You really didn’t want to sit on his lap.

It was a Friday, the precinct was chaos, and for some reason, every other damn chair had vanished. Budget cuts, someone joked. A prank. Temporary “reorganization,” they claimed. Whatever the reason, your desk was the only one with no seat — and the only empty space in the room was, unfortunately, Colin Zabel’s chair.

He looked up from his paperwork, pen resting behind one ear, soft hair slightly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it for the last hour. He blinked at you.

“No chair?” he asked, already smiling like he knew where this was going.

You gave him a look. “Don’t even say it.

“I didn’t say anything.” His grin widened. “Yet.”

You glanced around the room. No luck. Everyone was buried in files or pretending not to see your dilemma.

Colin swiveled in his chair slightly, then patted his thigh once — just once — like he was daring you. “You can sit. I don’t bite. Not unless it’s, like, a real intense situation.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “That was supposed to be reassuring?”

“I mean… I was going for charming. Did it work?”

It didn’t. Or maybe it did. You weren’t about to admit either way.

Reluctantly, and with no other option, you lowered yourself onto his lap. Carefully. Awkwardly. His thighs were surprisingly solid under you — warm, steady. He froze for a second when your weight settled, hands hovering awkwardly at his sides, like he didn’t know where to put them.

The air shifted. You both tried to pretend it was normal.

“So…” you muttered, trying to focus on your computer, “we’re just not going to acknowledge this?”

“I’m fine with that” Colin said, though his voice had gone a bit tighter. “I’m also fine with acknowledging it. If you want. For the record.”

You ignored him. He smelled like coffee and clean laundry — like someone who tried. Who showed up early and stayed late and probably remembered your coffee order even though he’d never said it out loud.

His breath was quiet behind your shoulder. And after a few minutes, he finally whispered, not looking at you:

“For what it’s worth… this is the best part of my day.”