Page 29 of Miami Ice (Miami Sports #2)

Tonight couldn’t be off to a better start.

I smile as I make my way toward the escalator that goes up to the suite level of the arena, so I can meet Becca. It’s the first intermission, and the Manatees are up 1-0, thanks to a goal from the captain, David Dewitt. I enjoyed sitting with Megan and Danielle, who dates the goalie, and conversation was easy with every woman I have met so far.

I also think I could be making a new friend in Scarlett. I asked if she would be sitting with the WAGS and she said no, she sits in a different section, but she said to please reach out for a time to take some pictures.

I’m going to take her up on that.

Then there’s the bracelet Beckham made me. I can’t stop touching it or looking at it. I can’t believe he found time to do that. The words he chose, right down to the Taylor Swift song, shows me his heart. It’s going to be hard for me not to wear it every single day, it means so much to me.

But the best part of tonight has been watching Beckham play.

I smile to myself as I show the suite ticket on my phone to the escalator attendant, who allows me access to continue to the restricted level. I step on the escalator and think of Beckham. He’s amazing to watch on the ice. I’m in awe of how fast he moves, and how he instinctively knows where to be at all times. When he gets hit, I find myself cringing—how can his body take this multiple times a week?

It’s a roller coaster watching him play. From exhilarating to worrisome. But it’s also an honor to watch Beckham play at this level, excelling at something he loves.

Not to mention it’s very hot.

There’s something about Beckham in his hockey uniform that is a complete turn-on. And then there was a moment when he was on the bench that practically made me sweat, he looked so good. Beckham had just come off the ice during a TV timeout and took off his gloves and helmet. Then raked a hand through his sweaty hair over and over. His tattoo sleeves were just peeking out from underneath the black jersey, and then he squirted water all over the top of his head.

There’s only one way I can describe it.

Bench porn.

I get off the escalator on the suite level, enjoying a replay of my own porn flick in my head, and quickly realize I’ve arrived in a new land. There’s a sleek modern bar, surrounded by black lacquer high-top tables and gray fabric-covered chairs arranged in conversational settings. There’s a stunning light fixture overhead, and beautiful contemporary art on the walls.

It looks like a five-star hotel lobby, not an arena, up here.

Amazing.

I glance down at the suite number on my ticket and follow the directions. When I reach it, the door is open, and people are milling around, talking, drinking, and helping themselves to food from silver chafing dishes at the buffet counter. I spot Becca standing at the back of the suite, pouring a guest a Coke. When she finishes, she turns and looks in the doorway, instantly spotting me.

“Georgie! Come on in!” she says, her face breaking out into a beautiful smile.

I head inside, and Becca immediately greets me with a warm embrace. “Thank you for coming up,” she says as she steps back from me. “Oh, don’t you look fancy! Bedazzled for Becks!”

“Yes, it’s my first game-day outfit,” I say proudly. “And yes, you’re right. I’m bedazzled for Beckham.”

“Well, I love it. You look gorgeous. I have wardrobe malfunctions all the time so I wouldn’t dare wear a tube top to a game. Because I’m sure it would end up around my navel!”

I laugh. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Oh, you have no idea how truthful that is. We’ll have to get together for some drinks and perhaps I’ll be brave enough to tell you some stories. Or maybe not. But I’d love to go have a drink with you all the same,” she says, grinning at me.

“I would love that,” I say. “Actually, I would like to take you out for drinks anyway. I know I messaged you this, but Becca, your post with the Georgie Jar was a game changer. Thank you so much for sharing that. I sold out of four jars today in my Etsy shop because of you.”

“Oh, Georgie! That’s excellent news! I’m so happy I could help.”

“I’m so grateful for it. It’s the best start to a holiday shopping season that I’ve ever had.”

Her eyes sparkle happily at this news. “This is fantastic. I can’t wait to tell Antoni.”

A man approaches the counter. “May I have a beer, Becca?”

I step back, and she serves him a beer. After he walks away, I turn to her. “I can leave, I know you’re working. I just came up to say hi and thank you.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. It’s nice to know another friendly face is in the building on Manatee nights. I’m able to watch the game on the TV back here once it starts, and I have my fingers crossed for a goal for Beckham tonight.”

I smile brightly at her. “Me, too. Well, I’ll get out of your way. Please tell Antoni I said hi.”

“I will if you do the same for Becks. And I’m serious. Let’s go out for some drinks soon.”

“Yes, I want to do that, too,” I say. I tell her goodbye and exit the suite. I check the time. I have about ten minutes before the second period starts. I decide to head down to the private club across from the WAGS lounge, where we have access to a free buffet and drinks. I can get a snack to bring back to the seats for the second period.

I take the elevator instead of the escalator, and with my credential, I’m able to get down to rink level. This time, I remember where to go and easily find my way to the lounge. Ooh! They’ve changed out the buffet from dinner. It’s switched to more snack items, such as popcorn and a nacho bar.

Then there are desserts, like thick fudgy brownies and chocolate chip cookies and—oh! happy days—they have sugar cookies with Christmas sprinkles on them.

