Page 80 of Miami Ice

He clears his throat and shifts his attention to driving. He eases into the parking spot on the street. I feel dizzy fromwhere our conversation was headed. My heart hasn’t stopped hammering inside my chest, and my stomach has tipped upside down with excitement.

He turns off the engine but doesn’t move.

Neither do I. I swear I can hear my heart beating now.

“Georgie?”

I look at him.

Beckham’s dark brown eyes laser in on mine. “Do you believe in our hard launch on Thanksgiving?”

I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”

“I think I’d rather soft launch. With you. Tonight.”

Chapter Nineteen

I stare at Beckham, stunned by his words.

I think I’d rather soft launch. With you. Tonight.

“What do you mean by that?” I ask, my pulse pounding in my ears. My heart is hoping it’s one thing, but my head can’t help but wonder if it’s another and I’m only hearing things in the context I want to hear them. So I decide to be a grown up and ask him directly. “What do you want from me, Beckham?”

He blinks. There’s a look of panic that has filtered across his face, and my stomach instantly sinks.

“Never mind,” he says quickly. “Forget I said anything.”

We’ve gone from “I didn’t know any of it mattered until I met you” to “never mind.”

Now my heart sinks along with my stomach.

But as soon as I feel that sensation, hurt and anger begin to build within me. I don’t know how to interpret his actions or words. I’m getting whiplash trying to figure them out.

“You know what? I don’t have to do this,” I blurt out. “In fact, I won’t.”

Beckham’s head jerks back in shock. “What?”

I’m equally shocked, as I’ve never spoken like this in my life. I’m good at keeping things hidden when it comes to being upset. I hate conflict, it gives me anxiety. I just stuff it down and put it away.

Yet a voice inside is urging me to tell Beckham what I think, no matter what the consequences might be. And I follow it.

“This. You say one thing, you do another. I thought—just now—that you might like me. Want to take a chance on me, on maybe dating for real. But when I asked you what you wanted, you took it back. If that’s what you want, fine. But this”—I gesture with my hand in a back-and-forth motion—“this can’t continue. I will fake date you. But that is all. I refuse to play this game with you because I deserve better. Have Sofia text me where to be on Thanksgiving and I will see you there.”

Then, to my own surprise, I get out of the car, slam the door shut, and begin walking down the sidewalk.

“Georgie!”

I wince the second I hear Beckham yell after me, but I keep walking as fast as I can in these stupid heels. And let’s be real. The man is a professional athlete. I can’t outrun him, even if I were wearing a pair of adidas. Soon I hear his footsteps, and then his hand lands on my arm, turning me around.

“Georgie! You have this all wrong,” he says urgently, his eyes searching mine.

“I don’t see how.”

Beckham puts both his hands on my arms now, holding me in place. “Idowant to date you,” he says, his eyes flashing. “I do. For real. But when you asked me what I wanted, I realized I was asking you to date me in my car, in the early hours of the morning on a Thursday, outside of a freaking pizza place filled with drunk bar-hoppers. I—I wanted to do better. Because you’re right, you do deserve better. I wanted to ask you in a better place, at a better time, and put some damn thought into it. So I blurted out the first thing I could think of.”

I feel my mouth fall open in shock.

“There are no more mixed signals, Georgie. I’ve been fighting a pull to you since the moment you walked into that dinner witha gift tag around your neck. I’m mystified by the way you braid your hair without a mirror. I’m amazed at the art you can do. I’m appalled at the amount of Christmas in your apartment, and outside of hockey, you’re all I think about. I love the way you see me. You make me laugh. You push me. And when I think about another guy dating you, I about lose my mind. BecauseIwant to date you. The man you date should beme.Not fake. But for real. Tell me you want that, Georgie. Tell me.”

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