Page 34 of Miami Ice

“Hmm. That isveryinteresting,” she says slowly.

And then she doesn’t say anything else.

Now I’m wondering why this is interesting. But it appears Sofia is content to leave it at that, so I shift my attention back to the ice, watching Beckham as he practices shooting the puck into the net. Up close and in person, I have a whole new appreciation for the game. I see how fast the players move and how hard that puck hits the glass and boards. I can’t even imagine how bad it would hurt if you got hit by it.

Finally, the players skate off the ice, as the warm-up period is over. We make our way to the private lounge, taking the elevator down to the rink level and showing our credentials to allow access to this part of the arena. I take everything in—I’m having one of those “so this is how the other half lives” experiences.

“When you go to games,” Sofia says as we walk through the cavernous arena, “you can come down here to eat, as wellas hang out in the family lounge with the other wives and girlfriends.”

WHAT?

You can practically play the sound of a vinyl record abruptly screeching in my head.

“I’m sorry?” I ask, blinking. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t worry, you won’t have to go to every game, but a few would be good. And you’ll need to sit in that section with them. But look at it this way, Georgie. It’s only for a month. You might even sell some jars!”

Inside, I’m cringing.More people I’ll be lying to, I think with regret.

“I can see you’re concerned, but don’t be,” Sofia says quietly, so only I can hear. “You’ll merely be the woman he’s dating, and before you know it, it will be New Year’s, and you two will agree to a very amicable breakup and end things as friends.”

Now we’re all showing our tickets and credentials at the hostess stand outside the restaurant, and a wristband is placed around my wrist. As soon as we step inside, I’m amazed to find a beautiful restaurant. There’s a packed bar, where people are sipping on drinks and watching the Manatees pregame show, which is being shown on nearly every flat-screen TV in the place. There’s a large buffet against one wall, filled with all kinds of chafing dishes and offerings for dinner.

“Do you want to go sit with the girls and I’ll start getting their food?” Sofia asks Aaron.

“Oh, I could sit with them if you like,” I volunteer.

They both look gratefully at me. “Thank you, that would be lovely,” Sofia says.

“Sure! Stella, Lucy, want to come sit with me?” I ask, taking each of them by the hand.

I feel two small hands link with mine, and I lead them over to a vacant table, helping each girl slide into the booth.

“I’m hungry,” Lucy says.

“Uncle Beckham!” Stella cries, pointing at the TV.

I follow where she’s pointing, and sure enough, they’re showing some footage of Beckham on the ice earlier, with some statistics on the side. “Yes, that’s him,” I say, smiling at Stella.

“He plays hockey,” Lucy tells me.

I grin. I bet she knows more about hockey than I do.

My phone buzzes inside my tote. I retrieve it and swipe it open, and to my complete surprise, I see it’s Beckham:

Those nutcrackers on your shirt look maniacal.

I burst out laughing.

Beckham Bailey is typing …

They are about as disturbing as Santa.

I send him a quick reply:

Aren’t you supposed to be working right now?

Beckham Bailey is typing …

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