Page 32 of Miami Ice (Miami Sports #2)

“It’s very hard to concentrate on this call when you’re dressed like that,” Beckham declares.

I grin as I sit up against the headboard. I have my twinkling lights turned on in my bedroom, and when I was at Home Joy yesterday—returning all the masculine decor and replacing it with gingerbread and candy-themed stuff—I picked up a headband wrapped with faux pine, with shining ornaments glued on top of it.

Which I’m wearing for our Connectivity Video Chat tonight.

“Because it’s so hot,” I tease.

“Yes. I’m imagining ripping it off with my teeth right now.”

I take it off and put it aside, and then I smile at Beckham.

“Better?”

“Much,” he says, readjusting the pillows behind him. Then his expression grows serious. “God, I miss you, Georgie.”

A rush of feelings surges through me. “I miss you, too.”

“How was dinner tonight?” I ask. Beckham is in San Francisco the night before his next game.

“Good. Went to a stupid-expensive sushi place with Wyatt and Aiden. Then straight back to the hotel room, like the good boy I’ve become.”

“I’m very turned on by the good boy you’ve become,” I flirt.

“Hey now,” he says, a playful smile passing over his full lips.

Then we both laugh.

“Speaking of Aiden, I’m going to tell you something, but you can never tell him,” I say.

Beckham’s dark brows draw together in a V. “Okay.”

“I think Scarlett has a crush on him.”

Now the brows shoot straight up in surprise. “What?”

“She hasn’t said that, but I’m piecing it together. When I first met her, and she walked me down to warm-ups, I caught her staring at Aiden. Like her eyes didn’t leave him.”

“Cupcake. Aiden has thousands of TikTok videos dedicated to him. She might just think he’s good-looking.”

“No, it’s more than that,” I insist. “When we went to lunch today, I was talking about how you’ve changed me in the short time we’ve been together and I’m a better person because of you. An—”

“You said that about me?” Beckham interrupts, his gaze soft.

“Yes. And I mean that. I never would have stood up for myself to my mom without you supporting me the way you did.”

“I’ve never been this person for anyone before,” he confesses, his voice low.

“You never allowed yourself to be,” I point out.

“No. I never wanted to be. Until I met you.”

Suddenly I forget about Scarlett and Aiden and become wrapped up in all my feelings for Beckham. “I’m so lucky you’re mine.”

Our eyes lock. We are thousands of miles apart, talking to each other through laptop screens, but the emotions and heat between us make me feel as if we are inches apart. We stay this way, neither one of us saying a word, but absorbing the moment.

Beckham suddenly clears his throat. “Sorry. What were you saying about Scarlett and Aiden?”

Right. Scarlett and Aiden. I refocus. “I was telling her about you, and she mentioned sometimes you meet the right person, but they aren’t right because of things beyond your control. Like being the coach’s daughter.”

His eyes grow wide. “She said that?”

“Said what?”

“About being the coach’s daughter?”

“Oh no. I thought that.”

Beckham snorts.

“What?” I ask wrinkling my nose.

“Have you been spending hours on BookTok without telling me?”

I fold my arms defiantly across my chest. “You’re the one who spends hours on BookTok, not me.”

He laughs. I stick my tongue out at him, which makes him laugh some more.

“Coach’s daughter is a big trope,” Beckham says. “But it’s a trope , not reality. I guarantee you Scarlett wasn’t thinking about Aiden when she told you that.”

I frown. “I think I’m right.”

“Fine, let’s say you are. Nothing will come of that. Aiden would never date Rivershon’s daughter unless he wants to end his time in Miami.”

“I know. I just felt sad for Scarlett, if she does have feelings for him.”

“But how could she? Do they even know each other?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, I think you’re scripting a very tropey story that isn’t real,” he says.

“I don’t think I’m wrong. And when I’m right, you’re going to buy me dinner.”

“You’re so stubborn. And you’re on. You can’t take me out for a slice of pizza when this never happens, I want a big meal. By the way, if it’s feelings neither one of them will ever act on, how do you plan to prove this is real?”

Damn it. Beckham is always a step ahead of me and my creative one-liners.

“I’ll wait here while you sort it out,” he declares, smiling smugly at me.

“Oh, shut up!”

“On a serious note,” he says, “thank you for visiting Minnie. I feel better knowing she’s got some company during the day. I mean, I know she has her pet sitter and all, but I’m happy you’re there, too.”

“I love Minnie, it’s easy to do,” I say. “And she and Winston get along just fine, so they’re becoming fast friends. Maybe tomorrow I’ll take them both for a walk!”

