You make me want to walk
Like a camel
—Southern Culture On the Skids, "Camel Walk"

JUNE 2008

Carlton Lassiter hit the bar like four pounds of pressure on a five-pound trigger: not quite ready to fire, but needing in the worst way to let off or just detonate. He ordered a double, laid down a fifty, told the girl wielding the bottles to keep them coming, and then he closed his eyes and tried to drown out the background babble of the other patrons while he downed almost the entirety of his first drink like a shot. True to the method, it barely burned—at first. But so did a lot of things.

"Carlton?"

He lifted his head and looked around, knowing the voice but not placing it at once. And why should he? It'd been almost a year since he'd been in Santa Barbara. He was surprised to see his former partner—surprised but pleased—and when he smiled, it felt tired on his face. "O'Hara," he said.

She had a look in her eyes he also didn't immediately place, and when he did, he almost couldn't credit it: she was happy to see him. "I didn't know you were in town," she said, smiling warmly. "It's great to see you. How's Georgia?"

"Full of humidity and inbred morons, not in that order." He paused and then motioned to the seat next to him. "I'm sorry, please sit down. Would you like a drink?"

"That would be great. Vodka rocks," she said to the bartender. "How long has it been?" she wondered as she slid onto the stool. "I'm pretty sure the last time I saw you was at your farewell party, remember? I gave you a goodbye kiss."

He glanced at her quickly, trying to assess what was underneath her tone. Yes, she had given him a goodbye kiss. One hell of a goodbye kiss—he'd taken the memory of her soft tongue with him, one of the few good memories. "Yes, you did," he said. Then he frowned. "That idiot Spencer tried to as well."

O'Hara chuckled and thanked the bartender when she set a drink on the napkin in front of her. "Are you seeing anyone now?" she asked. "Is there a Georgia peach in your life?"

He hesitated, trying to quash the reflex to shove anyone curious enough to ask about his personal life into the nearest body of water. "No, I've been very busy," he said. "You wouldn't believe the state of the Macon police department. I spent two months ascertaining how many of them could actually pass an inspection. Or correctly pronounce words like 'wash' and 'idea'. Not that any of them has ever been properly washed, or has had an idea."

O'Hara nodded, sipping her drink. "Are you sorry you went?"

He shrugged. "No. A few of them are working on a career of getting my dander up, but the chief likes having someone around who actually knows what he's doing, so I can just smile at them from my top parking space, my private office, and the thirty-eight times my name has been in the papers for arrests and closed cases." He realized that he was going on about himself too much, but it was difficult to stop. He'd almost forgotten what a sympathetic ear and an intelligent audience was like. He should be polite to one of the few people who had ever professed to understand and to like him, toe ven enjoy working with him. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "How have you been?"

"Good," she said. "I'm still at the SBPD and things are going really well. I solved the Devon Rosberger murder—well, I did get some help from Shawn and Gus. It was his son, not his wife."

Lassiter snorted. "They still doing that fake-psychic thing?"

"Their agency has actually really taken off," O'Hara said, tilting her glass so that the ice clinked against the side. "They're working almost entirely private cases, but Chief Vick still hires them occasionally—like when Shawn doesn't take, 'Do not, for any reason, help us' for an answer. They've been in the news and on TV; Shawn loves the attention."

"I'm sure." Lassiter made a face, not really wanting to talk about Spencer right now, not on his last night in California and his first night seeing a friendly face.

"So why are you in town?" O'Hara asked, effortlessly reading his mood and changing the subject. He missed having a partner he was so in sync with. Of all the things he left behind here, he missed her quite near the top of the list.

"My sister got married this week." He tossed back the rest of his drink and signaled the bartender. "I'm going back tomorrow."

When O'Hara didn't reply for several moments, he glanced at her again and raised his eyebrows at the probing look on her face. The memory of her hands on the back of his neck and her body pressing into him flashed into his mind again, and he quickly picked up his fresh drink. She wasn't wearing a bra.

