“You’re joking,” Hathaway says flatly even though the growing pile of clothes on the ground strongly indicates otherwise.
It seems Lewis is very much not joking and is in fact completely serious about this completely ridiculous notion. There’s a distinctive hiss of a zipper being lowered and Hathaway swallows, fixing his eyes firmly on the waiting lake and away from his disrobing and absolutely bloody mad Geordie of a boss, partner, friend, whatever.
“Nope,” Lewis confirms cheerfully. “We’re going to do this.”
A pair of navy boxers sails through the air and James’ peripheral vision, landing on top of Robbie’s other clothes. There’s a joyful whoop and then Hathaway is watching as Inspector Lewis of Thames Valley Police runs into the lake, his bare arse on full display in the rather flattering evening sun. James could not look away if his life dependent on it. He feels a breathless certainty that it just might.
Le- Robbie – James thinks, somewhat hysterically, that nakedness probably merits first names – curses as he wades in, the water clearly not as warm as it looks. He keeps going though, turning around once he’s up to his waist.
“C’mon,” he calls. “The water’s lovely.”
“You’re lying!” James shouts back, but he starts unbuttoning his shirt anyway. Because the water may not be that lovely but what’s in it most definitely is.