Page 157 of Miami Ice

“Can I take some pictures in here, or is that forbidden?”

“Take as many as you want,” Beckham says as he reaches for his skates. “The media interview us in here all the time, and you’ll see us in here on TV during games.”

I pull my phone out of my purse. “Smile for me, Grumpy! Show me how happy you are for family skate!” I say, getting him into focus for a picture in front of his bench.

He sticks out his tongue, and I snap a picture. “Now pretend you’re happy about it,” I encourage.

He flashes me a huge grin.

“Thank youuuuuuuuu,” I say.

He pretends to scowl, but I can see the smile in his eyes. I take some more pictures, and we even take a few selfies together. Then we head over to the WAGS lounge, where there is a check-in table and someone from the team handing out skates. I’m given a white pair, and Beckham says we’ll put them on when we are rinkside.

Once again, he takes my hand in his and leads me down to the ice. The air is cold, and I kind of regret not wearing a coat over my sweater. I shiver, and Beckham instantly notices.

“Are you cold?” he quickly asks. “Do you want my sweater? I can throw my jersey over my shirt.”

“No, I’ll be fine once we start skating,” I insist.

“I thought you said you can barely skate,” he points out.

I don’t answer him, because I’m distracted by the view before me. We’re walking along a dark tunnel with glass windows on each side, both giving views of the players walking onto the ice, and before us?

The actual rink.

When we exit the tunnel, we’re right at the bench where the Manatees sit during games. I get goose bumps, and it’s not from the frosty air.

I look at the video screen overhead, which has been turned to an image of a fire burning in a fireplace. Just like Megan told me, there’s a Santa down on one end of the ice, but he’s definitely in Miami, as he is flanked by mini palm trees and fake flamingos. Mikey the Manatee is skating around the ice with little kids, who are giggling in delight. Some little ones are playing hockey with the players. And blaring through the arena?

“Christmas Wrapping” by The Waitresses.

“This is perfect!” I cry in delight. “Just perfect! Thank you for bringing me tonight!”

“Of course I was going to bring you,” Beckham says, sounding surprised. “You’re my girl, Georgie.”

If it weren’t slippery, I’d run out to the ice and do a bunch of cartwheels. I love hearing Beckham call me “his girl.”

“Come on, I’ll help you with your skates,” he says, leading me over to the bench. We take a seat, and Beckham introduces me to some more of his teammates, and I greet some of the wives I’ve already met. As I’m taking off my shoes, I see Wyatt and Aidentake seats on the row behind us so they can put on their skates as well.

“How long of an appearance do we need to make before we can leave?” I hear Aiden ask Wyatt.

Beckham dips his head closer to mine. “I’m interested in that answer myself,” he teases.

“Oh, stop it, Grumpy,” I say, kissing his cheek. “I have to at least try to learn how to skate. And we have to have our picture with Santa.”

Beckham groans, but I ignore him.

“Hey, there’s Scarlett,” Wyatt says.

Ooh! I continue unlacing my sneakers, but I’m totally eavesdropping now.

“Where?” I hear Aiden ask.

“On the ice. Red sweater.”

Do not turn around and stare at Aiden. Do not turn around and stare at Aiden.

Instead, I fix my gaze out to the ice and instantly spot Scarlett. Her glossy brown hair is pulled back into a messy knot at the nape of her neck, and she’s wearing a ruby-red turtleneck sweater with a black puffer vest over the top. Scarlett is standing still near the center of the ice, talking to Coach Rivershon.

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