Page 52 of Miami Ice

Of course, the crowning jewel of my outfit today is my T-shirt. Because it’s not an ordinary T-shirt.

It’s a pink T-shirt that has “MERRY” embroidered across it.

I grin. I can’t help it, it’s so much fun to push Beckham’s buttons. I take one final sip of my coffee and look around my decked-out kitchen and living room.

If this doesn’t push Beckham’s buttons, nothing will.

Suddenly there’s a rap against the door. Winston barks and makes his way over to it, and I feel more butterflies in my stomach than I ever have in my life. “Coming,” I call out.

“Waiting!” Beckham calls back.

I get goose bumps as soon as I hear his deep voice.

Pull it together, Georgie, I will myself.

Before I open the door, I tell Winston to sit and be quiet. He quickly obeys because, well, he’s the world’s most perfect dog.

And he’s had loads of behavior classes.

Let’s just say it took him more than one time to pass, but once he did, he’s been a model of good behavior ever since.

I unlock the door and pull it open, ready to greet Beckham and let him inside.

As soon as I do, I feel as if the wind had been knocked from me.

Oh my.There’s no pulling myself together now.

Beckham has come from practice, and he’s wearing a gray “Manatees Hockey” T-shirt that stretches across his muscled chest. His inked arms are visible, and today he’s put on a pair of black athletic shorts. His footwear? Flip-flops.

But what has completely upended me and caused my pulse to skyrocket?

He’s wearing a backward Manatees baseball hat.

I can’t explain it. It’s stupid. It’s ahat.

There’s just something endearing and attractive about Beckham in a hat.

When my gaze meets his, he’s practically smirking back at me. My cheeks and neck quickly grow hot.

“Merry. Of course,” he says, the corners of his mouth tipping up in amusement.

I use the moment to reset my mind and forget how attractive I find him right now.

“I am merry,” I say cheerfully, smiling at him. “Are you ready?”

“Ready?” he asks, furrowing his brow.

“Ready for my Christmas-infused apartment?” I tease, ushering him inside.

Beckham steps past me, and this time, I get the scent of his cologne mingling with the scent of soap. Like he just stepped from a shower.

Which, to be fair, he probably did.

“Winston!” he says excitedly.

The butterflies dance at his eager response to meeting my dog.

I grin. “Yes, that’s him.”

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