Disclaimer: Not only do I not own anything related to CSI, I also own nothing about Jeopardy!

Chapter 2

After hearing Grissom call his name, Nick walked over. "What's up boss?"

"Nick, I'm not heading in the office, I, ah, want to get an errand done. Would you mind logging in this stuff?"

"Sure, no problem. What's up?"

"Nothing," Grissom said, brusquely. And with that, Nick, went to his SUV.

Jim clapped his hands together and looks at Grissom. "There you go. Have fun. And do me a favor? Try not to mess up and embarrass the LVPD."

Grissom let a smirk escape his lips as he started to walk away. "And why don't you try out?"

Jim smirked back. "I promised myself the only way I'd get on another game show is as its host."

When Grissom left, Jim stood alone and recalled that cheeky "Spanish Flea" theme music he heard some 30 years ago. The voice of Jim Lange saying, "Welcome back to The Dating Game!" lulled him back to a television set...

One day in the 1970s…

Bachelor #3 was a young Jim Brass. He sat on the bar stool next to, what he presumed to be, two out-of-work actors who were probably strung out on cocaine and caffeine. Brass chuckled as he thought about how he got on that stool. During a night of drinking with his fellow officers on the New Jersey force, his comrades actually bet him he wouldn't have the balls to go on a game show and land a hot, ready and willing West Coast honey.

It was actually a bet!

Knowing he had some damn irresistible side burns and his looks weren't too shabby, Brass took the bet, got a cheap flight using favors with a military buddy and got on the "Dating Game" in less than 48 hours.

They actually bet him! What jackasses.

Now all it took was a little finesse, and, as his make-up artist said as she dabbed some foundation on his face, he needed to loosen up a bit. She straddled his legs as she undid two buttons on his classy colored shirt — a bit of maroon, a bit of green, a bit of tan and a "whole lot of sexy," she said. "Never hurts to show us what you got."

Ah, memories.

When Jim Lange returned from the break, he approached the bachelorette, Francesca, who was ready to continue the game. "Now, Francesca, tell us again, who would you most like to meet while in Hollywood?" Lange asked as he placed a long, skinny microphone in Francesca's face.

"Well," she said with a hair tilt. "Goldie Hawn is talented and funny and all that, but what woman wouldn't want to meet Farrah," Francesca added, looking down at her heaving breasts. "I mean she is just so... Farrah!"

Bachelor #3 counted 12 giggles escape Francesca's mouth. At this point, Brass let his police training in processing evidence go to work... OK, her idols of choice plus her obvious intellect equals ... sweet knockers.

"So Francesca," Lange asked. "How about another question for one of our three bachelors?"

"Bachelor #3..."

YES!

"What can I do for you, sweetheart?" Brass asked.

"Bachelor #3, I love ice cream, and I love a man who enjoys a bowl of sweet stuff, so what flavor would you want to eat and would you want it in a cup or on a cone?"

"Darling, as long as you lick the ice cream from my cone, you can eat whatever flavor you want."

They actually bet him!

Capt. Brass chuckled in his coffee, and didn't notice Sophia approaching him.

"Hey Jim. What are you thinking about?"

"Ice cream," he quickly retorted. "How about some? My treat."

"Jim, it's 9:30 in the morning."

"Sophia, my experience has taught me it's never too early for ice cream."

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TBC