"I'm seeing someone," O'Hara said softly.

Lassiter tried not to react to that, but damn, she knew him. "I'm sure," he told his scotch. "I mean, you... I'm glad."

"We've been living together for almost a year," she continued, studying his face. "And it's great. We're... very open." Something about that made him look at her again, questioning. There was a little smile on her face. "An open relationship, Carlton. We're careful... but we're also, you know. Free."

"Free," he repeated.

She nodded seriously, though she was still smiling. "He's out with someone right now, actually. He'll be gone all night." She paused. "I'm going to be alone tonight. Unless..."

"You..." He was entirely unsure how to go on from this, and he went back to his drink in lieu of turning toward her and showing her how interested at least part of him was becoming. He'd never pegged her as the type to go in for that sort of thing—he'd thought she would be too smart. She was a detective!

"You should come home with me, Carlton."

He gaped at her. "O'Hara!"

"Juliet," she corrected softly. She reached over and laid her left hand over his. "If you want to—if you want me."

He opened his mouth to protest, to point out how inappropriate it would be: even if they weren't partners anymore, she was in a relationship. Even if her boyfriend was sleeping with someone else as well. But then... O'Hara's right hand found its way onto his thigh, into his lap, and he jerked. They were both adults, not working together, and it was no one else's business.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice low.

She was so close, and her eyes were so big and dark. "Absolutely."

.

Juliet went to the restroom before they left, half sure that Carlton would be gone when she came back; it had been more than obvious he was attracted to her, and she to him, but after he and his previous partner were nearly fired for their relationship, and she'd made it clear that she wasn't into the idea of sleeping with someone she worked so closely with, he went out of his way to not use her first name, to not even touch her unless it was absolutely necessary, to make a point of knowing next to nothing about her personal life. She respected him for it and didn't press him, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't thought of his hands, and his pale blue eyes, a little more than frequently. And now that they weren'tworking together...

She washed her hands and sent a text that she'd found a date and was bringing him home, and then she smiled and rolled her eyes when she got one back almost instantly requesting the "gooey details". She promised to disclose all gooiness the next day, reapplied her perfume, and left the ladies'.

Carlton wasn't at the bar; she was hugely disappointed, but not surprised. She glanced around to see if there happened to be anyone else she knew in the vicinity and was delighted to find Carlton standing near the door, just flipping his phone closed. He saw her and stood up straighter and she grinned.

"I just called a cab," he said softly when she came over. "Five minutes."

"Great." She couldn't stop smiling, loving the giddy rush of anticipation. "It's a nice night; let's wait outside."

"All right." He held the door for her and she didn't miss the downward flick of his eyes as she walked past him.

In the back seat of the cab, Juliet tried to get into his lap, but instead she found that she had to laugh exasperatedly when he pointed out that she couldn't do that and wear her seat belt at the same time. Same old Carlton... now if she could only get him to call her Juliet when she did get on top of him.

Inside her apartment, she immediately put her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss, not letting him go when he tried to pull back; instead, she pushed a little more, sending them both against the closed door and her breasts crashing into his chest. When his big hands rested on her shoulders, she finally took her tongue back and smiled up at him, caressing the back of his neck with her thumbs. "Can I take your jacket?" she asked. "Let's have another drink."

He looked more than blown away, like he was trying to get back on an even footing, which she liked. "Sure," he said after a moment. "That... would be good."

She hung up his jacket and went to the cupboard, hoping the bottle of Johnnie Walker was still there—it was. When she handed him a glass, her fingers lingering over his for too long, he stared into her eyes and swallowed without sipping his drink. She smiled sweetly and turned toward the living room. "Let's get more comfortable."

.

He couldn't believe his hand was on her breast, carefully feeling the soft, firm roundness. Her nipples were hard and so was he, her mouth as slick and sweet as before, and when she raised up and threw a leg over his lap, sitting directly over his crotch, he slipped his fingers underneath her blouse and stroked the smooth skin underneath her breasts.

