Page 60 of Miami Ice

I might need to put this on a Post-it note and stick it to my mirror, so I keep it top of mind when I wake up every day.

I’ll also need Post-it notes for my car, my phone, my microwave, my remote control. I need them everywhere to tell me this is a business arrangement and Beckham is doing a very good part of pretending to be my boyfriend.

We finish dinner, and by the end of it, Sofia has laid out the next two weeks. Beckham flies out tomorrow, plays in Orlando on Wednesday and returns home that night. He is off Friday and Saturday, and travels out again on Sunday for back-to-back road games on Monday and Tuesday. Then Beckham is off until his next home game on Friday night.

So we’re together on Thanksgiving, all day long, between my family celebrations and finishing with his. We hard launch. I go to the game on Friday night, more pictures are posted. Saturday, Beckham comes to my craft show. Sunday, we should do something like brunch, for more photo ops. Then he has a home stretch of games before he hits the road again.

After Sofia is satisfied with the schedule, we hang out in the living room and play with the girls after they have had their bath. Beckham reads them books, and my stupid heart can’t help but melt as we each have a girl in our lap, with him reading one Peppa Pig adventure after another—complete with unique voices for each character.

I’m so in over my head right now.

And my heart seems determined to follow it down this dangerous path.

Beckham finishes up another book, and Sofia comes over to the sofa.

“Girls, it’s time for bed. Say goodnight to Uncle Beckham and Georgie,” she instructs.

Lucy and Stella protest this mandate, and once again he scoops both of them up and gives them big smooches on their little cheeks. “I’ll see you this week, I promise,” he reassures him.

“Georgie, hug!” Lucy cries, throwing her arms out to me.

I bend down and envelope her tiny body in my arms. “We’ll do Elsa braids when I see you next,” I promise her.

“Yes!” she cries excitedly.

“Me too, hug!” Stella says.

I hug her too, inhaling the sweet scent of bubble bath on her skin. “Bye, Stella.”

After Sofia and Aaron have returned from putting the girls to bed, Beckham stretches and unfolds his massive frame off the sofa.

“Come on, Cupcake, I should get you home,” he says.

We say goodbye to Aaron and Sofia, and head outside in the balmy night air to Beckham’s Bronco.

“Well, you survived that well enough. You almost acted like what Sofia was talking about was normal,” he says.

“It’s not normal, but it’s not hard to go along with.”

Beckham pauses at the passenger door, opening it for me. “It’s not?” he asks, his large eyes zeroed in on me.

Once again, I feel flustered inside. I don’t know how to answer this without revealing that I’m starting to have conflicting feelings about this arrangement.

“No,” I say simply, “it’s not.”

His eyes continue to search mine. I feel my pulse quicken. Then he nods and steps back to let me climb up into the passenger seat before closing the door after me.

My pulse is still fast as Beckham walks around to the driver’s side and gets in. He’s reaching for his seat belt when an unanswered question comes to mind. As he starts the engine, I decide to ask it.

“Why don’t you want me wearing a tube top to the game next Friday?”

The scowl is so deep on his face, I can’t help but laugh. “Maybe the better question is, why does that idea make you so grumpy?”

“I’m not being grumpy about it.”

“Would you stop? You’re being completely grumpy about the idea. But why do you care?”

“It’s not you,” he says quickly, pulling out of the drive and hitting the button for the security gate at the end of the driveway.

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