Page 61 of Miami Ice

“Beckham. I don’t live in Christmas clothing twenty-four seven.”

“Cupcake. Outside of the dress you wore the first night we met, that’s all I’ve seen you in.”

“But it’s my time of year,” I protest. “I have a very limited window when I can wear all of my Christmas wardrobe. But that doesn’t mean that’s all I own.”

“Iknowthat,” he says, sounding frustrated.

“Then what?”

The gates swing open, and Beckham pulls out into the street. “You’ll freeze.”

“I thought of that, and I agree, it wouldn’t be my choice to wear to a game, but if Sofia had someone make it for me, I’ll have to wear it. I’ll just put a jacket over it.”

“No.”

“You’re being weird about this.”

“Am I? Am I being weird because I don’t want the hookup kings on the team checking you out? They’re already asking me about you, circling like damn sharks. And when this is over, do you think I want them sliding into your DMs trying to hook up with you? No. No I don’t. So they don’t need to see what I already know, and that is how freaking hot you are, Georgie. The tubetop will put them over the edge. And I don’t care what Sofia says, I won’t have it.”

Chapter Fifteen

I stare at Beckham, my heart slamming against my ribs as I digest his words.

“Oh my God, you’re jealous,” I say without thinking.

“I am NOT jealous,” he snaps.

I can’t stop smiling. He’s SO jealous. And I know this thought shouldn’t make me want to turn cartwheels all across Miami, but it does.

“Quit smirking. I told you, I’m not jealous,” Beckham insists.

“Okay. Sure.”

“I am NOT!”

“Okay.”

“Cupcake. Did you ever stop to think I just want to protect you from guys who would take advantage of you as soon as they think I’m no longer in the picture? I like you. As aperson, I mean, I like you. You made it clear you like relationships and these guys don’t. Therefore, I don’t want to set them off on you. And that’s all there is to it.”

My desire to do cartwheels comes to a screeching halt. I feel the smile drop from my face, and my heart does this weird slide thing that makes it feel as if it’s fallen into my stomach.

Of course. That makes complete sense. More sense than him being jealous, actually.

So if this makes sense, and we’re only fake dating, why is there a sudden ache inside my chest wishing he were actually jealous instead?

We both fall silent for a moment, driving past shopping centers already lit up with Christmas displays and lights. Rap music is the only sound in the car, and the mood is now awkward.

I clear my throat. “Well, I appreciate your concern, but I have to wear the tube top since it’s a gift from the captain’s wife. Unless you would like to explain to your NEW captain why I’m insulting his wife by not wearing something she made for me.”

Silence.

“And unless you’re going to gift me some article of clothing with your number on it, that’s all I have to wear next Friday,” I continue.

More silence.

I turn and keep my gaze glued to the scenery passing by. Normally the sight of Christmas lights and lit palm trees makes me happy inside, but instead I feel this weird combination of being embarrassed and angry at myself.

Beckham clears his throat. “I—I overstepped. I’m sorry.”

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