Page 9 of Miami Ice (Miami Sports #2)

“You are not wearing that tonight,” Ella groans as I walk into the living room. “Jordan. Tell her that is not what a hockey player’s girlfriend would wear to a game!”

I grin wickedly as Winston follows me into the room, taking his tennis ball straight to one of his favorite people in the whole world—Ella’s boyfriend, Jordan. He arrived while I was getting ready for my debut as Beckham’s girlfriend tonight.

I pause for a moment. That sounds so surreal, me posing as Beckham Bailey’s girlfriend.

This is not the hard launch. Sofia said she’s going to let me be seen and perhaps post of pic of me with her family on social media as a teaser, but this is more for his teammates to see that change could be happening on Beckham’s horizon.

And what better way to show change than to date a woman who is completely unlike any woman he’s ever been out with before?

Anyway, Jordan is here, so now I get to hear his opinion on how inappropriate I look. He’s been included in the circle of trust that knows about the fake dating after signing the NDA, and he’s now accepted his holiday season is going to be filled with weirdness by twin association.

“I think you’ve met the brief if they hired you as Christmas Sparkle,” Jordan says, grinning at me as he pushes down on his backward FSU baseball hat. He bends and takes the ball from Winston, throwing it, but narrowly missing the candy confection tree.

“Gah! Careful!” I cry, my hand flying to my chest.

“Oh shit, sorry.”

I smile at him. “I’ll forgive you because you gave me the compliment of being Christmas Sparkle,” I tease.

“Jordan. You are not supposed to encourage her,” Ella says.

“Her clients want Christmas. It looks like Christmas threw up on her. Check,” he says cheerfully.

Jordan isn’t lying. I went full PINKMAS with tonight’s outfit. I’m wearing a pink top with three sequined nutcrackers on it and sleeves made of sequins. My “it’s not a gift tag” necklace is around my neck, but I exchanged the ribbon for a pink one to match. I’m wearing a pair of dark-wash jeans and black suede over-the-knee boots. Those are rather sexy, if I do say so myself. My hair is twisted up in braids around my head, and I’ve gone full holiday mode for my makeup tonight. My eyes are done up with a shimmery nude-pink eyeshadow and lined with a rich cocoa-brown liner. I used my expensive mascara that makes my lashes seem thick and long. I’ve topped my pink-nude lipstick with gloss to create a shiny lip, and of course, I’ve dotted a glowy champagne highlighter over my cheekbones.

If Sofia wanted holiday sparkle, that’s exactly what she’s getting tonight.

“Thank you, Jordan.” I smile at him.

“You know you don’t have to Uber to the game,” Ella says. “We’d take you.”

I pick up my stadium-approved clear plastic tote—that I decorated with pink Christmas trees, of course—and slip it over my shoulder. “Please. Jordan just got here. Go out and have fun. My new boyfriend can give me a ride home.”

Ella stares at me and I know what’s going on in her head, because we’re twins. It’s a unique connection we have.

And she’s thinking this is as surreal and crazy as I do.

“I don’t know whether to tell you to have fun or have a good day at work,” she says.

I bend down and give Winston a good scratch behind his ears. “Mommy is going to have fun and a good day working.” His tail thumps excitedly in response.

My phone buzzes. I glance down at the screen, and my Uber ride is nearly here.

“Time to go. I’ll see you guys later,” I say, heading to the door. I let myself out and shut it behind me, and make my way to the elevator, mulling over Ella’s comment.

My stomach does a weird flutter thing, and I put my hand over it, as if I can make the feeling go away.

I can’t.

And I know I can’t deny the truth I haven’t spoken to another soul. Not to Chloe. Not to Ella.

Not even to Winston, and he can’t tell anyone anything.

I’m looking forward to seeing Beckham tonight.

My Swiftie soundtrack skips back to “…Ready for It?”

And the thing is?

I don’t know if I am.

* * *

I might not be ready, but it’s time to see Beckham.

I still can’t quell the feeling in my stomach, which has only grown more fluttery as my Uber gets closer to the arena. I’m buzzing with an excitement I’ve never felt before. My stomach is upside down, and I find my pulse quickening as soon as the arena is in my sights.

After I’m dropped off, I make my way to the Platinum entrance at the arena. Sofia said that’s for priority ticket holders, and I should enter there. The whole time I’m walking, my mind is racing. I know some of my excitement could be due to the fact that I’m going to my first-ever hockey game, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

I don’t care about sports. I never have, and I have no clue what the top teams are in anything. In fact, I only know of certain athletes by their association with celebrity girlfriends. Like that Canadian soccer star who is dating Princess Isabella.

