"Mm-hmm."
He’s still laughing as he walks away, golf cart keys spinning on one finger, and catch myself memorizing the exact slope of his shoulders.
This is what girlfriends do. Real ones.
You’re just borrowing the role, Jane.
It’s fake. He’s selling it. You’re selling it. Fifty thousand dollars.
I lock the feeling down before it can bloom into something dangerous. Feelings are a liability. I don’t have room for them right now.
As soon as he disappears down the path, I straighten my spine, smooth my hair, and switch my phone to work mode—notifications off, recorder app ready. The woman who just melted into that kiss gets locked in a box labeledDeal With Later.
Professional Jane has a job to do
I turn toward the restaurant, cheeks still warm, and find the ladies already settled at a table.
“Okay, spill,” Sloane demands as soon as I sit down. “What is it really like? Dating a human Adonis who looks at you like you personally hung the moon?”
“You look… thoroughly refreshed.” Merritt sighs dreamily.
Barbie’s gaze flicks to my wrist, where the faint marks are barely visible. "Busy night?"
The other bridesmaids drift closer, eyes alight with curiosity and poorly concealed amusement.
“Is he into bondage?” Sloane asks, nodding toward my wrist. “Because those marks—”
“BLAKE,” I yelp, a little too loud. A passing waiter jumps.
Then I whisper-hiss, “Blake grabbed me. Not—West didn’t—there was no tying—no ropes—absolutely no knots of any kind.”
Sloane grins, utterly unrepentant. “But you’ve thought about it.”
I groan. “Can we please,” I say, pressing my palms to the table, “focus on the unfaithful groom who accosted me instead of my theoretical interest in maritime-themed restraint?”
The table sobers instantly.
"Okay, tell us what happened with Blake?" Katelyn's eyes go wide.
I give them the abbreviated version: Blake cornering me on the beach, the grab, West's intervention, the punch.
I leave out the part where my heart nearly exploded watching West defend me, because that feels too raw, too real.
I mention Blake's flower basket apology thismorning—the narcissistic note, West yeeting the whole thing into the jungle.
By the time I finish, Sloane is leaning forward, Merritt looks horrified, and Katelyn's knuckles are white around her mimosa glass.
"That absolute piece of—" Sloane starts.
"Two days before his wedding," Katelyn breathes. "He tried to—"
Merritt sets down her mimosa with a deep frown.
"Well, that certainly complicates things. Blake's not going to risk another confrontation with West around."
Barbie angles toward me, all curiosity. So. What’s the plan now? How are you getting close enough to catch him?”
Four pairs of eyes turn to look at me.
