He doesn't have to pay for it.

There are other options, sure. But they involved getting to know someone. Meeting, flirting, trying to develop a connection with someone. Even the most awkward of one-night stands had that little dance.

But that was a dance he had only tangoed with Marian. She was his high school crush. High school, when flirting was her in a too-short private school skirt wearing watermelon flavored lip balm and smelling like some fruity, innocent scent from one of those overpriced soap and perfume stores that Robin hated to walk past whenever he had the unfortunate occasion to enter the mall.

But on Marian it smelled lovely, tantalizing, even.

He had his first and last "first date" at 17, and as awkward and nervous as he was when he took Marian – finally alone – finally not in a group of friends – to a restaurant (it was Outback Steakhouse, he cringes to remember that). He wouldn't trade that moment for anything. He can still remember worrying about sweating through his shirt, nervous, unsure whether Marian even knew it was a date and not just a social gathering between friends like they had done for the last few months. He picked her up and she was more dressed up than usual, she wore a skirt, a straight beige skirt, not like the flirty cotton numbers that flared out that she used to wear to amusement parks and concerts. She paired it with a cotton blouse, a simply, innocent number except she had undone some of the top buttons, he could see a hint of cleavage, and spent the majority of dinner wondering if she had undone them for him.

He remembers his first kiss with her – though it wasn't the first. There had been spin the bottle at the afterparty to Eli's Bah Mitzvah, and they had kissed then. There was truth or dare at Jamie's party the year before their date, where she was dared to kiss Robin and they kissed passionately amongst their applauding and whooping friends. But this was the first time their lips met where it actually meant something, after the steak dinner, when he walked her back to the car and held open her door, and she had smiled, wrapped her arms around his neck, tilted her head and waited for him to close the gap between them.

His heart had been racing the whole date, waiting to see if there would be a moment like this, an opportunity to kiss her the way he wanted to, and when it was there, it nearly took his breath away. The moment between her arms around him and when he finally kissed her were etched into his memory.

They made out for the first time in the parking lot of an Outback Steakhouse and it was the most romantic, sensual experience of his young life.

Marian had left him four years ago, left him with beautiful memories of a damn near fairytale relationship, left him with a beautiful five year old boy, but also left him utterly and completely opposed to finding anyone else to share his life with.

He found his soulmate at age 17. He wouldn't sully what they had by trying to find something new.

His friends begged him to get back out there. Try a few dates, the said, you never know what may happen. But anytime a friendly girl caught his eye, anytime a conversation with a waitress at a bar verged on flirtatious, he'd be hit with that memory of his first date with Marian, and lose all desire to continue the pathetic little dance with someone else.

He was done with romantic love. He had a son he loved very much, and memories that would last a lifetime. He didn't need anything more.

Unfortunately, however, he had needs. Urges, urges that sometimes weren't satisfied with his hand, urges that still weren't satisfied watching porn. He would need more, crave a warm body.

He discovered the world of escorts, and used the business sparingly. To say the least. He had only broke down and indulged twice before in the four years since Marian's death, and the first time he hadn't even been able to touch the escort, left money on the counter and left the room with an apology. The second time he met a very talented woman had loosened him up, gave him a back rub that was much more satisfying than anything else, and she eventually took him in his mouth had him groaning and panting and coming, yet the tinge of guilt never truly went away the entire time.

There was guilt in using the service, sure, he hated to support the sex trade. (He tried to minimalize his contribution to any possible exploitation or coercion. He sought older escorts instead of young teenagers. He only dealt with independent escorts, avoiding the "agencies" that were really just pimps and madams working the girls far too hard. He tried to be a good John about it, as far as Johns go).

But there was also guilt, still, in cheating on Marian. Nothing felt right without her, especially this. And he hated himself for wanting sex so badly. But it was truly Marian's fault. She had satisfied his veracious sexual appetite for decades. It was hard to just shut off, even as grief stricken as he was.

It had been 2 years since his last foray into the escort service, and he found himself wanting to give it another shot. He looked at various girls until he stumbled upon her website.

