Chapter 25 Greased & Fucked In Room Seven--I

• The motel reeked of mildew and cheap cleaner, the neon “Vacancy” sign buzzing like it had a secret. She parked two spaces down from Room 7 like always, hands gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles ached. Her husband thought she was at yoga.
• She wore a soft pink sweater and jeans that hugged her hips, wedding ring still on. The wife look. Safe, sweet, dependable. No one would guess she was about to get her mouth fucked until her lipstick smeared, or that the man waiting behind that motel door would leave her thighs sticky and trembling.
• He didn’t text. Didn’t need to. Every Tuesday, same time, same room. And she always came back.