�Sorry.� Hathaway frowns, nods, steps back to let Lewis in to his home. �Drink?� �Thanks. I really am sorry.� In the lounge he pours two glasses of Scotch and hands one over. �I know. It�s okay, Sir.� Lewis sighs, rolls his eyes and a shock of hurt crosses his face. �Don�t do that. Don�t call me, �Sir�, not in here.� James takes a step forward. �What am I supposed to call you?� �Robbie? Robert.� Lewis steps forward too, closing the gap. �It is my name.� The tips of his shoes touch his sergeant�s bare toes and Hathaway leans in. �Love?� |