Her website lacked the pop up ads or banner ads the other escorts had. Her body was beautiful, if the pictures were real. She didn't have any pictures of her face on the website. Well, that's not exactly true. A picture of her entire body in profile showed a hint of her ear, hair tucked behind it, and it was a cute ear. There was a closeup of her lips, though, many escorts had such pictures, hers looked sensual, less pornographic. He wanted those lips.

For weeks he had just visited her website, looked at the pictures, contemplated scheduling an appointment, and resisting.

It is wrong to hire escorts. This woman may be miserable, having to please men all day.

But then she added another picture to the website. A picture that tipped him over the edge into entertaining this idea to actually contacting her for an appointment. In the picture she was in a bed, holding a sheet up to just under her eyes, hair disheveled looking mischievous and innocent and naughty all at the same time. Such expressions she held in her eyes- the eyes the only part of her face visible in the picture. She could probably make a career as a model, he thought. But perhaps the pictures were photoshopped. Perhaps her nose was a mess. Something had to be off, she was too perfect.

He hasn't had much luck in quick, hourly sessions. So he requested a girlfriend experience half night, cocktails, dinner, and "dessert".

At least then if he backs out, at least he will have had a nice meal.

She had been polite enough in email –at least, whoever may be answering was polite, and she is an independent, so it wasn't likely it someone else is answering her emails. She had suggested a nice restaurant downtown with a great bar. It was down the street from the hotel where she said she had a room, and they could retire there for dessert. It wasn't too expensive, but the food was wonderful, Robin had been there on a few occasions before. He had assumed she'd suggest a hotel restaurant or bar, and was somewhat glad to hear her make another suggestion.

"Robin?"

He had arrived early, ordered a glass of whiskey to calm his nerves and prepare for what was what was to come. He was ready to order another when he heard her voice and looks up.

Wow.

Before their date, she had asked him how she wanted him to dress, a question that made him cringe. He had answered - told her nothing overly flashy, to wear clothes she was comfortable in. But he wasn't sure how an escort would dress for this place, and he had worried she might show up in something out of Pretty Women, thigh high boots and cut out dresses, and he'd be embarrassed and have to cut dinner short from the stares he imagined from everyone in the place, knowing he had hired a companion.

The people in the restaurant are staring at her, but not for the reasons he hadfeared.

She has impeccable taste. She is wearing a navy blue cocktail dress, simple, but the lines are clean, scoop down below to reveal a hint of cleavage, hangs tightly to every curve. The dress nearly reaches her knees, with a slight slit up the side.

It is the first time he saw her face. And she is beautiful. Breathtakingly so. When her face wasn't on her website he had wondered if she kept it off for anonymity reasons, or kept it off to hide some imperfection. Perhaps, he had wondered, there wasn't a beautiful face to match that beautiful body. But, no, she is beautiful, so beautiful that if her face was on her website she would be flooded with even more potential clients. She must have kept it off to protect her anonymity, he theorizes.

There's a pause after she says his name, where she's just smiling at him, and he feels his mouth might be open. He snaps into action a second later.

"Alexandra" he says, rising to greet her and calling her by her professional name, the name he knows is not truly hers, but is the only name he'd ever know her as. . She only tilts her head and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, sitting down before he could get her chair out for her. She looks shy, almost, not the demeanor of a professional, and it is adorable and sexy at the same time.

She stares at him from across the table as if she is drinking him in, and he suddenly feels the slightest bit self conscious. He offers her a curious look, wordlessly asking what is wrong.

"Sorry," she breathes, "I was just thinking that you're just not my… usual demographic."

He tilts his head and asked how so? and she frowns for a second, and explains, a bit hurried "Oh, my usual dates are just…" she bites her lip, her right hand waving in the air, as if trying to grasp at words that have been swept away from her. "Older. I guess."

"Ah," Robin nods. But he's fully aware she had screened him before agreeing to meet him, and she is fully aware of his age, as well as his occupation. But perhaps it is different seeing him in person.

"Have you been here before?" She asks, picking up a menu.

"I have," he responds with a smile. "Usually business meetings during the week, I've yet to be here on the weekend."