“I would love to see a video of that.” Beckham grins.

We talk for a long time, and finally I begin yawning as a wave of tiredness hits me. That, and the time difference between Miami and San Francisco has me staying up way later than usual.

“You need to go to bed,” Beckham finally says. “You have to work tomorrow.”

“I know, I just hate to let you go,” I confess.

“I know, I hate it, too.” He pauses for a moment. “You know, Georgie, if you want to go back to my place after your girls’ night out on Friday, you can. Bring Winston. I know I’ll be getting home early in the morning, and I won’t wake you up, but it would be nice to come home to you all the same.”

My heart leaps when I see the sincerity in his eyes.

Beckham wants to come home to me.

I’m so moved by this idea that it takes me a moment to find the words to answer him.

“I would love that,” I finally say. “And I have to get up early for Santa’s Art Walk and Craft Fair in Hollywood anyway. I’ll just leave from your house that morning.”

He snorts. “Santa’s Art Walk.”

“It’s not a lie. Santa will be there.”

“Of course he will.”

“And so will Mrs. Claus.”

“Good to hear they’re still together,” Beckham quips.

I can’t help it. I begin to laugh, and he does, too.

“Okay. Go to bed, sweetheart. I’ll text you in the morning,” he says gently. “I … I miss you.”

I swallow. “I miss you, too.”

Then we hang up. I turn down my pillows and turn off the light, looking at the ceiling fan whirling overhead. I can hear Winston softly snoring at the edge of my feet as I replay my favorite parts of the conversation I just had with Beckham in my head.

Specifically, the part about Beckham wanting to come home to me.

I think he’s falling in love with me, I think as warmth rushes through me.

And with that blissful thought in my head, I drift off to sleep.

* * *

“Chloe will be here in ten minutes,” I say to Emilee and Ella, putting my phone back down on the table.

It’s Friday night, and we’re seated on the patio at a Cuban-fusion restaurant in South Beach, waiting for Chloe. The evening is beautiful, as is our view. We’re seated in wicker chairs underneath a large umbrella, and across the street there’s a row of palm trees lightly dancing in the ocean breeze. The street is lit up in neon, and the vibe is uniquely South Beach as cars travel up and down the boulevard and the streets are filled with people ready to start the weekend.

But Friday night means something else to me.

In a few hours, Beckham will be playing Las Vegas. And then he’ll be coming straight home to me.

I grin to myself as the lyrics to “Karma” roll through my head, with me switching the lyric to reflect the Manatees instead of the Chiefs.

Okay that doesn’t roll off the tongue like when Taylor sings about the Chiefs, but I get goose bumps over it all the same.

“Oh my God, she’s thinking about Becks again, look at that sappy grin on her face!” Ella teases.

I blink. “I am not!”

“Liar!” she and Emilee cry at the same time.

I blush. Furiously. “I’m thinking of a Taylor Swift song,” I refute.

Which is not a lie.

“Ooh, I bet it’s one that makes you think of Becks!” Emilee cries.

“Which one is it, Georgie? ‘Delicate’?” Ella teases.

“Shut up,” I groan.

“Or ‘Gorgeous?’” Emilee adds.

I ignore them and flip open my menu. “It’s not fair that you two gang up on me without my wingman here.”

Ella snorts. “What are you talking about? Chloe would be chiming in with her Swiftie songs!”

I look up at my twin. “Fair point.”

“I don’t blame you for daydreaming about Becks,” Emilee says. “He’s freaking hot. Like when he was mad he was in the penalty box the other night? And he ripped off his helmet and shook out his hair? Hot.”

I remember my reaction the first time I saw Beckham do that.

Hot indeed.

“Georgie. When you go to the holiday skate next week, you should scope out eligible hockey players for Emilee,” Ella suggests.

“Oh no, I don’t want a hockey player,” she says. “I mean, no offense, Georgie, but a lot of them have thick legs and poppin’ butts. I like a leaner frame.”

“Poppin’ butts?” I ask, giggling. “What does that even mean?”

“Yeah, you know, too rounded. Popped out from all that skating,” Emilee says. “I’m not into that.”

“Are you into a flat ass?” Ella cries, looking appalled.

“I like a nice, muscular ass, but not poppin’ out of pants,” Emilee clarifies.

I lose it. I’m giggling, Ella is giggling, and finally Emilee begins to laugh, too.

Our server approaches the table, grinning at us. “Ladies, I see we are off to a good start this Friday night. I’m Eduardo, and I’ll be taking care of you this evening.”

