4. Roth

The knockingon my door was unpleasant.

I'd never really been a morning person, which was why most of my jobs were second shift. Amadeus barked once. A sleepy little sound that made me smile despite the rapping on my chamber door. Feeling it was an ungodly hour—a soul just senses these things—I sat up, removed my sleeping mask, and hissed like a vampire at the sun streaming into the suite. Not just a room, oh no, a suite. With all kinds of space, a window that overlooked the pool, and a separate sleeping area. A lush one with a monstrous bed so big Amadeus had to come looking for me amid the lacy sheets and thick duvet as if I'd been in another state. We were both used to being curled up in a twin bed.

The rapping continued, floating through the open door to the other room which held a desk, fridge, and a tiny kitchen fully stocked with food. Pricy snacks, small bottles of bubbly, and some designer dog treats in fancy glass jars with gingham lids. I'd tried several human treats last night and then prayed that snacks were part of the meals that had been mentioned as being covered.

"Coming," I called while tossing aside several sheets that smelled like freshly cut grass. Amadeus was lying on one of a dozen pillows, his tail wagging, so I leaned down to get a morning kiss.

"Oof, buddy, you need a breath mint," I said, smooched his cold nose, and then pit-patted out to see who was at my door at this time of the morning. What time was it? I glanced around and spotted a small clock on the desk. My eyes flared. Seven o'clock?! What kind of monster got up and came a knocking at seven in the morning?!

Feeling more than a bit miffed, I stormed to the door, ready to give a piece of my mind to whomever it was. When I went to my toes to peek through the peephole…oh. It was Paul.

Shit. And I looked like I'd just woken up. Which I had, but still it was not the look I wanted Mr. Paul Sexy Ginger Bearded Hunk Rocha to see. He had to see me looking my best so he would keep me here for the full four days.

"Yes?" I called through the crack of the door. "It's very early."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just came up from the gym and thought…" Pressing my ear to the door, I waited for him to continue. When he didn't, I went back to tiptoes to see if he had been kidnapped or something. Nope, he was still there, looking sweaty and all kinds of yummy, in a tank top that showed off wide, freckled shoulders.

"Paul?" I called through the crack.

"Sorry, I forgot how to use my words," he confessed, which I found incredibly cute.

"I'm not presentable," I told him as I pulled my little sleep shorts up on the left. The elastic was slightly worn, but they were so sunny with tiny flamingos and palm fronds I had to pack them.

"Oh, okay. Me either, really." Another pregnant pause. Like elephant pregnancy duration. "Would you like to meet up for breakfast in say fifteen minutes?"

I laughed. "Oh, Paul, it will take me an hour to get ready."

"Oh." He sounded genuinely deflated.

"Normally! But for you, I'll hurry because you're so cute and dotted."

"Dotted?"

"Yes, dotted, just like a wee Dalmatian pup. Meet me here in thirty minutes!"

"Oh, okay, sure. Thirty minutes. Are you dressing up?" he asked, his voice now closer to the door. I smiled to myself and then leaned my shoulder to the jamb.

"No, just making sure I look like a million bucks for my companion."

"Okay, that's…I like that. Sure. See you in half an hour. I'll knock."

"And I'll answer!"

He tapped the door softly and ambled away. I knew because I peeked through the peephole. Then I raced into the bedroom with such a cry Amadeus shot up from his pillow, barked at the insanity, and then tumbled off his princely poof to the blankets with a snort.

"I'll take you out in a wee bit to wee. Ha! Wee, wee, wee. To the showers!" I shouted and entered the cavernous bath.

My bedroom back home was smaller than this bathroom, and not nearly as luxurious. I'd spent fifteen minutes in here last night just touching the towels and sniffing the tiny bottles of body wash and shampoo. Designer names abounded. The floor was warming as were the towel racks. The shower was massive, easily big enough for two, not that I dared to let my mind wander to that. Paul was a nice man who only wanted an escort for an awards ceremony. He was not into men such as me. That was made pretty clear last night when he'd stared at me in shock and mild disgust in the lobby. I got it. It was tough to find men who were into femme guys. When I'd seen his shock, I was a little hurt but not so much. I'd lived through that experience a dozen or more times with guys. Most dating apps were pretty clear. No femmes and masc only were common as crows. Were crows common? Yes, I thought they were. Clever but common. Maybe I'd just stolen his senses last night, and that reaction had not been aversion or distaste at all!

Are you being a clever crow, right now, Roth, or are you being a dopey dodo?