He's suddenly nervous, realizing many colleagues from work know this place, and might frequent it. The last thing he'd want is to have to awkwardly introduce "Alexandra" to his boss, or his meddling coworkers who are always trying to fix him up on a date. He then takes a cursory glance around the restaurant. It's a dimly lit restaurant, covered in dark wood and soft lighting, and they are tucked away near a corner in the back, still, anyone on their way to the restroom may pass near them, and he frowns. He didn't think of the potential of running into someone.

She must notice his sudden anxiety, because she leans across the table, reaches to put her hand over his, and smiles. "It's ok. I doubt we run into anyone you know here. The weekend crowd is a bit different than the weekday crowd. But if we do, just introduce me as your date. I won't embarrass you, I promise. Everything will be fine."

He's nodding and apologizing, feeling stupid, like he cocked all this up by getting anxious and making it obvious that he was embarrassed to be with her. How would such a thought make her feel?

And then he remembers, he's paying her, he hasn't ruined the date, because this isn't a date.

"Best Manhattans in town." Alexandra murmurs, looking down at the drink list.

"They made a great old fashioned too." He notes.

"It's such a simple drink but so easily ruined by the wrong bartender." She agrees. "It's the brandy-soaked cherries, I'm convinced that's what makes it delicious."

He wonders how often she'd been to this particular restaurant, but then his mind wanders to how often she does this and no, he does not want to think about that.

He motions over the waiter, orders himself another drink, asks if she's interested in oysters, and she nods, so they start with that for an appetizer. She orders a manhattan with bulliet rye and he's surprised at her taste yet again.

"So, what part of England are you from originally? Your accent is lovely."

"Stratford, a lovely town just outside of London. Lovely town. I miss it."

"What brought you to the colonies?" she asks with a wink.

"My father's job brought us over here. I was fourteen."

"Moving to a different country as a teenager couldn't be easy."

"It was, at first, but I made friends easily."

She goes coy, letting her eyes dart obviously over his body. And then she says, "Good looks and a charming British accent couldn't hurt."

He thinks he might be blushing.

The conversation flows easily, and Robin finds she has visited the UK before, when she spent a semester abroad, studying at King's College . He tries not to act surprised at the fact she's college educated, tries not to wonder how she came to be an escort, when it appears she has so many other skills, such obvious intelligence.

"What did you study in college?" he asks

"Literature" Alexandra says with a roll of her eyes and a biter smile. "I had promise in the hard sciences, I did well. But when it came to picking a major, I decided to go with my heart."

"I respect that," he says sincerely, feeling the need to reassure her. "You only live once, and studying your passion is a far better use of your time than being miserable studying something you loathe."

"Mmm," she takes a small sip of the whiskey she's ordered and then says "not the most lucrative field, I'm afraid. And what was your major?" she looks up at him coyly swirling the glass of whiskey in her hand, biting that bottom lip, and dear god, she's gorgeous to a distraction. It's a good thing this isn't a real date, because if it was, he would be far too nervous at this point, and far too guilty over how much he already likes her. But it is a mask. This isn't real. None of it is.

The conversation flows easily, and it surprises him. She acts interested in his job, asking questions, laughing at his work stories. And he feels more comfortable with her, allowing himself to lose himself in the subtle, flirtatious looks she makes at him, the soft touches of her hand against his from across the table, allows his heart to flutter with anticipation just a bit, despite the fact that none of this is real, despite the fact that she is just doing her job.

This is the acting skill of a professional, paid to act like she cares, like she is enjoying talking with him. But it's easy to forget that when her eyes are so warm and sincere, and Robin tells himself he can try to forget that for just a little while. She's gorgeous, and those subtle looks, the way she bites her lip just so at the silences in their conversation (none of them awkward, oddly) – it has him riled up, has him telling that voice in the back of his head telling him this is nonsense, that it's not real – to just shut up and let him feel for now.

They are deciding on whether to get dessert, and it's nearly ten o'clock, when it happens.

A little boy of around five - far too young to be unsupervised, far too young to be at a restaurant at this hour, runs by their table, smacking into Robin's arm, an arm that was holding a very full glass of water. The boy falls down hard right next to their table, And the water drunks all over Robin's nice suit, drenching his shirt, his pants, and parts of his suit jacket and wonderful, that's just wonderful. Though to be honest, a splash of cold water on the crotch could be useful at this point. He needs to be dragged back to reality.