I grab a napkin and make my way toward the sweets station. There’s a beautiful woman standing there, and I recognize her from the WAGS lounge before the game. I concentrate, trying to remember her name. Crap. I met too many people tonight, and I’m struggling to place her. Why don’t I have that ability? Ella can meet someone once and remember their name forever. I meet someone forty minutes ago and I struggle to place it.

She tucks a lock of her long hair behind one ear and smiles at me. “Hi, Georgie!”

What is her name, what is her name, what is her name?

Nicki! Nicki Lawrence! That’s it!

“Hi, Nicki,” I say, thankful my brain pulled this one out for me.

“How are you doing? Are you finding everything okay?” she asks.

“Now that I’ve located cookies, I’m absolutely fine,” I tease, picking up the tongs and placing two of the red-and-green-sprinkled cookies on my napkin.

“I think these would go with Champagne, don’t you?” Nicki asks, her eyes sparkling.

I grin. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

We go over to the bar and get Champagne in plastic cups, and then we make our way back to the elevator. Nicki is extremely warm and friendly, and we fall into an easy conversation. We reach our seats just as the puck is dropped, and I set my cup of Champagne into the holder in front of me. I break off a piece of the cookie and pop it into my mouth—okay, this looked better than it is, I’d rank it a solid “meh” five on a one-to-ten scale—and watch as players move up and down the ice.

I’d love to see another goal just to have a bit of cushion in this game. I look over at the bench, where Beckham has just come over the boards and is on the ice. Even as Nicki and I talk, I have my eyes glued on him the entire time. Nashville takes a shot on goal, but it’s easily deflected by our goalie. Beckham skates up the ice in the other direction, and Brayden Morrow passes the puck to him.

He flies down the right-hand side of the ice, swooping down low near the net. I wait for him to pass the puck, but instead he takes a shot on goal from the sharp angle he’s at. I watch as the puck sails over the head of the goalie, hits the top left hand of the post and ends up in the back of the net.

I leap to my feet as the goal horn goes off, and the entire arena erupts into cheers. Beckham pumps his fist in triumph. “Ice Ice Baby” fills the arena, and I watch as he is hugged by his teammates on the ice. Nicki gives me a high five, and the other WAGS celebrate with me. I’m so happy I could burst.

Beckham skates down the bench, giving fist bumps to all of his teammates. I tear my gaze away from him and look at the overhead video screen, showing a replay of the goal. I watch in awe of his speed. Of the angle where he took the shot, thinking that was an impossible one to make. Then it hit the post in the exact right spot that led it to ricochet into the net.

I look back at where he’s now sitting on the bench next to Wyatt, talking and pointing to the ice.

“Miami Manatees goal by number ninety-two, BECKHAMMMMMMMMMMMM BAILEY,” the PA announcer roars as the crowd goes insane again. “Assisted by number twenty-two, brAYDENNNNNNNNNN MORROWWWWWWWWWWWWW.”

I reach for my Champagne and take a celebratory sip for Beckham, who has done nothing but score goals in every game I’ve watched him play since I’ve met him.

And I can’t wait to celebrate with him.

* * *

I wait for Beckham outside of the WAGS lounge after the game. The Manatees went on to win 3-0 over Nashville, with Brayden scoring the final goal. I watched Beckham do a postgame interview on TV, and once again he gave credit to Brayden for the amazing pass that gave him the opportunity to score.

It’s interesting. I’ve never looked at Beckham’s postgame interviews from his time in Denver, but something tells me if I were to do so, they wouldn’t be like this. Not as humble as they are now, and he wouldn’t be deflecting the credit he deserved like he does in interviews for the Manatees.

I know the trade was a huge wake-up call for him. Beckham learned in the blink of an eye that it didn’t matter how much he was paid or how good he was on the ice—because Denver knew he could be better, but he showed no signs of caring to apply himself. That, added in with the missed practices and showing up late and the constant evidence of partying, showed his skills didn’t matter. That version of Beckham wasn’t wanted on their team.

But this version of Beckham—the man he’s becoming, the man who always existed underneath the facade—is wanted by Miami. The announcers were even saying what a dynamic he’s added to the team since joining it, and that his play on the ice has gone to a different level.

And I couldn’t be prouder of him.

I keep my eyes peeled for Beckham to come down the corridor, and finally, he does. My pulse quickens the second I spot him. He’s dressed in a gray suit with a white dress shirt that is open at the neck. Black leather bracelets adorn his left wrist, and while wearing sneakers is more common these days with suits, Beckham is wearing a pair of perfectly polished black dress shoes.

Hmm. Is there anything hotter than a hockey player in a suit?

I don’t think so.

Beckham’s face lights up in a smile when he sees me, and a shiver of excitement shoots through me. I walk toward him, and when we meet, the first thing Beckham does is slide his hands around my waist, sending goose bumps rippling across my skin. I put my hands on his face—my palms are deliciously prickled by the five o’clock shadow on his jaw—and smile up at him.

“I am so proud of you!” I say excitedly. “That goal was amazing! How did you do that?”

