Page 35 of Miami Ice

We have time before we get ready. Make sure you ask Sofia where to go after the game so I can meet you and take you home. Like a nice boyfriend would do.

I grin at that and message him just as Aaron returns to the table with two plates of food for the girls.

Don’t worry, I’ll be exactly where I’m supposed to be, and I won’t be late. We can even take a selfie for our memory book of the first time I attended one of your games. I’ll collect all kinds of pictures and have them printed into a photo book as a keepsake of our Christmas romance.

Beckham Bailey is typing …

Are you trying to make me throw up before the game starts?

I excuse myself and get up from the table, heading in the direction of the buffet, but I can’t tear myself away from this conversation just yet. I knew Beckham would recoil from theidea of the photo memory book, which is exactly why I said it. I’m having way too much fun teasing him to give that up.

I’m about to send him one more reply before I get something to eat, but Beckham beats me to it:

How brave are you, Cupcake?

Huh? What does that mean?

Again, he sends me another message before I can reply:

I mean, you’ll have your maniacal nutcrackers to defend you, so keep that in mind.

Where is he going with this? I text him back:

What are you asking me, Grumpy?

Beckham Bailey is typing …

I’m asking you to go out with me after the game, Cupcake. What do you say?

Chapter Ten

I stare at Beckham’s text, stunned by his question. My pulse quickens, and my stomach gets all fluttery inside.

He asked me to go out with him.

Wait. Stop. NO.

He’s not being serious.

My senses return to normal, and I draw a breath of air to reset my head. Beckham is obviously taking great joy in messing with me like I am with him, and that’s all this is.

So why do I feel disappointed as this realization hits me?

I blink. Disappointed? How can I feel that? Beckham is only playing a part here, and he’s not the kind of guy I’d ever date in the real world.

Remember that Beckham,I sternly remind myself.

I decide to give him a reply before I get my dinner:

Okay. We can go out if YOU dare. Because I will not step foot inside a bar or club with you. If there’s a DJ spinning or bottle service involved? You’re on your own, Grumpy.

There. That should crack him up. I drop my phone back into my tote and head over to the buffet. I pick up a plate and begin to ponder the offerings. You can tell it’s the week before Thanksgiving because the menu decidedly falls on the holidayside of things. There’s a spiral-cut ham with an apricot glaze. Roast turkey and gravy and prime rib …

I opt for the ham, knowing I’ll get more than enough turkey next week. After all, I now have three Thanksgivings to attend. Mom’s, Dad’s, and one with Beckham.

Buzz!

My stomach tingles again. I know Beckham has replied, but I’m not going to look at my phone until I’m back at the table. I continue to fill my plate, and ooh, they have brioche rolls. I grab two of those and then some green beans and mashed potatoes. There. I can eat all this and sit like a lump in my seat the rest of the night, then go home and change into my Christmas pajamas, and find some holiday movie to fall asleep to.

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