And now the boy is crying and it's the not the time to think about his ruined clothes.

The boy has torn a hole in his pants, his knee is skinned from coming into contact with the hard floor. He's hurt, sure, but the tears are probably more from being scared and tired than from any pain.

"Hey hey hey," Robin soothes while the boy manages to choke our an I'm sorry sir between sobs, "That was quite a fall. Let's get you a bandaid, huh?"

Alexandra is up and out of her seat immediately, hand gently rubbing the boys shoulder, looking at his skinned knee. "I-I need to use, use the b-b-bathroom." The boy is articulate between his sobs, and Robin realizes he must have been running to beat the pain in his bladder.

Alexandra looks up at him as if to plea for him to take the boy, but she need not ask, he was doing it anyway. "Let's get you to that bathroom now ok?"

The boy was still sobbing and nodded his head. "I-I cou-cou-ldn't wait any longer," he breathes eager to run along to the bathroom. "it was an emer-…emergency"

Robin walks him quickly to the bathroom, the boy is limping just a bit, but clearly focusing on not peeing his pants, he makes quick work and runs to the toilet while Robin waits outside the door.

He had expected the boy's father to be right behind them. But no one is here.

While the boy is otherwise occupied he takes a moment to assess the damage the spilled water had done to his suit. He is wearing a navy suit, and the spilled water shows, not terribly, but enough. He is lucky he had decided against his light gray suit, the water stain would have been an awful contrast.

The water had pooled in his lap, and did look a bit like he peed his pants, his shirt and coat had enough wetness however, to make it seem like a spill instead of an incontinence issue. Robin grimaces. He used a paper towel to soak up some of the excess liquid still dripping from his clothes. It did little to alleviate the wet stain on his clothes. He turned on the hands dryer and attempted to dry his soaked clothes, angling his body awkwardly beneath it. It was useless. The warm air, it turns out, also does little to dry his pants. He's still trying to dry himself when the boy steps out from the stall, tears still staining his cheeks.

Robin smiles, his fruitless efforts to fix his clothes forgotten. "It looks like you could use a bandaid," he says as the boy gingerly walked to the sink. "And some ice, yeah?"

He leads him back out of the bathroom then, meeting a waiter just outside the restroom, who is incredibly apologetic, offering dry cleaning (unnecessary) and a comped dessert for the boy's trouble. Silly, that. It hadn't been the restaurant's fault.

Robin asks for a bandage and some ice for the boy, and the waiter nods and tells him his date has already requested those items. He turns to her then, catches her eye, and she looks….soft. Sweet. When they reach the table, she leans down to the boy immediately, asks if he's okay as she cleans the wound with a clean, wet dish towel and puts a band-aid on the small cut.

"Hey, I'm Regina" she says after looking around for his father, who was yet to appear. What's your name?"

It is a slip. She had just accidentally revealed her name in front of Robin, but he will not let her know he heard it.. Her name suits her, though – she looked like a Regina. So regal and poised.

"Ben" the boy says softly. Robin smiles. He had forgotten to ask the boy his name in all the chaos.

"Ben, where's your daddy?" She asks him softly.

The boy points to a table in the front, and there are several men dining. They haven't seen what has happened, and whomeveris the father doesn't even seem to be looking for his son.

"Daddy has an important meeting" Ben explains quietly, "I am supposed to be on my best behavior."

Alexandra – no, Regina, it was Regina now, Regina's voice is unwavering "Well I think you very much were on your best behavior. It was just an accident."

Ben shakes his head. "Daddy will be mad." He insists in a fearful whisper.

Robin feels his heart clench, feels himself worrying for this boy more than he should. "No, no, he won't be mad," Robin assures the boy, "we'll go over there together, ok?"

They walk Ben back to the table, then, Regina accompanies Robin without such a word. God, he's fucked up this date, should have just pawned the boy off on a waiter, but he can't. He's a father, and the boy had been so upset, he couldn't let him go.

