Page 29 of Miami Ice

Two more people I need to tell about my insta-love with Beckham.

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

I open the door to my room and flip on the light. Sunlight streams in from the large windows, and I take in my workspace. IKEA shelving lines one wall, filled with all my jars. I have a large worktable on the other wall that holds my supplies. I put my bags down on the floor and have a seat at the table, thinkingabout things I could do with the one hundred thousand dollars I will receive in January once this arrangement is completed.

I could rent space for an artist’s studio,I think.

That would be fantastic. A space that would be free of Mom and Rick, where I could work every day and not worry about being criticized for what I’m doing. That would be so liberating and so good for my mental health. I pull out my phone and do a quick search, and I immediately find a collaborative art space in Miami. It’s got month-to-month rent, open twenty-four hours a day, and is not even far from my apartment. Excitement begins to stir in me. This is exactly what I need.

And in January, I could have it.

I pull out my laptop and open it, looking over my notes from where I left off on Wednesday, the last day I was here in the studio. I have a big Christmas show the Saturday after Thanksgiving. I’m going over what inventory to bring when my phone buzzes beside me.

I glance down just to see who it is, but when I do, I freeze.

The text is from Beckham.

My heart does that jumpy thing again, and I pick up the phone to read his message:

Hey, Cupcake. Sofia thinks you should come to my game tonight as part of getting ready to launch. Are you available? No big deal if you can’t, I know this is last minute. Puck drops at 6:30, but if you want to watch warm-ups, you’ll need to be there earlier. You can meet Sofia and her husband Aaron there, and she’ll show you around and give you your credential. If you go, that is. I’m on my way to the rink for morning skate, but just drop me a message whenever you get this.

—Becks.

P.S. No need to wear a gift tag around your neck for this one.

Multiple things are happening in me at once. Go to his hockey game? As his guest? Fake girlfriend?

His nickname is Becks?

I grin. Oh no, he’s not going to be called that by me.

Also, he’s not getting away with that gift tag comment.

And why do I feel butterflies in my stomach about going to his game tonight?

I put the butterflies away with my mom’s comments because they are just as stupid as the stuff she says to me whenever I walk through the front door. I text him back:

Hey, Grumpy! I can report for duty as your girlfriend tonight. Just tell me where to go and what to do. I’ll text Sofia as well and ask her what I should wear for the occasion. My ribbon-and-pearl necklace will not be worn this evening, and that’s almost a shame because it’s a gorgeous STATEMENT NECKLACE.

I bite my lip as I wait for his response. Why do I feel so excited?

Because you’ve never been to a hockey game,I assure myself.

Finally, Beckham’s reply drops in:

That gift tag made a statement all right. As in BIG ASS GIFT TAG. Thanks for making the game tonight. I’ll see you on the glass before the game.

—BECKS (No matter WHAT you call me, it’s BECKS.)

I smile as I read his text. I have no idea what “on the glass” means, but I assume it’s in the arena.

And I might just have to wear my gift tag tonight just for him, I think with a mischievous grin.

Chapter Nine

“You arenotwearing that tonight,” Ella groans as I walk into the living room. “Jordan. Tell her that is not what a hockey player’s girlfriend would wear to a game!”

I grin wickedly as Winston follows me into the room, taking his tennis ball straight to one of his favorite people in the whole world—Ella’s boyfriend, Jordan. He arrived while I was getting ready for my debut as Beckham’s girlfriend tonight.

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