JESSA

The hotel was nicer than anywhere I'd ever been.

Not fancy-fancy, but nice. Clean. The kind of place where they had those little bottles of shampoo and conditioner in the bathroom and the sheets actually smelled like they'd been washed.

Cameron had texted me the room number an hour ago. Room 412.

I stood outside the door at 6:58 PM, trying to calm my racing heart.

This was different from the car. That had been desperate, frantic, born out of eight weeks of unbearable tension finally snapping. We'd barely gotten our clothes off. It had been over in minutes.

This was planned. Deliberate. He'd gotten a hotel room. We...