"Which one is your daddy?" Regina whispers as they got closer to the table. Ben points to a slick looking man with his back to them, from the sound of the nonsense he was spewing, a real pompous jerk.

Robin taps his shoulder, interrupting whatever nonsense story this idiot is telling, and the guy spins around, clearly annoyed.

"I believe I have something that belongs to you," Robin drawls, his voice icy and angry.

The man looks at Robin, up and down, noticing the spilled liquid on his suit, then looks down at Ben almost in…what looked like disgust but couldn't be disgust could it?

"Ben, what did you do now?" The man turns to Robin, a deep regretful scowl covering his face. "I'm sorry, my son is ill-behaved. His mother raised him, she spoils him."

Ben mutters an apology. The rest of his father's table goes silent.

Robin is furious, and can no longer keep himself from speaking his mind. "The boy fell going to the restroom, probably overtired. He did nothing wrong. There was no harm done to me except for a little spill, but he is hurt. He's a great kid with exemplary manners, and could deserve some more care and attention. "I waited for his mum or dad to come over and help him when he fell, but it seems you were too distracted to even notice him." He's seething now, frustrated and ready for a fight.

Ben's father rolls his eyes while Ben practically hides behind Robin. "Look, buddy, I had a business meeting last minute and his mom wouldn't take him back last minute. I'll pay for your dry cleaning." He addresses Regina, "Seriously, I'm sorry my son ruined your date."

"Your son did nothing of the sort, and is a wonderful little boy. It was delightful meeting him." Regina's posture shifts, her body goes stiff, as if she is physically holding herself back. "You, on the other hand, were an absolute nightmare to meet. You don't deserve such a wonderful little boy." She adds curtly, walking away as Ben's son mutters something about Robin controlling his woman, but Robin decides he should probably avoid having brawl in the restaurant. So he waslks away from the table, feeling pride that he is with a woman so bold, so protective of children.

He is proud of being with her despite the fact that on paper, he should be embarrassed and ashamed to be with a hired escort.

When he walks back to his table, Regina reaches out and squeezes his hand. "You're wonderful with children," she breathes, as if she is relieved. "That poor boy, it makes me so mad…" she trails off. She looks at Robin with renewed interest, what could almost be seen as admiration. "Do you have children?" she asks softly.

Robin nods his head. "Roland, he's my whole world. He's nearly five." He is reaching for his phone to show her pictures before he could tell himself she really doesn't care about his life, or his child. She just seems so sincerely interested.

She looks at the pictures, aww-ing and asking questions about first day of kindergarten, about his interests. He speaks of being a single dad (doesn't mention Marian is dead, not yet) and one thing is clear, this woman he's speaking to has the heart of a mother. And appears to understand being a single parent quite well, too well to not be one herself..

Before he thinks better of it, he asks if she's a mother as well, and she pulls out her phone as if on instinct, "My little one, he is it eight." She says with a watery smile, turning her phone to Robin, offering him to look through her pictures. "He's my whole world too."

"He's absolutely adorable." Robin gushes, peering at a picture on her phone. He laughs when he scrolls and sees a picture of her son making pancakes, completely covered in pancake batter and odd blue stains he bet were made from blueberries. "And is the little lad a chef?"

She giggles, telling him of Henry's interest in cooking, how pleased she is that he's never considered it women's work, and she has the pride and love of a mother in her eyes, in her voice, and Robin can't resist interrupting her at a certain point as she gushes.

"God, you're so beautiful."

The words are out of his mouth before he can think otherwise. She looks like she truly blushes at that, but it must be the lighting.

"Thank you," she says weakly, looking down to her meal.

She won't meet his gaze, and he can't read her. He worries he's made her feel uncomfortable.

"Sorry," Robin says, guilt returning to him, bringing him back to the reality of this date. "If overstepped, or made you uncomfortable, I didn't mean to…"

Regina smiles, an amused little thing. "You don't do this often, it seems." When Robin gives her an inquisitive look she explains. "Go on dates," she emphasizes the word, so he knows what she means.

Robin laughs, "No, no, it's been about two years since I had a date of any kind. And years since my marriage to Roland's mother, that would be my last, uh, 'other' type of date."

Her eyes widen. "Two years? My god, you cannot be serious."

