“No, thanks. I doubt the wife'd like it much.” He smiled up back at me as he unlaced the black boots and tugged his feet out of them. I gulped and...wondered why a sweaty football sock was making my stomach do the kind of flips that are generally reserved for, well, a sweaty rest of him. “Phone's in there.” I pointed to the living room. “You want a beer while you wait?” “Christ, yeah, mate! Been a shitter of a day.” “No probs.” I gently kicked the door round as I went into the kitchen. I grabbed. The average temperature in LA in January is 13, I was going to be warm.Fortunately, by the time we cleared customs and emerged into the arrivals area it was well after 10pm, although my body thought it was time to get up, and after a little looking around Dad spotted a man holding up a card with my name on.We walked over and introduced ourselves.The man with the placard was the agent that Sam had spoken about. James Gordon was younger that I expected, about Dad’s age or a little younger, with a. More

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