I skidded to a halt in front of the mirror over the deep white sink, then heaved a sigh. Right. I was being a dopey dodo. Paul had no interest in me. His horrified reaction when we'd met had been clear enough. Probably he stopped after his workout to simply be polite to the man he was paying tons of money. Despite how attractive I found him, I had to keep that in mind. This was not a love match, it was a contract. A job.

"You have a really bad track record with jobs," I whispered to myself before I could get my hopes up too high. I turned to face myself head on. "Reality check. You're here to be this man's date, not his future husband. Obviously, he was not into your look last night, so tone it down a little and feel out what he likes. Does that suck? Yes." I nodded at my rumpled reflection. "Yes, it does, but this is a lot of cash we're talking about. And like all your other jobs, you can dress it down just a bit."

It chafed to be sure, but for that paycheck, I'd done far worse than cutting back on my feminine side to appease the people doling out the dollars. I could do it again. Just for four days. Then I'd deposit that fat check, pay off some bills, and work on getting my online shop stocked. Maybe I could even take a marketing class. All I had to do was be what Paul Rocha wanted in a date for ninety-six hours. Easy as pie.

Thirty minutes later, a much less dazzling Roth answered the soft knock on his door. It was silly to be experiencing butterflies in my belly, but there they were. More than likely they'd taken to wing because so much moolah was riding on me getting things exactly right with Paul. I glanced down at Amadeus in my arms. He was in a smaller version of my outfit, a pretty teal and white Hawaiian print sleeveless top paired with white shorts and sandals. Amadeus didn't have sandals, I did. He didn't like the straps between his tiny toes. We both had a white sun hat with a tiny, plastic teal octopus attached to the edge of the brim. I'd gone much lighter with the makeup this morning, baring my skin to the world with only a dabble of blusher. I felt naked and weird as if someone else had been stuffed into my skin. Which was how I had always felt going to work dressed down like the masses. Imposter Roth was what I had termed the uneasy feeling and, sadly, that fake Roth was back. I could handle it for a few days, though. Four days of no femme shit. Taking a deep breath, I pasted on a smile and opened the door.

Paul stood in the corridor in a white polo shirt and tan khakis. The only real splash of color on him was his auburn hair and beard. There were a few silver hairs in that thick mass of reddish-brown that only added to his overall sex appeal. I felt like a circus clown next to him and I'd watered myself down.

"You look different," he said instead of hello.

"Oh, well," I glanced down at my rather drab—for me—attire, "I thought this might be more fitting for a gathering filled with big heterosexual males."

When I lifted my sight to him, he looked almost sad, just for a second, before he shifted slightly to the left and then to the right.

"Oh, yeah, maybe. I uhm…" His blue eyes darted down to my toes, then zoomed up to the ceiling. "I think you should be who you are in your heart."

That sounded as if he had dug into his spleen to rip the words out. Not that words blossomed in our spleens, but the imagery was key. When his sight met mine, I saw something pretty profound and wondered what kind of man had such deep thoughts at the asscrack of dawn. "But you look very…"

He floundered. Being a kind person, I dove in to help him out. He was too cute to let flop around like a salmon on the shore.

"Pretty?" I chanced to ask and got a soft nod as a wayward red curl slipped down over his brow. My dick decided to wake up and take notice. I did have a soft spot for big bumbling bears and this one was about as big and bumbling as they came. "Well, thank you. I'm trying to be less flashy than I was last night since you seemed kind of put off."

That made his eyes widen. "Put off? No, I wasn't…no, not put off. Just…surprised. I generally date a much different kind of man and?—"

Amadeus whimpered, thankfully, since I didn't really want to be reminded that, once again, I was too damn femme for a man.

"I understand. My baby needs to piddle." I placed Amadeus on the floor. He danced around on his rear legs as I snapped a thin teal leash to his collar. While I was bent down, I drew in a shaky breath, pulled my public servant face, and straightened to give Paul a bouncy, happy Roth. "Let's take him for a walk and then we can drop him off at the doggy daycare while we eat."

"Sure, yeah, fine. That's fine." He took a few steps back so I could enter the corridor. Our arms brushed, just a light little contact, but it made me tingle from head to toe. Pushing that reaction to deal with later, I looped my little bag around my wrist and led Amadeus down the hall, chatting over my shoulder to the big man following behind us.

I talked the whole time while we rode down to the lobby, filling his ears with nonsensical gibberish about clothes. As if the man gave two shits about sewing. Yet the patter flowed from me like a plugged crapper.

