Lassiter walked up the stairs from the holding cells and into the bullpen. Spencer and Guster were there, hovering around O'Hara like bees around a flower. Spencer's hair had that tousled look that made Lassiter want to touch it. Lassiter clenched his jaw and tried not to make eye contact with him as he walked toward his desk. He hated it that Spencer still showed up at the station whenever he felt like it. It made it harder not to keep reliving the incident at the Psych office. It had taken all of Lassiter's self-control to avoid calling him afterwards. He'd cleaned and oiled all his guns, detailed and waxed his car, reviewed seven cold cases, and put all the newspaper clipping in his scrapbook into chronological order. These distractions hadn't helped. Even now, seeing Spencer leaning indecently across O'Hara's desk, Lassiter found himself entertaining fantasies of dragging him into the bathroom, locking the door, and…No. He would not let his mind wander there again. It was doing it so often lately it was going to wear a groove. Besides, if Spencer was interested, he'd have called. And he hadn't.
"Don't you two have anywhere better to be?" He grumbled, staring at the file on his arson case, and steadfastly refusing to look over at Shawn.
"Aw Lassie. Where else would we rather be?" Shawn smiled. "O'Hara is more badass than T.J. Hooker, and you're hotter than Heather Locklear and Adrian Zmed rolled into one. Although it does raise the question, when will you have to go undercover to break up a prostitution ring? Hell, Charlie's Angels got to do that a few times and they weren't even cops anymore."
"Sorry to disappoint you Spencer, but real life isn't like Charlie's Angels." Lassiter took a sip of his too-cold coffee and looked glumly at the file before him. He didn't like his odds of solving a random arson case with an unidentified victim. He much rather be busting a sex trafficking ring. If he had to go undercover, so much the better. He was confident that he could be convincing as a pimp if he threw on a garish shirt, some flashy jewellery and a soul patch.
"Listen, Carlton," O'Hara said. "Can we talk for a minute?"
"Shoot." Lassiter looked up to see three sets of eyes staring at him expectantly.
"What?" He hoped he didn't sound as defensive as he felt. So help me, he thought, if Spencer's told O'Hara what we did I will bury him up to his neck in an ant bed, sugar his hair, and leave him for dead.
"As you know," O'Hara said to Lassiter, "Gus and I have had some dates,"
Lassiter's forehead creased. "You and Guster have been dating? I had no idea."
"How could you not know?" O'Hara asked incredulously. "He's picked me up from work six times now."
"Who am I, your mother?" Lassiter asked. "I don't keep tabs on what you do."
"Fine, Carlton. You know now. "She glanced at Gus and then back to Lassiter, smiling again. "And we talked last night and we've decided to see each other exclusively from now on. The three of us are going out to dinner to celebrate, and we wanted to invite you."
"Fine," Lassiter said, begrudgingly. "Where and when?"
O'Hara clapped her hands together and barely repressed a bounce. "Tomorrow night at Tom Blair's Pub. We wanted something nice, but not too fancy. It's not an anniversary after all, it's—"
"Can I bring a date?" Shawn cut in.
"Sure, if you like." O'Hara looked surprised. "I didn't realize you were seeing anybody."
"A man with my winning smile and high cheekbones doesn't stay single for long, Jules," Shawn replied to her, but his eyes didn't leave Lassiter's face, studying him for a reaction.
Lassiter felt his stomach drop. Shawn was bringing a date. That was a pretty clear message. Any of the fantasies he'd been entertaining, sexual or domestic, were just time-wasting daydreams. Shawn had obviously never thought of him as anything more than a hook-up. Maybe the whole thing had been some kind of experiment. The sooner they both moved on the better. If only Spencer didn't still look at him with those heavy eyes and have those soft lips that never quote closed all the way.
"If Spencer's bringing a date then I'm bringing somebody too," Lassiter stuck his chin out and glared back at Shawn. Already he could feel his disappointment converting into anger. Being angry at Spencer felt comfortable—more than wanting to bed him had, anyway. It was the way things had been in the beginning, when Spencer had first conned his way into their cases. It felt right, even if it also hurt.
"Fine." O'Hara rolled her eyes and threw her arms up in surrender. "You can all bring dates."
"I guess I'll see you there," Shawn said to Lassiter. "With your date." He smiled, as if the situation were some grand joke, probably at Lassiter's expense. The overheads reflected off his eyes, and Lassiter thought he'd never seen them look so green before.
"I guess you will."
The next evening Lassiter walked into Tom Blair's Pub and spotted O'Hara, Guster, Spencer, and a woman he didn't recognize at a large semi-circular booth in the corner, sharing a pitcher of beer. Lassiter's date was Dr. Sylvia Wyman, a woman he'd met at a criminology conference in Denver the year before. She was smart and beautiful, with great legs, big brown eyes, and a cascade of chestnut hair. Realistically, he could never imagine a future with a woman who was in favour of eliminating the three strikes law, but for tonight's task she was perfect.
