Page 25 of Miami Ice

“I’m sure you have been. Okay. First of all, I love mug mates.”

“What?”

I grin. I know he’s going to hate this, so I can’t wait to explain it. “Little gingerbread houses or men that you make to hang on the side of your mug of hot chocolate or coffee.”

“Your mug needs to be hugged,” Beckham says disdainfully.

“Yes, because it’s cute.”

“I’m going to throw up.”

“Oh, you are not. I always bake mug mates. And sugar cookies. You have to have sugar cookies at Christmas. This year I’m doing pink Christmas trees.”

“Of course you are. What else?”

“I do cornflake wreaths,” I continue, “and snowball cookies and chocolate toffee.”

“I don’t think I can be mad at chocolate toffee,” Beckham concedes.

“But you can be mad at cornflake wreaths and snowballs?”

He grins. “You make it sound stupid.”

His phone vibrates again. “So sorry. Excuse me,” he says, retrieving it. He swipes it open and reads his screen. “Hmm. This might have potential.”

I wait for him to say more.

“Sofia sent me a house to look at on Monday after practice.” To my surprise, he extends his phone to me. “Here, take a look.”

I take it and see a glass mansion on the screen. It’s a beautiful contemporary home, all white, with huge palms surrounding it. I glance at the info—it’s in Miami Beach, on the waterfront, complete with a pool worthy of resort status and a dock for a boat.

I also notice it’s twelve million dollars.

Yes, this man definitely runs in a different circle than I do,I think wryly.

“It’s beautiful,” I say as I swipe through the pictures in the gallery. “So much open space.”

“The pool is what I like,” Beckham says as he takes the phone back from me. “Sofia says it’s a private community. And get this. Apparently, Antoni Nowak owns the house next door.”

“Antoni Nowak?” I cry, referring to the NBA player. “He’s a massive star!”

Beckham gives me a smirk. “He must be if you know him.”

“He’s talked about all over town, so I’d have to be clueless not to know who he is. But you’d be his neighbor?”

“Yeah, if I like this house,” Beckham says, sitting more upright. He takes a moment to rake his hand through his hair. “This would be the first house I’ve ever bought. I just rented a condo when I was in Denver.”

“Oh, then this is exciting,” I say eagerly. “Your first home is a milestone achievement, Beckham. You should celebrate that.”

“It’s different for me. I’m paid a stupid amount of money to play a sport, so I can easily buy a house. And a ridiculously priced one at that.”

I frown. I don’t like that he’s talking about himself like this.

“Why the frown?” he asks.

I decide to answer him honestly. “You are very good at what you do, Beckham. So few people can ever become a professional athlete, no matter how hard they dream or try. You are paid well because you have an incredible gift for the game. That should be celebrated, too. Along with buying your first house.”

“You believe that, don’t you?” he asks quietly.

---