"…a lot of them require plenty of alterations because each dog is so different. As are their owners. I like to put a lot of darts in my designs so that the fabric takes on the curves of the mommies and babies wearing them."

"I wasn't aware that dogs had curves," he replied as we entered the elevator. Amadeus was being a ruse sniffy boy around Paul's ankles, so I picked him up.

"Well, not like say a human woman does, but they do dip in and out in places. If they're not pudgy puppos."

"Right." I could hear the boredom in his voice. "So, do you sell a lot of clothes for women and their dogs? To be honest, I've never seen a dog in an outfit as…" It took him a few seconds to search for the right word. "Unique as the ones that Amadeus wears."

I had to smile. Bless his heart, he was trying. "I don't sell as many as I would like," I answered as the doors opened. I stepped out, put Amadeus down, and was pulled through the lobby by a tan Pomapoo with a full bladder. We zoomed past the check-in desk, around a couple talking by the front doors, and then out into the stickiness. Ugh, did the air in Florida never dry out?

We barely made it to a palm tree by the front doors.

"He had to go badly," I explained to the doorman, who was glowering at us. "We'll move along as soon as he's done."

Cars were backed up as incoming guests poured in, tall men with supermodel women at their sides. Were these all the hockey players? I'd no sooner had that thought when a man who looked like a Yeti came rumbling over to Paul. They exchanged bro hugs and shakes, the Yeti Man standing a few inches taller than my bumbling bear of a date.

Whoa. No, stop. Hit the brakes! Cease and desist. Paul Rocha is not yours.

Yes, of course. I glanced down. Amadeus was still peeing, the warm tropical winds lifting his fluffy ears as it gusted around the towering hotel behind us. I did my best to block out the discussion going on beside me. They were talking sports, and it felt as if I kept my head down, Paul would be less anxious.

"…is my date Roth," I heard Paul say and nearly choked on my tongue. My sight whipped up from my dog to Paul. His shoulders set, his jaw tight, and his aura brittle. He appeared to be either having some severe gas pains or was readying for a fight.

"Oh cool. Hey, Roth, Marcus Maloney. I played with this chowderhead for five years before I was traded to L.A." The Yeti, aka Marcus, held out a hand the size of a tractor tire. I placed my hand in his, shocked into silence, and we shook. "We're both up for the same award this year."

"Wow, what a small world," I said and then peeked at Paul. The tension around his mouth had lessened considerably. "I'm just learning about hockey. What did you do to be nominated for an award?"

"Marcus let me beat him this year for most goals scored," Paul joked. Joked. He even laughed a little. Marcus cuffed him on the shoulder, laughing aloud, and they fell back into sports talk. I stood there on the sidewalk, staring at Paul as if I'd just witnessed the arrival of Cher wearing one of my outfits instead of a Bob Mackie. That smile. Holy hell, it made him so much sexier. Lighter. Freer. Gorgeous.

"Hey, you can't let your dog do that there," the doorman shouted.

I shook off the mind-boggling beauty of Paul smiling to peek down at Amadeus.

"Oh, Amadeus, no, not right on the sidewalk!" I sighed and hurried to get my doggie bag out of my bag. Once the package was picked up and deposited in the trash, the doorman stopped shooting me dark looks. "I'm going to get Amadeus signed in at the daycare center."

"Yeah, okay, we'll see you later, Marcus?" Paul said, shaking hands with the mountain of muscle and dark kinky hair.

"For sure. Maybe we can do dinner out tonight?" Marcus asked, giving me a wide smile as a porter stood off to the side with his bag in his hand. "Oh hey, let me get that, my man."

Paul looked down at me, his face filled with barely contained excitement. "Would you like to have dinner with Marcus tonight?"

"Yes, that would be really nice," I politely replied. As if I could say no? This was his booking. I was here to do what he wanted when he wanted. But it was nice that he had asked.

"Super. Meet me and Kris in the lounge, say six? I'm sure she'll have a place all lined up for the meal. She's the queen of itineraries."

We made our way back inside, the AC a blessed relief on my overheated skin as we followed the signs to the doggie daycare. It was a joyous room with a large outdoor play area for the pooches. There were just two here right now, counting Amadeus, who was all sorts of jazzed to go play with the snuffling pug. A sweet young lady signed us in, asked how long we would be, and then placed Amadeus down. He raced to the pug. They sniffed butts, and then they began racing around the play area, skidding into the corners and then darting through the kids' outdoor playsets. Paul chuckled when Amadeus zipped under a castle to surprise the pug on the other side.