"Mmmm," she said softly. He was very tempted to agree.

He jumped when there came a loud knock at the door, the worldwide renowned first half of 'Shave and A Haircut'. O'Hara paused, waiting, and sighed when the last two knocks came, louder and slower than the first. "I'll be right back," she promised, standing and smoothing her top back down. "Don't go anywhere."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Lassiter said shakily. He watched her go around the corner and heard her open the door, and then he sat forward to get his drink. He could hear voices and fervently wished they would go away.

"Hi, Juliet. I have a present for you," a low male voice said. "We were on the way back to my place, but my wife called me from her parents' and said I need to go meet them."

"Oh, is everything okay?"

"I dunno, something about her sister. I'm sure it's fine. He said you found a date, so I'm sorry, but I had to bring him back and we didn't want to come crashing in. We were drinking and he's in his handsy phase. Have fun."

There was a shuffling of feet and O'Hara grunted as with a heavy weight. "Oof. Stand up, Shawn."

Shawn? Not Spencer, Lassiter thought, his hand frozen with the glass halfway to the table. Please not Spencer.

"Thanks, Kyle," O'Hara's voice went on. "I'm sure he'll want you to call him again when you've got another free night."

"Every night is a free night, Jules," came another voice, and Lassiter groaned softly. Had she told him her boyfriend's name? No. Please no, what a way to ruin what could have been an amazing night.

There were goodbyes and the door closed, and then O'Hara was in the doorway, pulling a very drunk and yammering Shawn Spencer behind her. Lassiter sighed, thinking that this made perfect sense. If something seemed too good to be true... and of course, he was holding a rabbit. No, a taxidermied rabbit, which he was trying to offer to O'Hara, who took it from him with a look of distaste and set it on a side table.

O'Hara led Spencer to the other end of the sofa Lassiter was sitting on, and she pushed on his shoulders to make him sit. "Whee," he said, dropping down on the cushions. "Aww, that was like, the worst carnival ride ever. Where's my bunny? That's a V.I.B., you know. A very... important... bunny wabbit."

"Shawn, I have a guest."

"You're very good at hiding him," he told her chest. "Or her?"

"Him."

"Ooh. Will he fuck me?"

Lassiter blinked several times. What?

"No... probably not, Shawn."

Spencer pouted. "Awww..."

"We can ask," O'Hara's eyes flicked to Lassiter, who stared back at her, bewildered. What in god's name had she brought him back to? "But probably not. I'm pretty sure he's straight."

"Aww... Is he going to fuck you?"

"That's the plan."

"Can I watch?"

"Of course, if you're good."

He grinned, finally looking up at her eyes. "I am so good."

.

Juliet leaned down close to Shawn's face. "Don't be startled," she warned.

"Don't be startled," he repeated. Juliet glanced at Carlton, and when she looked back, Shawn held up his hands and jumped at her. "Boo!"

She started a little and then swatted his arm while he giggled. "Settle down."

"I will do no such thing," he said loftily, gazing at her boobs again. "It's insane in the membrane for you to even suggest it."

"Shhhhh." She waited until he looked up from her breasts; then she raised her finger, getting his attention. When he was looking at her finger like a cat fixing on a laser pointer, she pointed to Carlton, who was watching them carefully.

Shawn looked at him, not registering surprise—or anything, really. He glanced back at Juliet. "Whoa, how did you do that?" he whispered.

"I'm magic," she said. "You remember who that is, don't you, Shawn?"

"Yeah, Lassie." He looked back again and his face broke into a huge grin. "Lassie! Jules, look, it's Lassie! Oh man, I missed you!"

"I know, Shawn, he's my guest." Juliet was laughing while Shawn vaulted up from his end of the couch and plopped down in Carlton's lap, straddling him and wrapping his arms around him. Carlton raised his hands and looked at Juliet, who shrugged.

