4
Trey
We both retreated to our apartments and showered, changed, and got ready.
Thank God, my pills were kicking in. Lexi had put me through quite the workout the last two days—and my back had been screaming.
I sat and waited for her by the pool.
And since she took forever to get ready, it gave me plenty of time to scroll through social media—and see the dumpster fire happening there.
Anyone logging in there could see highlights—and lowlights—of how our evening progressed.
Honest to God, there was so much posted.
I wouldn’t have been surprised if our wedding night at the hotel was somehow up there, too.
Part of me wished I’d taken some video of that—it was a great night.
One that I’d never forget.
Nothing I ever wanted anyone else to see.
Christ, I didn’t want anyone to see any part of that night.
Not the dancing.
Not the kissing.
Not the wedding.
Not the tattoo parlor.
Not us giggling as we stumbled into the hotel in the early hours.
Certainly not us making out like demons in the elevator ride up to our honeymoon suite.
And, absolutely not us going hot and heavy in the back of the cab on the ride home—two days later.
That cab driver was a fucking scumbag.
If we didn’t have an unexpected field trip to Angelique and Marcel’s house—I’d hunt down the perv of a driver who recorded us.
“Piece of shit,” I mumbled to myself before I logged off all my social media.
I couldn’t look at it anymore.
Every second I was on, I only got more, and more furious.
The sound of a door slamming shut got my attention.
When I gazed up, I saw Lexi finally emerging from her apartment.
Christ.
She was beautiful.
Her hair was down, in long, blonde waves—resting on top of a slouchy, pink knit sweater.