Rita lingered outside the tall, neon-lit building, her palms sweaty despite the cold night breeze. The name ‘Steamy Nights’ glowed like an invitation card from way off the edge of town—the sign screwed at the top of the building, above tinted glass doors that revealed nothing of what was inside.

Her friends had practically shoved her into the cab, swearing this was “exactly what she needed.” Rita wasn’t so sure.

She stood there, hugging her bag against her chest, chewing her lip as though stalling would change her sad predicament .Sex motels were not her thing. Hell, sex itself wasn’t really her thing anymore, it was more of a hate...