Page 68 of Miami Ice

Buzz!

I glance down and see I have a new message from him:

I’ve been told I’m going to a place called Sam’s Steak. I’ll let you take a stab at what I’ll be eating tonight.

I put down my bronzer brush and reply:

We’re eating Italian. I plan to eat a copious amount of pasta tonight.

Beckham Bailey is typing …

You’re the only person I know who uses words like copious in real life.

I grin. I’m sure that makes me odd to him, but hopefully interesting, too. I text him back:

As opposed to the fake people you know who use words like copious in an alternate reality?

“Georgie, I need to raid your lipstick stash,” Ella announces as she comes into my bathroom. “I don’t think any of my reds have the right tone for my shirt.”

I glance at her. She’s wearing a cherry-red top with cutouts at the sleeves and a hem that hits right above her waistline, giving just a flash of her toned stomach. It’s very sexy and looks perfect on her.

“Sure,” I say. “Help yourself.”

Ella slides out my drawer and begins looking through my collection. “This is where it’s handy having an artist for a twin,” she says as she peruses my makeup. “You have everything in various shades.”

Buzz!

I glance down at my phone, and Beckham has replied:

I see we’ve gone from maniacal nutcracker mode to smart ass.

“You’re talking to Beckham, aren’t you?”

I blink. Ella’s blue eyes—a mirror of my own—are astutely locked on my face.

“Yes.”

A look of worry passes over her features, and I decide I need to be more engrossed in applying my makeup.

“I’m going to say something,” she announces.

Oh, please don’t, I think as I open up my blush.

“And I know you’re thinking don’t, but I’m going ahead anyway,” she continues.

I steel myself. That’s the downside of being a twin. Ella can read things about me nobody else can.

Well, that’s not exactly true anymore. Beckham has picked up on some things nobody else has, too.

“You’re developing a crush on Becks,” Ella says slowly. “And Georgie, I don’t blame you. He’s gorgeous. A hockey superstar. You haven’t even begun this fake dating process in earnest yet, and I’m worried you’re going to end up with a broken heart by the time New Year’s rolls around.”

I swallow hard. Ella isn’t saying anything I haven’t thought myself.

“I know,” I confess, my voice barely audible.

“Oh, Georgie, I don’t want to bring you down, I really don’t, but I just want you to try and protect your heart. Just be aware of what the situation is.”

Oh, Ella, I’m all too aware of what the situation is,I think miserably. I’m about to be Beckham’s fake girlfriend. We launch on Thanksgiving, we roll through Christmas, and tie things up with a bow and declare it over by New Year’s Eve.

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