So if you take that out of the reason for my feelings, the only thing left is Beckham.

I mull this thought further as I put my bag through the security line. I liked the man I talked to on the beach last night. I was surprised he was vulnerable with a complete stranger. Perhaps that’s what made it easier. I wasn’t trying to hook up with him. I didn’t know him or his history. I wasn’t after him for being a hockey star or a multimillionaire.

We just talked.

“Thank you,” the arena employee says, interrupting my thoughts as she pushes my tote toward me. “Have a good evening.”

“Thank you,” I say.

Okay, I’m thinking way too much about Beckham Bailey.

My interest needs to be professional . Not musing about how vulnerable he is underneath that playboy exterior. I understand how Beckham ended up following this path, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to undergo a real, long-term change.

I need to be mindful of that.

And remind myself that my association with him is not only temporary, but complete theater.

Not reality.

I decide to switch tracks on my Swiftie playlist. New song? “I Knew You Were Trouble.”

I need to play this as mental background music for whenever I’m with him.

I focus on the educational lyrics in that song and enter the concourse. Sofia said she and Aaron would meet me right outside the Brisket & Brews concession stand, which would be to my left after I walk in. People are already streaming through the arena, wearing Manatees jerseys with the names of their favorite players on the back.

Hmm. I wonder if they have Beckham’s jersey in the team shop yet. Suddenly I hope to see this arena filled with them in a few weeks.

And if he plays well on the ice—along with keeping out of trouble and rededicating himself to the game—I see no reason why that can’t happen.

I spot Sofia and Aaron, each holding a twin in their arms. Beckham told me their names last night: Stella and Lucy. I haven’t observed them enough to tell them apart—that will take study because they’re identical—but right now they look adorable in Miami Manatee jerseys.

“Hello,” I say, smiling as I walk up to them.

Sofia’s eyes flick over my outfit, and a pleased smile lights up her beautiful face. “Oh my God, that shirt is everything!” she says eagerly. “Beckham will hate it, and that kind of makes it fabulous!”

“Pink!” the twin in Aaron’s arms says, pointing excitedly at my shirt.

“Yes, Lucy, Georgie loves pink,” Sofia says, grinning. “Georgie, this is my husband, Aaron. Aaron, this is Georgie Goodwin, Beckham’s new girlfriend. ”

Aaron—who is good-looking in his own right, tall and blond and handsome in a preppy kind of way—shakes his head as he grins at me. “I don’t know how you got roped into our circus, but I feel like I should start by saying thank you for being brave enough to walk into the big tent after being invited by the master of ceremonies,” he teases, giving Sofia a pointed side-eye.

I instantly like him, and I can’t help but smile at his witty comment. “I think it’s a win for both parties,” I say cheerfully. “And as a bonus, I’m bringing Beckham some Christmas cheer tonight with my outfit.”

“See, Aaron? I told you she’s a gem!”

I can tell Aaron is not convinced that Beckham will think I’m such a gem in my nutcracker getup.

“Come on, we’re here early enough that we can get a good spot on the glass for warm-ups,” Sofia says.

I fall in step with them as we head toward one end of the arena.

“We’ll obviously be on the side where the Manatees will warm up,” Sofia explains.

“Mommy?” says the little girl in her arms, whom I now know is Stella. “I want fries.”

“After we watch Uncle Beckham warm up, we’ll get some dinner, and you can have fries as a treat.” Sofia turns toward me. “We’ll eat in the Luxury Lounge tonight. It’s for anyone who has a ticket on the glass, and the families and partners/wives/girlfriends of players can eat there, too. The food is phenomenal .”

“Sounds good,” I say.

I’m glad to hear about dinner, because I’m already getting hungry. I worked all morning and afternoon, only stopping to eat an energy bar before heading home from my mom’s house. An early meal would suit me perfectly.

Before long, we’re headed down toward the ice, and the second I begin walking down the arena steps, I’m struck by how cold it is. Yes, I have on long sleeves, but this is truly cold . I guess I never thought I’d feel it in the arena, which shows how little I know about hockey. The players have not come out to the ice yet, but fans are already getting places on the glass so they can see their favorite players up close.