"Lassie!" Shawn called. "Glad you could make it." The group made space for Lassiter and Sylvia in the booth. Lassiter flagged down a waitress and ordered a second pitcher of beer and a couple of menus.
Shawn was wearing a dark blue dress shirt, unbuttoned enough that Lassiter could just make out the top of his chest scar. Most people would have noticed his necklace, but now that Lassiter knew the scar was there, it was all he could see. It made him feel protective, but it also reminded him how little he actually knew about Spencer. His remark about having his feelings removed had obviously been a way to side-step having to share personal details. Looking back, Lassiter thought that probably should have been a warning sign.
Shawn turned to a woman sitting next to him, wearing a clingy green top. "This is Monique, my date. She's a yoga instructor at the Athletic Association." He looked at Lassiter as if he'd just raised the stakes in a poker game. Lassiter looked at her critically. She was certainly toned.
Fine, Lassiter thought. If that's how he wants to play it. He smiled and gestured to Sylvia, who looked very professional in a black blazer and soft grey dress. "This is Dr. Sylvia Wyman, she's a professor at UC Santa Barbara." Ha! Lassiter thought. My professor beats your yoga instructor.
"Nice to meet you, Sylvia," Shawn said. "What do you teach?"
"She's a criminology expert," Lassiter said. Beautiful, professor, plus criminology—that's practically a full house. Top that, Spencer. He smiled smugly. The waitress brought their pitcher of beer and Lassiter began to fill glasses for them.
"He asked me the question, Carlton." Sylvia looked at him sharply. "They don't have a criminology department at UC Santa Barbara," She explained to Shawn, "but several of us in the sociology department take an interest in corrections and social deviance."
"Lassie can probably give you a real mouthful about deviance," Shawn deadpanned.
Lassiter spilled beer onto the table and quickly apologized, waving over a waitress who mopped up the spill with a bar towel. O'Hara, Guster, and the two women were looking at him, but none of them seemed to have guessed what Shawn was hinting at.
Great, Lassiter thought. Now Spencer's making sexual innuendos that only he and I get. Had this been his motive? Had the whole seduction been a honey trap designed to give him something embarrassing to hold over me from now on?
Shawn put an arm around Monique's shoulders and looked at her with his best bedroom eyes. "You guys should try a hot yoga class. I've been working off my Buddha belly and switching from Red Vines to eye candy. Now all I need is a dog named Stinky and the ghost of a dead Native American houseguest who gives me advice."
"I don't need to twist myself into a pretzel to work out," Lassiter said. "I prefer a good cardio boxing class." He watched Spencer's eyes linger hungrily on Monique's curves and felt both defensive and disappointed. Trust Spencer to make the dating criteria sexual. He gulped his beer and looked half-heartedly at the menu.
"I take it you don't have any issues with the commercialization of Indian religion then?" Sylvia asked Shawn.
"Since their samosas and chicken masala helped raise my BMI I think it's only fair that they help me work it off," Shawn said. "Besides, yoga's totally mainstream now. Even Ginger Spice has her own yoga video."
"Yoga's more than exercise," Monique interjected. "There's a spiritual dimension as well. Yoga's over five thousand years old. In the Vedas—"
"Veda? I seem to remember playing him in Street Fighter II. Wasn't he that Spanish dude with the Wolverine claws?"
"That was Vega," Gus interjected. "And he wasn't a playable character until the Champion Edition."
"Veda, vega, whatever." Shawn smiled, unaware of the lines creasing Monique's forehead and mouth. "Although the first time I heard about yoni, the female sexual essence, I thought they were talking about Yanni, the singer. Surprisingly, there's no relation. He's not even from India."
"I've taken yoga before," O'Hara offered. "It was a lot harder than it looked."
"I just started," Shawn said. "I'm not nearly as flexible as Monique is. You should see her downward dog. It's sizzling. It's the Sizzler Trio platter kind of sizzling."
Lassiter sighed and took a deep drink of his beer. The situation was ridiculous. He couldn't compete with every nymphette Shawn picked up. All he had to offer was a stable career, loyalty, and an honest character. And those traits hadn't exactly been drawing women like flies, so it was no mystery that they weren't working on Shawn.
"Oh yeah?" Lassiter countered. "Well Sylvia has a PhD. When was the last time you went out with someone who had a career?" He turned to Sylvia. "You make like, what? Sixty grand a year?"
"Lassie, Lassie, Lassie." Shawn chided. "That's the kind of thinking that leads to voting and wearing ties. You need to loosen up a bit. You need to learn to live in the moment."
