I threw the remote onto the couch, lifted her off me, then—as soon as her back was turned and she’d scampered off—I adjusted myself.
A few times.
Jesus.
How in God’s name was I going to survive living with her for the rest of the season?
Lexi had immediately turned it to the reality show.
They were done with our scandalous story—I hoped.
Now, they were tearing into Mom and Wes.
And wow—was there a lot of story there.
I knew they’d had history.
Wes stated that.
I didn’t realize the depth of it.
They showed pictures from way back when.
“Gosh, they’re so young,” Lexi kept saying as she wrung her hands together.
I wanted to point out they weren’t that much older than she currently was—but I didn’t.
This was a lot for me to take in, and I was thirty-three.
Lexi was only twenty-two.
It had to hit her harder.
“Wow, Marco, those pictures were taken—when?” Lola Lopez asked her co-host.
Marco stated the year.
And ice ran through my veins.
“Okay, so I’m no mathematician—” Lola said, her eyebrows raised high, “but wasn’t that thirty-four years ago?”
Marco confirmed that. “It is, Lola, you’re correct.”
“Uh, huh,” she paused and tilted her head, “and how old is Trey Turner?”
Lexi’s head swung toward me so quickly—it nearly flew right off.
“Oh,” she said with her eyes and mouth open wide, “my,” she gasped, “gosh!”
Marco’s voice announced, “I believe he’s thirty-three, Lola.”
“I’m going to actually barf.” Lexi held her stomach right before her face screwed up.
I would have thought she was cute—except for the fact that my stomach was currently roiling.
The blood pulsed through my veins in deep, loud whooshing beats.
I couldn’t even hear over the throbbing in my ears.