the sheet of ice in front of me to her profile. She must feel me because she turns and her gaze meets mine, and an embarrassed look passes over her face.

“I’m so sorry,” she suddenly says. “I’m oversharing, and normally I don’t do that. You just have this kindness about you that’s making me spill all the tea.”

My heart warms. “That’s a wonderful compliment, thank you,” I say. “And your tea is safe with me.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Nashville players enter the ice from the other side of the rink. My eyes shift to the entrance next to us, where the Miami Manatees will enter the ice.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the PA announcer says. “Welcome to Premier Airlines Arena for tonight’s matchup between the Nashville Badgers and your MIAMI MANATEESSSSSSSSSSSSS.”

My heart slams against my ribs as “Ice Ice Baby” begins to blare through the arena, and the Manatee players take to the ice one by one. I find myself holding my breath as I wait to see Beckham hit the ice. First, I see Aiden, followed by his brother, Wyatt.

And then I see Beckham.

I can’t contain the smile that spreads across my face as I watch Beckham skate onto the ice. A tingling feeling sweeps over me as I drink in how hot he looks in his hockey jersey. He quickly skates across, and I see his eyes are scanning the crowd.

Looking for me.

I put my hand to the glass as he approaches the corner. Beckham’s eyes lock with mine, and the biggest smile lights up his face as he sees me. He continues around the net, then he picks up a puck with his stick and fires a shot that hits the back of the net.

So. Freaking. Hot.

I’m so lost in my own world of watching Beckham that I forget Scarlett is standing next to me. I turn to say something, but I notice her gaze is locked on to the ice, in one particular area. I follow it, and to my surprise, I see she’s staring at Aiden.

I watch for a few seconds to make sure I’m right, and wherever Aiden goes on the ice, Scarlett’s gaze follows the defenseman with unruly, wavy golden-brown hair, an errant lock sweeping dramatically across his forehead.

She must feel me watching her because she turns and looks at me, and her cheeks instantly begin to turn pink.

Whoa. Does Scarlett like Aiden?

She clears her throat and turns her attention back to the ice, but I can’t forget what I just saw. Because if she does like Aiden, it’s kind of doomed. She’s the head coach’s daughter. This can’t go anywhere.

Ever.

I turn my attention back to Beckham, grateful that my dad is a computer-system salesperson and not the head coach of the Manatees. Because I can’t imagine my life if I were forbidden from dating Beckham.

Beckham is over at the bench, taking off his gloves. Then he skates over to me and comes to a stop. “Let me see your top,” he demands, grinning at me.

I comply with his order, opening up the jacket so he can see his name and number bedazzled on my tube top.

His dark eyes flicker with heat as soon as he sees it, and I grow warm knowing I caused that reaction.

“Nice,” he says. “Can you catch something if I throw it over?”

I nod, but I’m confused.

Then Beckham pulls back the sleeve of his jersey, and to my surprise, I see a friendship bracelet on his left wrist. Beckham takes it off and tosses it over the glass to me. I catch it and look down at it, stunned.

“I made it. I hear Swifties like them,” he says.

I lift my gaze to meet his. He made me a friendship bracelet.

I’m so moved, I’m at a loss for words.

“Gotta go, Cupcake. See you after the game,” he says. Then he skates off, going back to the bench to retrieve his gloves.

I turn the bracelet over to see what message Beckham has given me. And then my heart begins to beat furiously as I read it:

11.29 1ST GAME AS MY GIRL LWYMMD

“Look What You Made Me Do.”

I begin to shake as I stare at the bracelet in my hand. Somehow, he found the time to make a friendship bracelet, putting pink beads on a string, along with a date that mattered to him and a Taylor Swift song title.

And he called me HIS GIRL again.

Suddenly I’m oblivious to the fact that I’m standing next to Scarlett. Or that fans have been watching and recording my interaction with Beckham.

I slip the bracelet onto my wrist, running my fingers over it as if it were made of precious diamonds instead of beads. Because this bracelet means so much more to me than something purchased from a high-end jewelry store.

This bracelet has captured a moment in time I’ll never forget.

I look back onto the ice, watching Beckham stretch, and a new song plays in my mental Swiftie soundtrack.

“Fearless.”

Because it’s a song about falling in love hard and fast.

Which is exactly what I’m doing with Beckham Bailey.