My flipflops squeak against the dirty rug and my nostrils crinkle at the familiar stench of alcohol, sweat, s*x and cheap perfume. I wonder if this is where Alessandro brings all his women, or if my worth was to him was the same as the run down, shady and unkempt hotel that seemed more appropriate for drug dealings and traffickings than hook ups.
Or maybe Alessandro is just a cheap bastard.
We stop at the counter, and despite my aversion to the man in front of me, I step close to him until our sleeves brush. Hungry gazes leer at me from every corner, vicious, predatory. I resist the need to hug my chest and hide myself from them.
I’m dressed decently. It’s not my fault they’re staring at me that way. It’s them. It’s not me. I’m not a w***e. I’m not a slut.
Gum smacks loudly, bringing