He chuckles. "I have to admit I have very little interest in relationships of any sort since Roland's mum. Plus I'm a single dad, and that keeps me very busy."

She smiles and nods knowingly. "Yes, being a single parent makes any sort of dating life difficult. I haven't had… anything real, really, since uh, my... ex husband." She's a bit quieter when she says, "not because it was true love or I miss him. Just because…life, you know?"

"I do. " Robin sees her withdraw. She looks like she's relieving an absolutely painful memory, like she's stuck in some terrible moment of her past, and he wants to fix that face, wants to make her feel better. He takes his hand and squeezes her, and she looks down at their hands. Then her demeanor shifts, visibly. She looks uncomfortable. He looks down at their joined hands. Her fingers trace his wedding ring. When she looks back up at him, her eyes look empty, detached.

"So what are you interested in for dessert?" she ask, and oh, the mask is back up and she's all business now. He looks down at his hand, realizing why. She thinks he's lied about his relationship status, and plenty of married men see escorts, but he's not that person, and he suddenly finds it important that she know that.

"It's not what you think," he insists, pointing to his ring.

"None of my business" she reminds, waving a hand. "Now, like I said - "

Robin interrupts, almost desperately, determined to change the poor image she must have of him – of someone not only cheating on his wife, but trying to lie about it to seem like what? Some sort of noble John? It's utterly pathetic, and he can't have her thinking he's that terrible.

"My wife gave this to me on our wedding day and told me to always think of her when I looked down at it. I couldn't bear to take it off. She died almost four years ago, and it's the one thing that gives me comfort. That's why it's been so long since a real relationship - I found my love in life. I'm grateful for the time we had. No need to replace that with anyone else."

Regina examines him, her eyes turn skeptical, as if she's evaluating whether he's lying or not, but then she's suddenly softer, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize." She squeezes his hand, and the touch is comforting. "It makes sense though, explains why you're doing this I mean, you're…." she's blushing again, and she extracts her hand from his for a second. "you're very….attractive."

He chuckles. Well that was unexpected.

"I mean, you're a catch. And I do mean that, truly. You sound like a loving father, conversation is easy with you. So I wonder why you're, you know, why you're with me." She sounds a bit self-loathing at that point, and Robin wants to tell her she deserves better than this life, too, but he can't find the words. Instead, he tells her why he's with her, why he pays for sex.

He nods. "I still love my wife. I compare everyone to her. I have no need for a relationship, and anyway, the first few dates would probably be a screening process to see if they are good enough for Roland."

"And no one will be good enough for him," she adds, making Robin smile.

"Yes. So, I have no need to find anyone again. But sometimes, very rarely, I just…I miss..." There's no way to say this without sounding like a shallow asshole. Sometimes he just really, really, wants to be with a woman.

Regina nodded "You get a little…lonely." She's softly whispering that, like she knows "lonely" is code for something else, code for "horny", probably, but she's too polite to tell him she knows this evening is about scratching an itch, about getting out his need for physical love with a woman.

"Yes" Robin said, smiling. But part of him knows it's more than that, it's why he wanted to take her to dinner, why he reserved the whole evening. He wants a release, sure, but he also wants to feel close to a woman, to hold a warm body against him and pretend he was connected to someone, fantasize that he could move on, if only for an hour or two.

"I'm afraid I put a damper on what was a nice evening. We should find an easier topic of conversation," he offers.

She shakes her head. "You did nothing of the sort. You've only added to my enjoyment of this evening." She looks at him, smiling, "Truly, Robin, I do mean that."

And he's paying her to act like she likes him, but he still believes it, believes her.

"Compliments of the house!" Robin jumps as the waiter comes from behind them with a bottle of champagne and a wink. "Your assistance with that little boy was much appreciated." He poured a glass of champagne offering it to Robin before whispering "And your words to Mr. Cabot were much appreciate by the staff. We've watched him abuse others and abuse that poor kid of his for too long."

.::.

There's a bottle of champagne to drink now, and she's already had her limit on alcoholic drinks on nights where she is working.