"Dogs are really nice," he stated in a far-off manner.

I peeked to the side and then up. "Do you not have one?"

"No, I always wanted one, but my father was in the military and we moved a lot. He said that wasn't fair to the dog. He used to tell me they weren't allowed on the base, but other families had them. I thought about getting one when I moved to Chicago, but I travel all the time and my father was right. That's not fair to the dog."

"Your dad sounds like a smart man." It seemed the polite thing to say.

"Not about everything," he mumbled before suggesting we go eat. I waved goodbye to Amadeus and fell in beside Paul. He was quiet now, that lightness that Marcus had brought out in him having fizzled right after I mentioned his father. I made a mental note to not bring up his dad again. I knew how it was to have family issues.

The dining room was next to the lounge, the bar closed now, but the dining room bustling. We stood at the doorway, waiting beside a sign that instructed us to wait to be seated. There were perhaps twenty or so tables, most seating four, but many with only two chairs, with lots of big men and pretty women filling them. The smell of bacon was thick in the air. My stomach gurgled softly. I snickered as I patted my belly, glancing up to whisper an apology.

"You hungry?" Paul asked, his shoulders tight once more, even though he was working to sound casual.

"A little yes," I confessed as a young man in a red vest rushed up to us. He jotted down our room numbers.

"Follow me, please?" the young man asked with a heavy Latino accent. I took a step. Paul reached out to stall me, his hand resting on my shoulder. I stopped instantly, wondering if he had some strange kind of lead dog mentality, when he offered me his arm.

It was ridiculously old-fashioned while being crazy romantic. No man I have ever dated had offered me his arm. I felt like a duchess about to be escorted to the royal table of breaking one's fast by my stunning duke. He stared at me as if his life depended on my acceptance. Which he had instantly because duke and duchess vibe, and then gifted me a small but shaky smile after I placed my hand on his elbow. Paul led us to a small table for two by a window that looked out over a flowerbed that was alive with tropical blooms, not stopping once but slowing here and there to say good morning to couples and foursomes that were already seated.

I took note of all the funny looks we got from the breakfasters. Keeping the royal theme in mind, I inclined my head regally at each man and woman, smiled warmly, and clung to Paul like a burdock.

When we reached our table, the dining room was silent, or so it seemed. Paul pulled out a chair for me. I died. I mean, well, obviously not literally died, but…I died. Sitting my tiny ass down with regal bearing, I nodded at Paul, glanced around the room, and shook out the dark red cloth napkin that had been folded just so and resting under some heavy flatware. The sound of soft chatter and silverware hitting fine glass dishes resumed while Paul found his seat.

"Your menus," the greeter said as he passed us a small listing of the choices for the meal. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please," Paul and I both said in unison. The greeter moved off to fetch us some coffee while we nervously got settled. I read over the selections, working hard to not allow my eyeballs to rocket out of my eyes like an old cartoon wolf spying a pretty girl. The prices were insane! Forty dollars for eggs and bacon?! I could buy a dozen eggs and a slab of bacon at Mahoski's Butcher Shop two blocks from my place for under twenty bucks and feast on that for a week.

"Do you not like the choices? We can go somewhere else if you want," Paul whispered, pulling my attention from the menu. His blue gaze was happy now. It was a really good look on him.

"No, they look amazing. I've just never had most of them. Do you have a favorite?" I enquired, hoping that he'd say an Egg McMuffin. Seriously, spending over a hundred bucks on breakfast just staggered me.

"Hmm, well, the last time I was here, I remember the blue cheese quiche was delicious." I'd never had a quiche in my life, but I had tried blue cheese dressing. Once. Never again. "Okay, that nose wrinkle tells me that's a no thank you. If you have a sweet tooth?—"

"I do," I hurried to reply because he was half-smiling at me. My brain got all foggy and giddy when the corners of his mouth lifted. That beard was sexy as hell. I usually didn't get into lots of facial hair, but this man made it work. "Why do so many of the guys here have beards? Is there a secret hockey player beard group that you all belong to?"

That got me a gruff chortle that made my toes curl in my sandals. "Well, in a way, I guess. Most of the men here are the best of the best in the league, which is why they were nominated for the awards. The best of the best means that the majority were in the playoffs and we all grow playoff beards."

"Why?" I asked, leaning back to allow our server, a cheery young woman in a red vest and black slacks, to place a small carafe of coffee, a tiny white pot of creamer, and a round dish with various individual packets of sweeteners.

