Page 26 of Miami Ice

“Of course I do. And you should, too.”

A silence falls between us, and all I can hear is the waves crashing ashore.

“Georgie?” Beckham finally says.

“Yeah?”

“Want to come with me to look at that house on Monday?”

Chapter Eight

“I didn’t think this through when I said yes,” I declare to Ella as I sit on the sofa, anxiously braiding my hair. It’s Sunday morning, and I’m headed over to my mom and stepdad’s house to work on more jars for my next show. “I’m going to have to tell Mom and Rick I’m dating Beckham Bailey.” I groan. “This is going to beawful.”

Ella is sitting next to me, dipping her spoon into a big bowl of cereal. And by big, I mean she uses a small mixing bowl for her breakfast. Today she’s mixed chocolate Chex and Rice Krispies. That’s an Ella thing. She can never dump one cereal in a bowl and be content with it. She’s like a cereal mixologist in that way.

She takes a bite and appears to chew thoughtfully as she mulls over my comment.

“Yeah, it’s going to suck,” she says. “Mom will be all over this idea of you dating a pro athlete. I can hear the conversation now. ‘Oh, Georgie! Well done! How much money does he make?’”

I scowl as I continue to braid my hair around the top of my head. “And she’s going to be pissed when I’m suddenly not seeing him a month later.”

“Yep.”

I twist my lips in thought. Mom has always pushed Ella and me to try and date men with money. The more, the better. She told us to learn from her mistake in marrying Dad, who wasn’tthe best at saving money. But Mom is extreme in the other way—never wanting to spend anything, either.

“But on the positive side,” Ella continues, “if you throw her off with Beckham, she won’t harass you about how much you’ve sold this weekend.”

“Hmm. That’s a fair point. She’ll be distracted by the potential savings account I could have if I get Beckham to marry me.”

“Well, tell her you’re picking out a house with him tomorrow. That will put her in a cheerful mood for the rest of the month.”

“Oh my God, I will not,” I say, horrified by that prospect. “And I’m going to give my opinion, by the way. That’s all I’m doing.”

“Sure.”

I stop braiding my hair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means it’s weird that he wants your opinion,” Ella says matter-of-factly, taking another bite of her cereal.

“It means he wants someone’s opinion besides Sofia’s,” I say. “He doesn’t have any friends on the team yet, and I think he likes having me to talk to.”

I think back to last night, and how we talked long after he asked me to look at the house with him. Finally, we got off the beach, and Beckham said there was no need for me to call an Uber, he’d be happy to drive me home, but I didn’t want to put him out. He kept arguing with me that it wouldn’t, but I had already ordered the car, and I told him it would be rude to cancel.

Which, of course, made him grumpy. I smile at the memory.

Before I left, we exchanged numbers, and to my surprise, after I was home and washing my face, I got a text from him asking if I got home okay.

There is definitely a gentleman underneath that grumpy, Christmas-hating exterior.

He’s actually kind of swoony, with those dark eyes and inked arms and sweet side that he shows flashes of.

Objectively speaking, of course.

“I still think it’s weird,” Ella declares. “Unless he has an ulterior motive.”

I snort and resume my braiding. “Yes, his ulterior motive is twofold. To look like he has a girlfriend and get someone to provide an objective point of view.”

At least that’s what he told me. He said Sofia is ready for him to buy a house so she and her family can go back home to Atlanta, and she probably wouldn’t be objective about any flaws.

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