Robin seems safe, her gut tells her he's safe, and it's been a long, long time since her gut has been wrong. She takes a glass of champagne, listens to Robin as he tells her a story about himself and Marian in high school, watches as his eyes light up as he speaks of his late wife and briefly wonders why fate had made it so that no man's eyes would ever light up that way when they speak of her. But then she's through pitying herself and focuses on the man across the table from her again.

Robin seems like a good man. He had cared enough about that boy to make her heart flutter, realizing he's probably a good father. When he told the story of his wife and the ring he still wore, she should have been suspicious, so many of her clients insist on making up stories of cheating spouses, dead spouses, divorces that never happened…anything to make them sound more appealing and interesting to her. But she has never cared about who they really are.

With Robin, it is different. The story sounded real. His love for his wife sounds real. And god, he is good with children. He's a good person, her instincts scream that. And she wants to believe it.

There's another thing about Robin that strikes her. He's an attractive man. A very attractive man. If she's being honest, he's hot, exactly her type in the looks department. It's been a long time since she's had anyone this good looking between the sheets.

Well, she's had some very good looking clients before, and they are almost always the clients who are narcissistic assholes with delusions of grandeur. But attractive men who were also kind and could carry on a decent conversation? These men were not typical clients of escorts. Still, it was her job to listen to them, to act like she believed them, to comfort them, despite what terrible people they may be.

Her clients like to talk, share their fears, frustrations, sure, but they also lie, they build a fantasy life with her, tell her what good men they are, how powerful they are, tell her stories of the women in their life and what brought them to a prostitute's embrace (in so many words), and the stories always paint the women as vile monsters, but Regina knows better.

Her own exhusband frequented whores, and as little as she thinks of herself, Regina doesn't blame herself for his ability to be monogamous.

She's paid for sex, but a part of her job has always been a type of therapy for her clients. So when they complain about their monstrous wives who refuse them sex or will only do vanilla sex, when they complain over their post-partum bodies or constant nagging, she is always sympathetic, pretends to believe them and feel sorry for them. Indulges in their pretend superiority over others, in the fantasy they have created of themselves and their own life. It's her job, and sometimes, that part of her job makes her feel dirtier than the most kinky types of sex.

But her job today, it seems, is to share a lovely meal with a nice man, a man who touches her hand softly, searches her eyes for permission to do so, steals glances at her cleavage from across the table like a shy teenager, a man who took a sweeping glance at her backside when they walked away from that poor child's table, and then pretended to be looking at something on the floor.

A man who treats her as if she were on an actual date. And it thrills her. Makes her want to believe it's a real date too. It's an easy part to play, because he is the type of man she'd actually want to date.

Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves. They are going to go back to the hotel room and fuck, and although he didn't tell her of any "special requests" in the bedroom, she may still find out he's into something terribly kinky. She may find out he can't get it up, or there's something else, horribly wrong. Let's not build him up too much, too soon. Something had to be wrong with him.

"Alexandra?" Robin calls from across the table. The name grounds her, reminds her he doesn't know her real name, and she's likely to never see or hear from him again after a few hours, not unless she can convince him to see her more regularly. She looks at him, in a daze. "Sorry, what did you say?"

He tilts his head, lips curving up playfully. "I just asked if you wanted dessert to go with this champagne?"

She shakes her head. "No, I'm enjoying this just fine on its own." She raises her champagne flute in a small toast, and then sips. She revels in how he is drawn to her lips in that moment. She notices his stare, as she swallows her champagne and his eyes follow the drink down… eyes focused on her hint of cleavage and staying there for a bit too long. She raises her eyebrow playfully, making it clear she saw where his attentions had gone.

"Sorry," he breathes, "I… I must look like I'm trying to devour you. You're so beautiful. And…" he shrugs, "Well, as you know, it's been a long time."

"Nothing to apologize for," she says as she takes another sip of champagne. She offers her hand to him, threading her fingers through his. She grazes her leg against his under the table, getting a little thrill out of the shiver it gives Robin.

She likes him. She wants to satisfy him, to bring him pleasure. Not just because it's her job, but because he's a kind man who is in pain and he deserves it.

"So…" she says, "It's been two years…" Robin cringes and mutters I can't believe I told you that but Regina ignores his embarrassment, moving on, "what do you miss the most?"