"And you need to consider having a grown-up relationship," Lassiter said. "Or at least one that extends above your beltline." He did not notice that both Monique and Sylvia were starring at him with narrowed eyes, their mouths grim lines of disapproval.
"And maybe you should learn to follow your gut, wherever it leads," Shawn said.
"I don't think it's your gut that's been leading you around, Spencer."
"At least I don't make every decision based on what other people think."
"It must be great to live in such a consequence-free world," Lassiter retorted. "Maybe you should pay more attention to what other people think of you."
Shawn starred at Lassiter, oblivious to the tension their argument was creating around the table. "I may be a slacker without a career and a mortgage and a Y2K plan—"
"401K plan," Gus corrected him.
"Whatever. I'm not Mr. Responsible. I get it. But at least I'm not repressed."
"I'm not repressed." Lassiter's voice rose angrily.
"Not repressed? As if! You're a wacky sidekick away from accidentally running a prostitution ring out of the morgue."
During Shawn and Lassiter's argument, O'Hara and Gus had been whispering between themselves while pretending to look at their menus. Finally, O'Hara spoke.
"I'm going to the ladies room," she announced, loudly. She turned to Sylvia and Monique. "Why don't you come with me?" The women grabbed their purses, shuffled out of the booth and followed her through the warren of tables to the washroom.
Gus turned on Shawn and Lassiter. "Okay, what the hell, you two?"
"What?" Lassiter asked, his expression showing nothing save for injured innocence.
"You're ruining my first date with Juliet as an official couple. I expect this kind of thing from Shawn…" Shawn uttered a cry of protest, but Gus continued. "…but I thought you were more mature, Lassiter." He pointed a warning finger at them each in turn. "I don't care about what's going on between you two, but if it ruins my chances with Juliet, so help me, you will regret it."
"Are you threatening me Guster?" Lassiter wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or impressed.
"Let's just say that a man doesn't watch every Jim Brown movie since The Dirty Dozen without picking up a few tricks."
"Dude, you haven't seen Rio Conchos?" Shawn asked.
"Please," Gus said sternly, "you know how I feel about its portrayal of Native Americans."
O'Hara returned to the table. She was alone.
"Where's Sylvia?" Lassiter asked. "and…" he searched his memory but failed to remember the name of Shawn's date, "…the other one?"
"Sylvia and Monique left," O'Hara said. "She looked at Shawn, a crease on her forehead revealing her anger. "You creeped them out." She turned to Lassiter. "And you pissed them off. What is this, some kind of contest? Whoever alienates all the women at the table wins? I'm surprised nobody got called sugar tits."
"Sylvia's probably just upset," Lassiter said. "I should call her."
O'Hara put a hand over Lassiter's phone, "I wouldn't do that if I were you." Her slow voice and serious tone told him all he needed to know.
"Thanks a lot, Spencer. You completely torpedoed my chances with Sylvia," Lassiter accused him.
"Oh please!" Shawn scoffed. "You haven't had a steady girlfriend since Detective Berry, and that was what, four years ago? Don't tell me you're getting all serious about this stranger you dragged here."
"You wouldn't know serious if it ran you over with its car," Lassiter said. "You're incapable of having a romantic connection with anyone but yourself."
"Ow. That's harsh, Lassie." Shawn put a hand to his heart as if fatally wounded by his remarks. "And untrue. I wouldn't want a romantic connection with me. I'm not my type. Although with those yoga classes I was getting closer to being able to have a sexual connection with myself. But I think that would have been more of a friends with benefits situation."
"I sincerely hope you're joking," Gus said. "Otherwise I'm instituting a new 'no yoga' rule for the office."
"Of course he's not joking," Lassiter said. "That's just the kind of twisted thing he would get off on."
"I just can't win with you, can I?" Shawn asked, and for a moment Lassiter thought he saw real hurt in his eyes. "If you get any more critical you'll turn into Henry." The side of his mouth curled into a near-smile. "And that would give me a nervous breakdown."
"Your nineteenth I suppose?" Lassiter said.
Shawn and Gus looked at one another, then at O'Hara, then back to Lassiter
"My nineteenth?" Shawn laughed. "What are you talking about?"
"It's a Rolling Stones song. Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown."
"Yeah, but why are you bringing it up?" Shawn asked.
"It's a pop culture reference. You and Guster make them all the time."
Shawn laughed and shook his head. "Lassie, rule number one about pop culture references is that they must be popular. It's kind of the idea. Work with me here."
"The Rolling Stones are a popular band," Lassiter said. "Everyone knows them." He turned to O'Hara. "Back me up on this."
"I don't know the song," She shrugged and shook her head. "Sorry."
"It's obscure," Shawn assured him.
"Pretty obscure," Gus agreed.
Lassiter threw his napkin on the table. "You know what? Screw you guys." He stormed over to the cashier, paid his cheque without looking back and was gone.