Page 55 of Miami Ice

“No!”

“I’m flattered.”

“You shouldn’t be. I’m only curious, and I only think about them when they’re right in front of my face. Besides, if I really wanted to know, I would have googled them.”

He turns on the engine and pulls around the drive to enter the street, remaining silent.

“You’re really not going to tell me?” I ask.

“Nope. And for the record? A Google search will turn up no answers. I don’t tell anyone.”

Fascinating.

I stare at the arm closest to me, trying to work out the details etched in gray ink on his skin. It’s some kind of flower. It starts from his wrist and winds around his forearm. It moves up over his huge bicep muscle and disappears under the sleeve of his T-shirt. “I don’t know what flower that is.”

He turns on his stereo and rap music fills the car. “No? That’s too bad,” he teases.

“Beckham!” I moan. “This is going to drive me crazy!”

He grins.

“You have a maniacal grin on your face!” I accuse.

This makes him roar with laughter. “Perfect. I learned well from your weird nutcrackers.”

I pretend to give him a side-eye, but he just smiles.

“Fine. If you won’t tell me about your ink, will you tell me about the scar on your right cheek?”

“A hockey stick got up under my visor in high school. It was a nasty cut that required stitches. Use that for your origin story, because you aren’t getting the tattoo meaning, Cupcake.”

I blush and he gets another maniacal grin on his face.

“We’ll meet Kinzie at her office,” Beckham says, switching the subject. “She’ll take us to see the house. Sofia found her through the team. Apparently, she’s the real estate agent to the sports stars in Miami.”

Hmm. Beckham has closed down the conversation about his tattoo, but I’m onto something with that flower. I wonder why he keeps it such a secret.

And if he’ll ever tell me what his tattoos mean.

I blink, alarmed by where my thoughts are going. This is a business arrangement, even if I’m having fun with it right now. I don’t need to know this to be his fake girlfriend. I shouldn’t care.

But I do. Which is worrying.

What will happen to me when this all comes to an end in January?

* * *

These houses are jaw-dropping.

I stare out the window from the back seat of Kinzie’s Mercedes. She’s driving us through the secured, posh Miami Beach neighborhood, where the house she thinks is “perfect” for Beckham is located.

It’s one modern mansion after another, many located right on the water with expensive boats docked out back. It’s a world of white and glass and manicured gardens and palm trees.

“I talked to Antoni Nowak,” Kinzie says breezily. “I sold him his home here on your right. If you have any questions about the neighborhood, he’d be happy to talk to you.”

And holy shit, the home on the right is a sprawling contemporary mansion.

My thoughts shift to Antoni.He’s worshipped here in Miami. Like whenever he goes out, he’s mobbed for selfies. I think on this for a moment. I haven’t experienced that with Beckham. Perhaps it’s because he’s new, or perhaps it’s because Miami is all about the Copperheads basketball team right now.

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