She braces herself for him to answer with whatever sexual kink he's missed the most. Is he going to say he misses blow jobs, anal, golden showers? No, he won't, she decides. He's a gentleman. Even if he does miss one of those things the most he won't say it to her over a dinner. He hired an escort but he's treated her like a lady the whole night.

Robin sighs. "It's everything. Being close to someone. Feeling another person against you, skin to skin. It's…I just miss the physical contact of someone who is more. Even this," he lifted their held hands for a second, "is more than I've had in two years, and even this is wonderful and satisfying to me in its own way." He sighs, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. "I sound utterly pathetic, I know."

Regina laughs at that, because he's being ridiculous, but her laugh is misinterpreted and Robin looks at her with shame in his eyes. So she rushes to assure him.

"Robin, you sound like a wonderful, devoted man. You're a breath of fresh air. There's nothing pathetic about you." She squeezes his hand, and he looks as if he could use an ego boost, so she adds, "qnd you're far too hot to have a self-image problem, so stop it already."

He chuckles, blushes, and it's cute, and then he's asking her about her childhood, where she's from, and she goes on to explain her life in Maine.

"I was a bit of a tomboy when I was younger, it just about killed my mother. She dreamed of a daughter with frilly dresses playing makeup, and all I wanted to do was play in the mud. One day I had been out fishing – really, we ended up just catching crayfish in a little creek on the way back, and she looked at me and said 'I hate fishing. It's a dirty, disgusting hobby.' But my dad was always supportive, he said 'Regina, if your mother hates fishing, then she can feel free not to join you when you go fish.' ."

He's looking at her almost too amused, and surprised. She gives him a confused glance while she thinks back over her conversation, trying to find what offended him and oh!

Shit.

She gave out her real name.

He is so comfortable and easy and nice that she had let herself forget, for a moment, that she was on a date.

"Regina," he says softly and she looks up, wincing, and nods.

"Never made that mistake before," she says, looking down a bit. "I uh,…"

"It's a lovely name." He says, almost assuring her. "it suits you."

She can't hide the worry in her face.

"I won't use it," he offers, "I mean, I'll still call you Alexandra if you prefer. You slipped up before, when you spoke to Ben. I figured you didn't want me to use your real name then, I won't do it again."

"I don't know how that happened," she chuckles, her fingers playing with the champagne flute. "I guess I just felt so comfortable that I forgot for a moment."

Robin looks genuinely touched. "I'm glad I was able to make you feel comfortable, Alexandra." He says, and his smile is sincere and bright, and she loves it. And part of her wishes this were a real date. She pushes that part down. As wonderful as he may be he still is a man who hires people like her. Still, he knows her name now and he knows quite a bit about her, and so she can go a little off-book with this.

"I'd prefer 'Regina'" she responds, and he looks grateful, happy even, to hear it. She squeezes his hand, the hand she's still holding. He draws out a little sigh, and now it's him subtly touching his leg to her leg under the table, and she closes her eyes for a moment when his leg grazes hers and enjoys the tingly sensation of the innocent touch.

.::.

When they leave the restaurant and walk back to the hotel he's decided it for sure. He's not going to sleep with her. He's already given her the money they'd agreed on for her time, slipping the envelope into her purse per her instructions, without so much as a word about it.

He had enjoyed himself. She seems to be enjoying herself too. And he had meant what he said, holding her hand, stroking her arm, the childish game of footsie he had played with her – that was satisfying in its own right. He really did miss this more than sex anyway. He could go back to his normal life and dream of this Regina, dream of a scenario in which they had a great date like this, had actual chemistry (it felt like they had chemistry, but she was a very good escort, and she was paid to manufacturer these feelings), had equal desires to retire to the privacy of one of their homes and kiss and touch and fuck.

He will walk her back to her hotel room, and he will thank her for making him feel more alive than he had in four years, and then he will say goodbye. Tell her the evening meant very much to him, and he'd go home and keep the rest of his evening to his fantasies, maybe rub one off to the thought of her, but he wouldn't fuck her.

All those chivalrous thoughts leave his mind when she kisses him.