"I'll tell you in a minute, okay?" Paul asked. I nodded. "Do you trust me to order for you?"

I did, for some wild reason. I trusted him to do anything he wanted for me. Including laying me out on the beach and fucking me until I communed with the dolphins on an astral plane.

He flashed me a tiny grin. My heart rate tripled.

"Okay, I'll have the blue cheese quiche with roasted potatoes, turkey sausage, and the breakfast fruit salad. My date will have the chocolate Dutch baby with extra whipped cream and a side of apple crunch oatmeal."

He looked at me for confirmation, which I gave readily.

"That sounds amazing," I confided after the server left. "I've never had a Dutch baby. What is it?"

"It's an individual chocolate cake baked in a small iron skillet that they top with confectioners' sugar, whipped cream, and fresh strawberries. It takes a little while because they have to bake the cake, so the oatmeal is to tide you over."

"That's so thoughtful. Thank you." He blushed just a bit while lifting his coffee to take a tentative sip. The sun peeked through the window, a fat strip falling over his head to give his hair deep copper highlights. "Now, the beards?"

"Mm, right." He placed his cup back on its saucer before leaning a thick forearm on the table. "Well, it started back in the eighties when a few guys on a team started growing beards as a sign of their utter dedication to winning the Cup. Like personal hygiene and shaving all took a back seat to the goal. There's some superstition involved too, so no one shaves their face until they're eliminated."

I crinkled my nose. "Gross. I hope you men shower."

"Oh yeah, we shower, we just don't shave. There's a bonding aspect too."

I pointed my spoon at him. "But you won the trophy thingy?—"

"The Cup."

"Yes, that thing. You won that, so why are you still all shaggy?" I dunked my spoon into my coffee and then tore open several sugar packets. His eyebrows flew up his brow when I ripped open a few more packets and then added them. "I wasn't lying when I said I liked sweet things. Coffee, food, men!"

I instantly regretted being so flip and peeked out from under my sunhat. He didn't seem put out or upset. If anything, he appeared to be super zoned in on me. I felt my body react to his intensity, so I crossed my legs to pinch my fattening dick.

"I've never done that before," he confessed so gently that I had to lean up a bit to hear him over the packed dining room. "I mean…I've never escorted such a colorful man into a public place before."

I wasn't sure how to respond. So, I sipped my coffee as he stared at me with vivid blue eyes.

"Do you not generally date men like me?" I asked, resting my cup on my lower lip. A server moved past with a tray filled with stacks of pancakes, the rich scent of maple syrup wafting behind him. My stomach grumbled in frustration. Paul appeared stricken. "It's okay if you admit that you don't. I got the feeling that your PA picked me for you without your knowledge. And I get it. Personal preferences are personal preferences. I get into older bear type men who can toss me around in bed like I was a blowup doll." His mouth fell open a bit. Shit. "Was that too much information? I'm sorry, I tend to blather when I get anxious. I know I'm messing this up and I sincerely do not want to be sent back home because I really need the money. I can tone down more for lunch. If you want, I can run back to the room now and wash off my blusher and?—"

He reached over to take my hand. His fingers meshed with mine, his much larger and scarred from making hockey, I guess.

"I like you just how you are. To be honest, you can jazz up for dinner tonight." I gaped at him as my brain tried to unscramble things. "I was just…last night…I'm deeply sorry for how I acted. My father…" He paused, shook his head, and gave my fingers a gentle squeeze. "We'll get into that later maybe, but know that I spent last night having an epiphany of sorts."

"I've had them before. They hurt like hell."

That made him snicker. "Yes, they do, kind of like a kidney stone."

"Yes. That." I nodded along.

"Just know that I might seem uptight and awkward at times but it's not you. It's me working to free myself from some bullshit that was drummed into my thick skull."

"Okay, I'll keep that in mind." The server arrived with our appetizers. Were there appetizers at breakfast? I'd never had a breakfast that consisted of more than one course. Of course it was hard to find something that one would serve before a cold Pop-Tart. "So, I thought we might take a swim after breakfast? If you want, that is."

"Only if we wear our floaties."

I bobbed my head dutifully. He chuckled into his coffee mug. I double-checked to ensure he was teasing. He was. The wink he gave me confirmed it. I had to snicker at the thought of this man in floaties. What didn't make me giggle was the mental image of him in a swimsuit. That made me wish I'd brought a fan to breakfast.