Page 72 of Miami Ice

As the players head to the circle in the middle of the ice, I pick up a throw cushion and hug it to my chest. I know what’s different.

When I saw him play in person, we hadn’t gone out for milkshakes. Had that great conversation. Nor had I had dinner with his family and seen how he played with his nieces.

I hadn’t started to crush on him like I am now,I think as the puck is dropped.

I decide for my own sanity I need to ignore this very uncomfortable self-analysis and try to focus on the game.

Oh! The first group of Manatees are starting to skate over to the bench, and players begin to jump over the wall. I feel my heartbeat quicken in anticipation.

Sure enough, number 92 flashes before my eyes on the screen.

I follow Beckham on the ice. Or more like when the TV coverage allows me to. Suddenly, one of the Manatee players gets the puck away from the Orlando player.

“Here comes a two on zero rush by the Manatees,” one of the announcers says excitedly.

I see Beckham coming down one side, and Wyatt Wentworth down the other. There’s not an Orlando player in sight. I hold my breath as they head toward the net.

“Wentworth to Bailey,” the announcer continues as Wyatt passes the puck to him.

Beckham takes his shot. BAM! It whizzes between the goalie’s legs and hits the back of the net.

“HE SCORES!” the announcer yells.

“Yes!” I cry, leaping off the couch.

Beckham raises his stick in triumph, and soon he’s swarmed by his teammates on the ice, including both Wentworth brothers. My heart is pumping wildly inside my chest, and I can’t keep the smile off my face as I watch Beckham’s teammates celebrate his goal.

Winston gets up and begins barking, and I watch as they show Beckham skating over to the bench, fist bumping every teammate as he skates down the line, followed by Wyatt doing the same thing. They cut away from Beckham to show a replayof the goal again, with the announcers commentating on how the goal happened.

“As you can see here, there’s a complete breakdown by Orlando,” one of them says. “Then you have two-on-zero perfect execution by Wyatt Wentworth and Beckham Bailey. Beckham just rips that through.”

They cut back to the bench, and I see Beckham breathing hard as he sits on it. Then he takes off his helmet, squirts some water from his water bottle over the top of his head, down the back of his neck, and shakes it out. He grabs a towel and rubs it across his face, and I practically feel my jaw go slack.

I stare at him, mesmerized by how hot he looks when he does that. My God, it’s like watching porn.

Hockey porn.

I think I could get into this kind of porn.

Then I laugh, a maniacal laughter that sounds like it would come from one of the nutcrackers on my pink sweater that Beckham loves to tease me about.

If the nutcrackers on my sweater could laugh, that is.

GAH! I’m losing my mind over myfake boyfriend, whose use of “hey now” might mean he’s flirting and finds me attractive, or it might mean he’s just sharing a phrase I used and I’m overthinking everything.

What if Beckham does find me attractive? That doesn’t mean he’d want to date me. For real, I mean. Yes, he’s made it clear he wants a lifestyle change, but that doesn’t mean he’d want a relationship. Yes, he thinks it’s weird I’m still available, but that doesn’t mean he’d be raising his hand and saying, “Pick me, Georgie!”

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Life was simpler before my life sounded like something off of hockey BookTok.

I glance at my phone. I’ve obviously lost my mind. I have a huge crush on my fake boyfriend, and I’m overthinking everything he says and does.

So why not throw all caution to the winds and text him about his goal?

As I pick up my phone, I glance over at Winston, who is watching me from his dog bed near the Christmas tree. I swear he’s smirking at me.

“Winston. Mommy is merely being nice to Beckham,” I say. “It’s a nice thing to congratulate my fake boyfriend on his goal tonight.”

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