We find a spot and stand next to the glass. Now my body is almost humming in anticipation. What will Beckham look like in his hockey gear? Yes, I’ve seen pictures of him on Google, but how will he look in real time, in front of me?

I go further in my thoughts.

Will he smile when he sees me? Will he scowl at my nutcracker shirt? Laugh at the not-a-gift-tag necklace?

“Could you hold Stella for a moment?” Sofia asks. “I need to get their headphones out of my bag.”

“Of course,” I say. I take Stella from her arms, and she carefully appraises me.

“Elsa hair,” she says, patting my braids.

I grin. “Yes.”

“I want Elsa hair.”

“I can give you Elsa hair tonight if you like.”

“Yes!” she says excitedly.

“I want Elsa hair, too!” Lucy cries.

“I promise I will give both of you Elsa hair. I always carry a lot of hairpins in my bag.”

“Well look at you, sliding right into the ring and making friends with the main acts,” Aaron teases.

“I’m more than happy to braid hair. That makes more sense to me than hockey does,” I admit.

“Time for headphones,” Sofia says, carefully putting them on each of her daughters’ ears. “Now we’re ready!”

Shortly after the headphones are placed on the girls—and Stella is back on her mom’s hip—the PA announcer bellows into the airspace. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he booms. “Welcome to Premier Airlines Arena for tonight’s matchup of the Chicago Buffaloes versus your MIAMI MANATEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.”

The crowd cheers, and loud music pumps through the arena sound system. I keep my eyes glued to the tunnel, and sure enough, the Miami players are walking up to the ice, dressed in their neon pink and black jerseys. I watch as one by one, they pop onto the ice, skating around the goal as they begin to warm up.

“There he is! Do you see Uncle Beckham?” Aaron says, pointing at the tunnel.

I follow his finger. Then my heart suddenly beats in triple time.

There’s Beckham.

He doesn’t have his helmet on, so his dark, wavy locks are visible, as is his handsome face. He hits the ice and begins skating, and I take in everything about him—from how good he looks in his jersey to how a hint of his tattoo sleeves is visible, peeking out from underneath his jersey. The girls squeal happily as they see their uncle, and I can’t stop watching him as he moves closer toward us.

I know this feeling is stupid.

So, so, so stupid.

But I’m enjoying myself too much to do a deep dive on the why or to try and stop it.

Beckham finally nears us, first smiling at his family before turning his attention to me. His eyes flick over me, first pausing on the not-a-gift-tag necklace and then shifting down to my shirt.

Then he does something that completely surprises me. He throws his head back and laughs.

Really, really laughs.

I grin back at him, my pulse quickening, and he shakes his head, continuing to skate around and warm up. After a few minutes, he skates back over to us and stops.

“Hi, Uncle Beckham!” Sofia says.

He puts his glove up to the glass, looking first at Lucy. “High five, Lucy!”

She eagerly taps her little hand against the glass, and Beckham flashes her a huge smile. “Thank you, Lucy!” Then he turns to Stella. “Stella, high five for good luck!”

He places his gloved hand closer to her, and she beats on the glass with enthusiasm. “There you go, that was awesome,” he says, grinning at her.

I can’t contain the smile on my face. He might be a partier and like the ladies, but he obviously loves these little girls very much.

Then Beckham moves over so he’s standing in front of me, tapping the end of his stick on the glass in the direction of my shirt.

But I barely even notice because I’m completely lost in those eyes of his.

He’s beautiful.

“What is that, Cupcake?” he asks, snapping me from my thoughts as he points at my shirt.

I smile mischievously at him. “Nutcrackers, obviously.”

The corners of his sensual mouth tip up in an amused smile. “And they come in pink.”

“As they should,” I counter.

He shakes his head. I’m now grinning in delight.

“You changed the ribbon on your gift tag.”

“I coordinated for you,” I tell him.

“It’s still a gift tag.”

“No, it’s still a statement necklace.”

“You will never get me to agree with you on that,” he declares.

“It’s okay, Grumpy, you don’t have to agree. We’ll both just know you’re wrong.”

That makes him crack up, and my stomach tingles.

Beckham skates away, and only after he leaves am I aware of both Sofia and Aaron watching me with interested expressions on their faces. I feel a heat climbing up my cheeks and neck, and I don’t know what to say.

“He’s still calling you Cupcake?” she asks.

“Cupcake!” Stella cries excitedly. “I want a cupcake!”

“Me too!” Lucy cries.

