Chapter 7 Beauty, Beast, and Bunny #2
Sloane’s fork pauses midair. Merritt blinks. Katelyn’s grin widens into something that borders on maniacal.
“Since when?” Barbie demands.
“Since…” I glance at West. “Recently. Very recently.”
“How recently?” Sloane presses.
“Does it matter?” West’s voice is calm, unbothered. “We’re together. We’re keeping it low-key because of all the wedding chaos, but—yeah. We’re together.”
He doesn’t look at me. “And I know what you’re doing here.”
All four ladies shoot me a look.
"So," Barbie, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Does this mean you're staying in his casita now?"
"I—we—" I flounder.
"She is," West says calmly.
The bridesmaids exchange knowing looks.
"Good," Barbie says. "Because Blake's been circling like a shark, and I was starting to worry we'd have to run interference."
“He’s been well-behaved,” I say. “It’s Scarlett who’s been acting weird. West and I think we can use that to our advantage.”
West’s thumb strokes the back of my hand—assuring. We’re on this together.
But before I can let the bridesmaids in on the plan, Barbie’s phone buzzes.
She glances at it, then stands. “Alright, ladies. Natalie’s mom is freaking out about the dress. Natalie’s calling in the brigade for rescue.” She looks at me. “Jane, don’t forget why you’re here. Our priority is Natalie’s happiness. We have four days. Make them count.”
The bridesmaids disperse in a flurry of linen and expensive perfume, leaving West and me alone at the table.
He’s still holding my hand.
“That went well,” he says.
“Did it? Because I feel like I just lied to four women who are paying me to uncover the truth.”
“Come on.” His voice is quiet. “We have two hours before Vivienne. Let’s not waste them spiraling.”
“What do you suggest?”
His mouth curves—slow, wicked, devastating. “I can think of a few ways to pass the time.”
Heat floods through me. “West—”
“Relax, Cooper.” His tone is maddeningly innocent. “I meant a strategy meeting about Scarlett on the beach. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“My mind is exactly where you put it.”
He laughs, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Later. I promise. But first—sun, sand, and pretending we’re normal people on vacation.”
“We’re not normal people.”
“I know.” His hand slides down to link with mine. “But we can pretend.”
At 2:06 p.m., I’m lurking behind a decorative palm near the pool bar, watching West make polite conversation with a woman who looks like she stepped out of a Ralph Lauren ad.
Vivienne Grant is tall, blonde, effortlessly elegant. Cream linen. Actual pearls. In daylight. By a pool.
She fits here. She fits him.
There’s something almost unfairly balanced about the way they look together—her polished calm beside his quiet, contained intensity.
Beauty and the beast, if the beast wore tailored shorts and looked like he could dismantle a room with one glance.
The kind of pairing people point to and say, Of course.
For one uncomfortable second, I wonder if this is what happiness looks like for him. Easy. Appropriate. Approved.
Then she leans in a little too close, laughs a little too brightly, and touches his forearm in that way women do when they’re one hundred percent interested and zero percent subtle about it.
And the moment passes, because West Prescott—credit where it’s due—looks like he’s enduring a root canal.
“—and I just adore hockey,” Vivienne is saying. “The speed, the athleticism, the—” She pauses, her smile turning coy. “—physicality.”
My jaw tightens.
“It’s a demanding sport,” West says neutrally.
“I imagine retirement will be an adjustment. But Eleanor mentioned you’d be joining Prescott Law Group?” Her voice lifts with interest. “That’s so exciting. I’ve always thought athletes make excellent litigators. All that strategic thinking.”
West’s jaw ticks. Just once. Just enough.
“My mother’s optimistic,” he says carefully. “But I haven’t made any decisions.”
“Oh, but you must have thought about it. Family legacy, stability, a chance to build something meaningful beyond the rink…” She shifts closer, lowering her voice. “Eleanor and I were discussing the timeline just last week. She thinks a spring start would be ideal. After the season ends.”
My hands curl into fists.
She’s planning his life. Talking about his future like it’s already decided. Like he’s a chess piece she and Eleanor are moving around the board.
And West—steady, controlled West—looks like he’d rather dive into the pool and somehow swim to another island.
I should let this play out. Should stay hidden. Should let him handle it.
But then Vivienne touches his arm again, her fingers lingering, and something in me snaps.
Oh hell no.
I step out from behind the palm, adjust my sunglasses, and channel every bad Lifetime movie I've ever watched about obsessed fans.
Time to earn my keep.
"WEST!" I practically shriek it.
Both of them turn. West's eyes widen in what I can only describe as preemptive horror.
Vivienne, on the other hand, looks like she just smelled something unpleasant.
Perfect.