"I... hi, Spencer," Carlton managed.

"You're back! And your front," Shawn added, squeezing him again. "I missed your front. When did you get back home?"

"I didn't—I'm not—" Carlton was still holding his hands up and looking confused. "I'm going back tomorrow. Uh, Spencer, can you get off me?"

"Do I have to?" Shawn nuzzled his face into Carlton's chest. "What if I want to sleep here? You're cozy."

"You can't sleep on him," Juliet said.

"Don't tell me how to live my life, Jules."

She let out a breath that was partly an exasperated laugh. "I would never do that. But he asked you to get off."

"Cool, I was planning on it. Kyle had to go and I am unfulfilled. Promises were made, or implied contract, something?"

"Shawn."

Shawn broke the embrace but didn't get off Carlton's lap. "Lassie, I was sad when you moved away," he said seriously. "All those good times we had. I am so glad to see you. Will you fuck me?"

Carlton looked back up into Shawn's face, shocked. "Wh—I—you're drunk."

"I'm very drunk," Shawn agreed confidentially. "Are you straight?"

"Very straight," Carlton said dryly.

Shawn licked his lips and sighed. "That's so disappointing. All those times you threw me up against the wall, I thought we had something."

"I just told you he was," Juliet said.

"You were wrong about Kyle—I told you he wanted me the second you brought him home—so there." Shawn looked back at Carlton. "You gonna fuck Jules though? I can watch, right?"

Carlton looked at Juliet, nonplussed. She smiled. "You... want to watch me make love with your girlfriend?" he asked.

"Yeah," Shawn breathed.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Why not? If you can't join 'em, watch 'em. Or beat 'em. Or beat 'em off." He grinned. "I've heard it both ways."

Juliet stood behind Shawn and caressed the back of his head. When he looked at her, she smiled again. "You're in my spot," she said gently.

"You're a Lassie hog," he said, but then he finally got up.

"He's my guest. No, sit in the chair." She guided Shawn away from the other end of the couch and to the armchair. "You're making Carlton uncomfortable and he might leave," she said quietly. "I'm sorry you couldn't stay with Kyle tonight, but we were supposed to be alone. Now sit over here and be quiet, can you do that right now?"

"I can do lots of things." Shawn wobbled where he stood and she pushed on his shoulder until he sat in the chair.

"If you're rude to my guest I'll put you to bed," she said firmly. "You can stay if you obey. Say it."

"I can stay."

"If you obey," she persisted. "Say it, Shawn."

"That's so hot," he said longingly. "You smell fruity. Can I bite your hair?"

"No. Tell me you're going to be good or you have to go to bed."

"It would be good to go to bed."

"Okay." She reached for his hand.

He put both hands up and leaned back into the chair. "No, no, not alone, I want to stay out here. I'll be good and quiet and do what you say."

She leaned forward and took his chin in one hand, making him look at her face. "You're not allowed to touch Carlton unless he says you can."

Shawn stuck out his lower lip, and when she raised her eyebrows, he relented. "I know, I won't, I'm just going to sit here and watch you touch him."

"Good." She leaned a little closer and kissed him. He tried to put his hands in her hair but she gently pushed him back. He subsided, and she gave him a smile before turning back to Carlton and going directly to his lap. She sank down on him, knowing she was blocking his view to Shawn, and leaned forward until her breasts were almost pressed against his chin, his hands resting lightly on her hips. "Is it okay if Shawn stays?" she asked him quietly. "If that's a deal-breaker I can send him to the bedroom. He's smashed and he'll probably fall asleep in ten minutes anyway." She wiggled on his legs and felt him arch up slightly.

"If he's that drunk he shouldn't be left alone," Carlton said reluctantly, sparing a generous glance for her rack.

"He really does just want to watch, and he can stay over there and be quiet."

He hesitated again and then nodded. "All right."

She smiled again. "Good."