“Hi. I’m Ella, this is my twin Georgie, and this is Emilee, and we’ll be your customers tonight. We are waiting for one more.”

“Excellent. Would you like to order some cocktails or a glass of wine in the meantime?” he asks.

“I’d like a mojito mocktail,” I say, as I have to drive my minivan over to Beckham’s place later tonight.

Eduardo nods and turns to Ella. “And for you?”

“A Cuba Libre please,” she says, referring to the rum, Coke, and lime drink.

“And for you?” Eduardo says, glancing at Emilee.

“A mojito. With the booze,” she says cheerfully.

He smiles back at her. “You got it.”

After he steps away, I look at Emilee. “You are missing out on hockey butt. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s deformed,” she insists.

“So what athlete has the perfect body for you? By the way, you should rip up my best-friend card. I should know this, and I don’t,” Ella confesses.

“I like Formula 1 drivers,” Emilee says.

Ella and I both exchange a surprised glance. Emilee has never ever mentioned Formula 1 before.

“It’s a new interest of mine. I got sucked in after bingeing Drive to Survive on Netflix,” she explains. “There’s something sexy about the lithe, lean bodies they have.”

“Too lean,” Ella says, her tone dismissive.

“They’re lean but muscular,” Emilee retorts. “And freaking hot.”

“Show me one,” I say.

Emilee reaches for her phone and swipes a few things. “Mason Clark. He’s American, drives for Collings Motors.”

She hands me her phone, and I accidentally hit something else and a very loud cat video with obnoxious music begins playing. “ACK!” I cry.

Emilee takes the phone and brings the picture back up. “Here.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“That’s Mason.”

I look down at the picture of a lean young man with thick dark brown hair and light green eyes. He’s dressed in a racing suit, half zipped down and hanging around his hips. “He’s good-looking.”

But he’s not Beckham.

She passes the phone to Ella, who studies him for a moment.

“I agree with Georgie. He’s good-looking, but not enough muscle for my taste.”

“Yes. Because Jordan has so much muscle,” I say dryly.

I would know. I’ve seen him naked, after all. Jordan’s body is nice, but not anything close to Beckham’s chiseled frame.

“He does! You’re just comparing him to a professional athlete, and that’s not a fair comparison,” Ella says.

I’m about to reply when Chloe appears at the table, pulling out the vacant chair and taking a seat. “I’m so mad I could … I could … spit!” she declares.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, concerned.

“My stupid ex, that’s what’s wrong,” she says, scowling.

“Wait, has Joel resurfaced?”

Joel was her boyfriend our last year at UM. I never liked him. He never put Chloe first, in anything, ever. He didn’t support her. Joel was good-looking, I’ll give him that. And when he felt like paying attention to Chloe, he was all-in.

But sadly, most of the time?

He was a self-absorbed ass. And for the longest time Chloe put up with it. She came up with excuses for him. Diminished the behavior by saying it wasn’t that bad. I never understood it, because Chloe is beautiful, funny, and smart. She didn’t deserve to be treated like an afterthought.

But something within her was convinced that this relationship was good enough, which broke my heart.

This past summer, they finally split for good. I’m proud to say that Chloe went to therapy, worked through some childhood issues, saw how they were influencing her decisions now, and broke up with Joel.

I was so proud of her. But now I’m worried.

“Joel slid into my DMs saying he missed me.”

I hold my breath. I hope Chloe isn’t going to go soft because it’s the holiday season and she suddenly decides she’s missing him.

“I hope you blocked his ass,” Emilee declares.

Chloe shakes her head. “I answered. I told him he was being ridiculous. You can’t miss something you never cared about in the first place.”

“Chloe! Yes!” I say, offering her a high five.

“He was probably drunk,” Ella suggests.

“Drunk and wanted sex,” Emilee adds.

“More than likely. I blocked his ass after that,” Chloe says, a pleased expression passing over her beautiful face.

“Yes! I’m buying you a drink!” Emilee says.

“Happy days!” Chloe cries gleefully.

Soon the table is filled with chatter, and I’m so proud of how far she has come. She’s ready for a new relationship, I can feel it.

I’m proud of me, too. I’m becoming a whole new person. I’m believing in myself more and more each day. I’m standing up for myself. Setting boundaries.

And allowing myself to follow my feelings for Beckham.

As drinks are brought to the table, and the conversation turns to what we are going to order, my thoughts remain firmly rooted on Beckham. Of how fast my feelings are growing and how it doesn’t scare me. I know I’m in the right place.

With the right man.

And I can’t wait to welcome him home tomorrow morning.