I speed-walk toward them—not running, because that would be undignified, but moving with the focused intensity of a woman on a mission.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt," I gush, not sorry at all, sliding into the seat next to West before anyone can stop me. "I just had to say hi. I've been looking everywhere for you."
"Jane." West's voice is cautious. "This is Vivienne Grant. Vivienne, this is—"
"Oh my gosh, Vivienne!" I turn my full attention on her, ignoring West completely.
Vivienne shakes my hand cautiously. "Vivienne Grant. I'm a friend of Eleanor's."
"Oh, Eleanor! West's mom! She's amazing. So elegant. So..." I wave vaguely. "Tall."
West makes a sound like he's swallowed his tongue.
I turn to him, eyes wide with manufactured enthusiasm. "Babe, I didn't know you were meeting people! I thought we were supposed to—" I lower my voice conspiratorially, loud enough for Vivienne to hear. "You know. After this morning."
Vivienne's smile tightens.
West's face is a mask of restrained panic.
"Jane—" he starts.
"No, no, it's fine!" I wave him off. "I'll just wait. I don't mind. I love watching you interact with people. It's like—" I sigh dramatically. "It's like watching poetry. Strong, athletic poetry."
Then I put on my widest smile and beam at Vivienne. "Anyways, about his mom, I hope you’re not here asking West to give up hockey too."
Vivienne's smile goes sharp. "I wouldn't say give up. More like... transition to something with more longevity."
"Right, right. Because hockey's so temporary." I wave my hand dismissively, and West's knee presses against mine under the table—warning or encouragement, I can't tell.
"I mean, I get it. All that hitting and body-slamming. It's so violent."
"Body-checking," West corrects quietly.
I ignore him. "But the thing is, Vivienne—can I call you Viv?"
"Vivienne is fine."
"The thing is, Vivienne, West is amazing at hockey. Like, truly gifted. Have you seen him play?"
"I've watched several games—"
"Then you know! The way he skates, the way he handles the stick—" I lean in, dropping my voice to a stage whisper that definitely carries. "Between you and me, the stick-handling is unreal.”
West makes a choking sound that might be a laugh.
Vivienne's expression is frozen somewhere between polite and horrified. "I'm sure he's very skilled—"
"Skilled doesn't even cover it." I'm on a roll now, my hands gesturing wildly. "And his teammates? Oh my gosh, the teamwork, the homeruns. Have you met Connor? And Jake? Those boys know how to work together, if you know what I mean."
"I'm not sure I—"
"One girl, three guys, moving like a well-oiled machine." I giggle, high and manic.
"I’m not just a puck bunny—I’m Team puck bunny. Living the Why Choose dream. Really makes you appreciate the sport, you know?"
West's hand lands on my thigh under the table, squeezing hard. I ignore it.
Vivienne is staring at me like I've grown a second head. "Miss—"
"Jane! But everyone calls me West's number one fan." I beam at her. "I've been following his career for years. I have his jersey. The home one and the away one. I sleep in the away one. Smells like him."
"It doesn't," West mutters.
“I even have a tattoo, right here!” I giggle and point vaguely towards my hip. “Like I said, his teammate, Connor’s jersey number, SIXTY-NINE! Want to see? It’s on my… my lady garden! You know, the special place!”
“West loves my lady garden. Says it’s his favorite place to… you know. Park the Zamboni.” I wink exaggeratedly at Vivienne.
West makes a strangled sound. His face has gone an impressive shade of red. Vivienne looks physically alarmed.
I sigh dramatically. "Look, Vivienne, I know you mean well, but asking West to give up hockey? That's like asking him to give up breathing. Or me."
"I wasn't aware you and West were—"
"Oh, we're not exclusive." I wave my hand again, nearly knocking over my drink. "West likes variety. Don't you, baby?"
"Jane—" West's voice holds a sharp warning.
"He's got options," I continue, steamrolling over him. "Lots of options. Girls in every city. It's actually kind of exhausting keeping track, but I'm his favorite puck bunny, so it's fine."
Vivienne's expression has shifted from polite interest to active concern. "I see."
"Do you?" I tilt my head, letting my smile go just a little unhinged. "Because being with a hockey player isn't easy, Vivienne. The schedule alone is brutal. All those road games. All those puck bunnies throwing themselves at him. And the injuries—oh my gosh, the injuries."
"I'm sure—"
"Last season, he broke a finger. Two months ago, it's his ribs. What’s next, maybe his beautiful face." I reach up, patting West's cheek a little too hard. "I worry about this face."
West catches my hand. “I think Vivienne gets the picture.”
"Does she?" I smile sweetly. "Here's the thing, Viv—I mean, Vivienne. West hasn’t decide to go back to law."
Vivienne stiffens. "Miss Jane—"