“Do you want to know the truth?” he murmurs, his voice low.

I nod.

He dips his head and brushes a kiss against my lips. “I have no idea how that shot went in,” he murmurs against my mouth.

I smile, and I can feel his mouth curving up, too, and we both begin to laugh softly.

Beckham stands back upright, and I love the mischievous light in his eyes.

“Then why did you take it?” I ask, curious.

“Instinct. My gut said to take it. Kind of like it did when it told me to take my shot with you.”

Sa-woon.

“Well, your instincts were right on both shots you took,” I say playfully, putting my fingers on one of his buttons and toying with it.

One of his hands slides around to my back, and he begins to rub it affectionately. “I loved knowing you were here tonight,” he admits softly.

My heart swells a bit in my chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Up in those stands. Watching me. Cheering for me. Wearing the bracelet I made you and my name on your shirt. Speaking of that, I need to see your outfit better.” Beckham steps back from me, appraising my outfit.

“You know,” I say, feeling bold, “I’m not going to need this jacket once we’re outside. I might as well take it off now, don’t you think?”

I shimmy out of the black moto jacket and stand before him in the tube top, jeans, and my sexiest pair of heels. My long hair tumbles down my back, and I purposefully draw my lower lip between my teeth for just a second.

His gaze locks in on my lips the instant I do that trick, then his eyes slowly travel over me, heat flickering in them as he drinks me in. Beckham’s full lips part a bit, and I know he likes what he sees.

As do I.

Then he reaches for my left wrist, running his thumb over my bracelet. “I’m glad you liked my stab at creative arts.”

“It’s one of the best presents I’ve ever received.”

“I need to buy you more presents if that’s the case,” he jokes.

“No, I mean it. This gift has meaning to me. Your words, even you teasing about the Taylor Swift song. It’s perfect. And I love it. But when did you do this?”

“After practice. I swung by a craft store, and they were very excited to help me on my mission.”

Falling, falling, falling. I’m so falling in love with this man.

“Come on. We’re going back to my place,” he says assertively. “I need to be alone with you.”

Happy days indeed!

We walk through the cavernous arena, and I regret taking off my coat because it’s cold in here. But soon we are in the players’ parking area, and in minutes I’m sitting inside of Beckham’s SUV.

“Do we need to get Winston?” he asks as he turns on the engine. “I have practice tomorrow morning, but I can come home and walk him before I come to your show. Minnie has been around dogs, so they’d probably be fine together. Or we can keep them separate if you think that’s best.”

I’m touched by this. I love how he thinks of Winston and his needs.

“No, Ella and Jordan are keeping him tonight and tomorrow. I have promised not to come home in exchange for them dog-sitting.”

Beckham snorts. “What do you think Ella is covered in this time? Chocolate syrup?”

“GAH, Beckham! That’s my sister! I already can’t unsee what we saw the first time. I don’t need any more visuals in my head!”

Beckham eases his car out of the parking space. “Honey?”

“STOP.”

“Caramel?”

“If you keep this up, I will not get naked for you when we get back to your place!” I threaten.

Beckham exits the arena and pulls onto the streets of downtown Miami. He brings his SUV to a stop at a red light and grins wickedly. “You know, Cupcake, they might be onto something with the sweet food. Not that I need any enticement to lick your body.”

HELLO.

Suddenly a thought hits me. So I might not want to picture Ella having Jordan lick stuff off her body, but I can see the appeal of having Beckham go crazy licking something off me. His tongue running over my skin and—

“Beckham?”

“Yeah?” he says, his eyes fixed on the traffic lights.

“You know what I like as a treat? Sweetened condensed milk. It’s thick and creamy and luscious. And if I’m baking something with it, I love to dip my finger in the can and lick it off.”

His eyes dart toward mine. “Georgie, are you … suggesting something to me?”

I feel powerful in this moment. That I’ve become aware of my sexuality and how to use it, not just to please him, but to please me, too.

And I feel safe enough to share these thoughts with Beckham.

“I’m suggesting we stop at the grocery store and get some sweetened condensed milk. You might have a whole new appreciation for how it tastes. On me.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. The old Georgie would be freaking out that he’s turned off.

But the Georgie I am with Beckham? Even if he isn’t into this idea, he will tell me in a way that doesn’t upset or embarrass me.

“Georgie.”

“Yes?”

“I have no idea what this sweetened condensed milk is, and it might taste like garbage, but suddenly I want it.”

We both laugh. “Let’s go to the grocery store,” I suggest.

“Oh, hell yeah, we’re going to the grocery store. Right now.”

Beckham asks his navigation system to locate the nearest grocery store, and then he laces his hand through mine, bringing it to his lips and brushing a warm kiss over my knuckles. Then he releases my hand and I stare down at it, my eyes falling on the bracelet he made for me.

This is what love is about , I think. It’s someone making you a bracelet. Watching your partner play on the ice. It’s him happy to have you there. It’s your man wanting to have hot sex with you, but then showing you affection by pressing a simple kiss on your hand.

I’m falling so hard and fast for this man. And I just gave him more of myself tonight.

With more to follow.