Page 82 of Miami Ice

I flash him a mischievous smile. “We never even got to the fake bullshit.”

“Oh. Fair point.”

We both grin at that.

“Georgie?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you know my past and how I was with women,” he says, his voice low. “But I have never wanted to exclusively date any of them. I didn’t know it at the time, but I saved that for you. You’re the only woman I want to be exclusive with.”

Pure elation. That’s the best way to describe my feelings right now.

“I only want to date you, too,” I say softly.

Beckham drops another kiss on my lips. “Good. Because the idea of you going out with any other guy was going to kill me. I had to check Wyatt, you know.”

I feel my cheeks burn hot. “Wyatt Wentworth?”

“Yep. He saw your Friendsgiving pic on your Story Share when we were on the plane coming home. Asked who you were. I told him you were off limits.”

I can’t help but beam at that.

“And you have every right to look smug, Cupcake. I couldn’t stand the mereideaof Wyatt going after you.”

“I’m not being smug.”

“Oh, but you are.”

“Beckham! I am not. I’m just happy you didn’t want anyone else going out with me.”

“No. I don’t.”

Suddenly I become aware of people moving around us on the sidewalk, and Beckham looks around, too. “Do you still want pizza?” he asks, rubbing his hand up and down my back. “Oh, and this is NOT our first date, by the way. I’m going to plan something for that. I refuse to let you say that this was.”

I reach up and run my fingers through his hair, still amazed that I’m touching him. Feeling his silky locks slide through my fingertips. I can reach over and run my fingers through those espresso-colored locks and it’s a real sign of affection.

Not a fake, planned one.

I’m so happy, I think I might cry.

But I do my best not to, focusing on our conversation instead. “Oh no, no, no, this is so our first date, and I refuse to let you rewrite history.”

He scowls, and my heart flips at how adorable he looks.

“Now come on, Grumpy. Let’s go get some pizza, and then we can hang out at my place. Ella is staying at Jordan’s tonight.”

“Are we sure about that? I’d hate to walk in on another sexual food fantasy. Like, what if they’re doing something with fondue?”

I giggle as we begin to walk hand-in-hand in the direction of the pizza place. “First, you’re talking about mysister. Ew. And fondue? Where on earth didfonduecome from?”

Beckham grins. “I have no idea. Maybe because it melts?”

I cringe.

“Spreadable?” he suggests, quirking a brow.

“Would you stop? I do not want to think about Ella and sex and spreadable fondue.”

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