Page 146 of Miami Ice

“Said what?”

“About being the coach’s daughter?”

“Oh no. I thought that.”

Beckham snorts.

“What?” I ask wrinkling my nose.

“Have you been spending hours on BookTok without telling me?”

I fold my arms defiantly across my chest. “You’re the one who spends hours on BookTok, not me.”

He laughs. I stick my tongue out at him, which makes him laugh some more.

“Coach’s daughter is a big trope,” Beckham says. “But it’s atrope, not reality. I guarantee you Scarlett wasn’t thinking about Aiden when she told you that.”

I frown. “I think I’m right.”

“Fine, let’s say you are. Nothing will come of that. Aiden would never date Rivershon’s daughter unless he wants to end his time in Miami.”

“I know. I just felt sad for Scarlett, if she does have feelings for him.”

“But how could she? Do they even know each other?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, I think you’re scripting a very tropey story that isn’t real,” he says.

“I don’t think I’m wrong. And when I’m right, you’re going to buy me dinner.”

“You’re so stubborn. And you’re on. You can’t take me out for a slice of pizza when this never happens, I want a big meal. By the way, if it’s feelings neither one of them will ever act on, how do you plan to prove this is real?”

Damn it. Beckham is always a step ahead of me and my creative one-liners.

“I’ll wait here while you sort it out,” he declares, smiling smugly at me.

“Oh, shut up!”

“On a serious note,” he says, “thank you for visiting Minnie. I feel better knowing she’s got some company during the day. I mean, I know she has her pet sitter and all, but I’m happy you’re there, too.”

“I love Minnie, it’s easy to do,” I say. “And she and Winston get along just fine, so they’re becoming fast friends. Maybe tomorrow I’ll take them both for a walk!”

“I would love to see a video of that.” Beckham grins.

We talk for a long time, and finally I begin yawning as a wave of tiredness hits me. That, and the time difference between Miami and San Francisco has me staying up way later than usual.

“You need to go to bed,” Beckham finally says. “You have to work tomorrow.”

“I know, I just hate to let you go,” I confess.

“I know, I hate it, too.” He pauses for a moment. “You know, Georgie, if you want to go back to my place after your girls’ night out on Friday, you can. Bring Winston. I know I’ll be getting home early in the morning, and I won’t wake you up, but it would be nice to come home to you all the same.”

My heart leaps when I see the sincerity in his eyes.

Beckham wants to come home to me.

I’m so moved by this idea that it takes me a moment to find the words to answer him.

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