At twenty after seven, Rob pulls to a stop in the unloading zone at the front of the Hyatt. He’s early, but he couldn’t help it. He’s horny, what can he say? He hopes he recognizes Mike without the windbreaker and baseball cap. Hazel eyes, he reminds himself. Sexy smile. Body that won’t quit.
Hell, if he sees anyone fitting that description, he’ll be happy. Mike or not.
Throwing on his hazards, he lets his engine idle in front of the hotel and checks his reflection in the rear-view mirror. His black hair looks like ink against his pale forehead—he has a bit of color to his arms and neck, what his mother always called a “farmer’s tan,” but most of his face is usually shielded from the sun. The tips of his ears, though, they’re a bit pink. He runs a hand through his short-cropped hair as i
