Carlton Lassiter was having a long day. No, scratch that—a long week. Between back-to-back cases, department paperwork, and an unfortunate amount of Spencer-related nonsense, his patience was already hanging by a thread.

And yet, somehow, things were about to get so much worse.

You stood next to his desk, flipping through a case file as you spoke, your tone light and teasing despite the late hour. “You know, Carlton, you could take a break every once in a while. Maybe go outside, get some fresh air—touch some grass.”

Lassiter didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “I don’t have time for ‘touching grass.’”

You smirked. “Well, at least do something to loosen up. You’re so tense it’s giving me secondhand stress.”

He rolled his shoulders stiffly but ignored you. If he gave you an inch, you’d take a mile—and probably drag him into some ridiculous situation he had no patience for.

You sighed, shaking your head, and turned to grab another file from the desk behind you. At that exact moment, Lassiter reached for the same document—

And his hand landed directly on your backside.

The world came to a screeching halt.

Lassiter’s heart stopped. You froze mid-motion, eyes wide. For one terrible, horrible second, neither of you moved.

Then—

“OH. MY. GOD.”

Lassiter jerked his hand back violently, spinning around just in time to see Shawn standing in the doorway, his jaw dramatically dropped, eyes twinkling with absolute glee.

A slow, wicked grin spread across Shawn’s face. “Lassie. You dog.”

Lassiter felt every ounce of his soul leave his body. “Spencer—”

“No, no, don’t try to deny it,” Shawn interrupted, holding up a hand. “I saw that. The evidence is irrefutable. Carlton ‘I-Don’t-Do-Feelings’ Lassiter just grabbed her butt. In the middle of the precinct. Scandalous.”