For months, Carlton Lassiter and you had been walking a dangerous line. What started as late nights at the precinct slowly turned into something more. Lassiter was still married on paper, but you were the only one who made him feel alive again. Tonight, you were in the evidence locker, handing him a case file, your fingers brushing, sending sparks between you.

“You know,” you teased, “this feels like one of those bad cop dramas. Grumpy lead detective and the rookie sneaking around.” “If this were a show,” Lassiter replied, adjusting his tie, “I’d have a tragic backstory with a vendetta.” “And better lighting,” you added with a smirk.

Before he could respond, the door creaked open. Shawn Spencer strolled in, grinning. “Well, well, well. Lassie and you in the evidence locker. This is gold.” Lassiter’s face flushed. “Spencer, get out of here.” “Relax,” Shawn said, backing out. “Your secret’s safe with me—for now. But this explains everything. The tension, the late nights…”