Page 145 of Miami Ice

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?”

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