Page 71 of Miami Ice

Well, that’s a half truth. I’m in the mood to watch hockey, but only if Beckham is playing.

I reach for the remote and put it on the channel for Total Access Total Sports. As the Miami Manatees pregame show appears on my screen, I feel a bunch of butterflies take off in my stomach. The announcers are talking while they show players warm up on the ice, and I quickly look for Beckham’s number 92.

They don’t show him—damn it—but I can’t stop thinking about his “hey now” comment on my Connectivity Story Share. Beckham didn’t explain it—and I was too chicken to ask, because I was afraid he’d tell me he was joking or something.

I should want to know the truth.

Iknowthat.

But my heart doesn’t want to know.

I posted more pics from the evening as we went dancing and I had a blast with my sister and friends, and Beckham liked each one.

Then there was the text he sent this morning:

Looks like you had a lot of fun last night.

Immediately followed by this one:

You looked beautiful, Georgie.

I get goose bumps as I see that text in my head again, as I have on and off all day.

He called mebeautiful.

Yet, just like the “hey now” comment, I know it could mean absolutely nothing.

Or it could be everything.

I simply texted him back a thank you, terrified of misreading his message and making a fool of myself. Or worse, making our working relationship awkward with a wrong assumption.

We sent texts back and forth about our days, and I learned a bit more about Beckham’s routine on the road. Team breakfast in a hotel ballroom. Grab coffee from the hotel coffee shop. Then jump on the team bus to go to the arena, where they have an on-ice training session. Then back to the hotel for lunch and a pregame nap.

I think about this as I keep my eyes peeled for a Beckham shot. They go to the announcers in the booth instead, and I frown in annoyance.

Obviously, the TV gods are going to deny me any glimpse of Beckham before the game starts.

I go back to my thoughts about his life on the road. It’s not nearly as glamorous as I pictured it to be. Sure, he’s staying in posh hotels and flies in chartered jets, but it’s a monotonous routine. As Beckham explained, it’s all the same, city after city. The only time it changes is when you have a night off, then you can go to a restaurant or a movie. Like last night, he went tothe steakhouse with some teammates. But other than that? He barely sees the city he’s in.

Beckham did post a pic from dinner—he was with two other teammates. Of course, what did I do this morning before I started painting? I looked them up, obviously.

To my surprise, they were two brothers—Wyatt and Aiden Wentworth. When I brought this up to Ella, she jumped on her version of Google—Connectivity Story Share—and discovered they’re the darlings of women everywhere. Her search found loads of videos made by adoring fans. I mean, I get it. Wyatt and Aiden are cute.

As is Beckham, who also has what seems like thousands of videos devoted to him on Connectivity Story Share.

Not that I watched thousands of videos of Beckham.

I glance over at Winston, who is staring at me from the floor, and I swear his expression is judgmental.

I flush. “Winnie, maybe I watched an hour’s worth of videos,” I say to him. “For research. I’m his fake girlfriend, I should know what women are saying about him on Connectivity.”

Which turns out to be quite a lot.

And they do things like call him Daddy.

I sigh and refocus my attention on the TV. They’re getting ready to start the game, and I know Beckham isn’t on what’s called the first line. He plays on the second, so I’ll see him when the first group goes off the ice.

I find myself feeling anxious, which is so weird. I didn’t feel this way when I saw him play in person. How is this happening?

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