“After dinner,” Aaron assures them.

I’m hoping Sofia is distracted by the cupcake conversation, but she’s not. Her eyes remain locked on my face, so I might as well answer. “Yes, he does.”

“Hmm. That is very interesting,” she says slowly.

And then she doesn’t say anything else.

Now I’m wondering why this is interesting. But it appears Sofia is content to leave it at that, so I shift my attention back to the ice, watching Beckham as he practices shooting the puck into the net. Up close and in person, I have a whole new appreciation for the game. I see how fast the players move and how hard that puck hits the glass and boards. I can’t even imagine how bad it would hurt if you got hit by it.

Finally, the players skate off the ice, as the warm-up period is over. We make our way to the private lounge, taking the elevator down to the rink level and showing our credentials to allow access to this part of the arena. I take everything in—I’m having one of those “so this is how the other half lives” experiences.

“When you go to games,” Sofia says as we walk through the cavernous arena, “you can come down here to eat, as well as hang out in the family lounge with the other wives and girlfriends.”

WHAT?

You can practically play the sound of a vinyl record abruptly screeching in my head.

“I’m sorry?” I ask, blinking. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t worry, you won’t have to go to every game, but a few would be good. And you’ll need to sit in that section with them. But look at it this way, Georgie. It’s only for a month. You might even sell some jars!”

Inside, I’m cringing. More people I’ll be lying to , I think with regret.

“I can see you’re concerned, but don’t be,” Sofia says quietly, so only I can hear. “You’ll merely be the woman he’s dating, and before you know it, it will be New Year’s, and you two will agree to a very amicable breakup and end things as friends.”

Now we’re all showing our tickets and credentials at the hostess stand outside the restaurant, and a wristband is placed around my wrist. As soon as we step inside, I’m amazed to find a beautiful restaurant. There’s a packed bar, where people are sipping on drinks and watching the Manatees pregame show, which is being shown on nearly every flat-screen TV in the place. There’s a large buffet against one wall, filled with all kinds of chafing dishes and offerings for dinner.

“Do you want to go sit with the girls and I’ll start getting their food?” Sofia asks Aaron.

“Oh, I could sit with them if you like,” I volunteer.

They both look gratefully at me. “Thank you, that would be lovely,” Sofia says.

“Sure! Stella, Lucy, want to come sit with me?” I ask, taking each of them by the hand.

I feel two small hands link with mine, and I lead them over to a vacant table, helping each girl slide into the booth.

“I’m hungry,” Lucy says.

“Uncle Beckham!” Stella cries, pointing at the TV.

I follow where she’s pointing, and sure enough, they’re showing some footage of Beckham on the ice earlier, with some statistics on the side. “Yes, that’s him,” I say, smiling at Stella.

“He plays hockey,” Lucy tells me.

I grin. I bet she knows more about hockey than I do.

My phone buzzes inside my tote. I retrieve it and swipe it open, and to my complete surprise, I see it’s Beckham:

Those nutcrackers on your shirt look maniacal.

I burst out laughing.

Beckham Bailey is typing …

They are about as disturbing as Santa.

I send him a quick reply:

Aren’t you supposed to be working right now?

Beckham Bailey is typing …

We have time before we get ready. Make sure you ask Sofia where to go after the game so I can meet you and take you home. Like a nice boyfriend would do.

I grin at that and message him just as Aaron returns to the table with two plates of food for the girls.

Don’t worry, I’ll be exactly where I’m supposed to be, and I won’t be late. We can even take a selfie for our memory book of the first time I attended one of your games. I’ll collect all kinds of pictures and have them printed into a photo book as a keepsake of our Christmas romance.

Beckham Bailey is typing …

Are you trying to make me throw up before the game starts?

I excuse myself and get up from the table, heading in the direction of the buffet, but I can’t tear myself away from this conversation just yet. I knew Beckham would recoil from the idea of the photo memory book, which is exactly why I said it. I’m having way too much fun teasing him to give that up.

I’m about to send him one more reply before I get something to eat, but Beckham beats me to it:

How brave are you, Cupcake?

Huh? What does that mean?

Again, he sends me another message before I can reply:

I mean, you’ll have your maniacal nutcrackers to defend you, so keep that in mind.

Where is he going with this? I text him back:

What are you asking me, Grumpy?

Beckham Bailey is typing …

I’m asking you to go out with me after the game, Cupcake. What do you say?