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safarigirlsp · 5 months

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Happy Fuckin’ Birthday

Happy Fuckin' Birthday

Flip Zimmerman x Lawyer Reader

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Angst, maybe? Comedy. Abuse of process. Hazing Flip for his birthday, as one should. Birthday pranks. Bitchy Reader. If you want a sweet, submissive, shy reader, my fics are never for you xD

AO3 Link

A little birthday celebration for Scorpio season! I had this written timely on November 19, but just forgot to post it. Whoops!

Turning forty wasn’t something Flip Zimmerman was overly excited about. It had nothing to do with the usual dramatics and neuroses that plagued most people. He didn’t have any deep regrets in life; he hadn’t taken any stupid turns or failed to seize any major opportunities; he didn’t have a ‘one that got away’ – the things in life that can add up to a mid-life crisis or make a man dread the passage of years. He had the woman he wanted, the job he wanted, and for the most part, the life he wanted. Flip didn’t give a damn about the number of candles on his cake. What annoyed the hell out of him was the production everyone else in his life had to make over it. That might rank as one of his bigger regrets in life, telling people close to him when his damn birthday was. His birthday would be a perfectly fine day, if no one else knew about it.

To Flip, his birthday was just another day on the calendar. But could everyone else in his life ever treat it that simply? Fuck no.

Flip never took the day off for his birthday. He immediately lost respect for any man who did that. Women got a pass with such frivolous and indulgent things, but men had no business pampering themselves like candy asses. This year was poised to be a little extra good for Flip since his birthday fell over a weekend. He could guiltlessly spend it exactly how he wanted, which was also how he’d spend every other day of his life if he was free from all financial, vocational, and social obligations. Flip wanted to spend his birthday weekend hidden away in his cabin, sleeping, eating, and fucking just as much as he wanted, and not doing a damned thing else or talking to a damned person other than his girl.

So far, Flip’s birthday weekend had been precisely what he wanted. Starting Friday night, he had gotten his birthday wish in quantities sufficient to appease all his ravenous hungers. Saturday had been the same, and it had been glorious. He had put on a damn fine show for his girl, if he did say so himself. He figured it was the best way to demonstrate he was a vigorous man in his prime, not a doddering old bastard. Flip had allowed his lady to finagle him into sharing a steaming hot bath with her after dinner to break up the pattern. He didn’t want to admit how good it felt on his aching muscles. Even though it was only due to all the extra use over the past two days, or rather, due to the gross lack of use during the other days of the year, Flip knew his sore muscles would be used against him on his fortieth birthday. All the running and weightlifting in the world wasn’t really the same as the workout a man gets from a marathon between the sheets. He knew he was in for a generous ration of shit for his birthday, not least of all from his girl. He’d wonder what was wrong if she wasn’t giving him hell. Still, it was best not to load the guns for her.

Flip defined ‘sleeping in’ differently than most. He had been conditioned by his days in the military to be up before sunrise and ready to meet every battle with the dawn. He felt extremely lazy and indulgent when he let the sunrise wake him as it first peaked over the mountains and into his bedroom window. This attitude was in stark contrast to his wife, who considered mornings in general to be a vile institution and often bitched about how morning people were given entirely too much power in society.

Dawn on Flip’s birthday was one of those crystalline winter mornings where the light was tinted a soft pink-blue-white and frost coated everything in sight like icing on a diamante cake. It had snowed several inches during the night and outside the window, the mountains were gleaming spires, the ground was covered with fresh powder, and the pines wore a layer of snow like fancy ladies swaddled in white mink. Snowy mornings like this were Flip’s favorite kind of morning, when everything was still pristine and sparkling with promise. Before any bullshit settled in.

Groaning contentedly, Flip stretched as the sunlight danced across his face. He was still a little sore in all the places he wanted to be, and he was rock hard and ready for a proper good morning.

So far, forty felt great.

Half asleep, he turned and nuzzled his nose into the soft warm body lying curled next to him. A soft, warm, furry body. Grumbling and pulling his face away, Flip opened his bleary eyes and glared through his disheveled hair at the fat, black cat he had inherited when he had begun living with his girl. Some men have worse step kids to deal with, he reasoned now as the adorable black asshole looked back at him through slitted green eyes, as if she was just as entitled to sleep in his bed as he was. Narrowing his own eyes back at the cat, he asked her, “Where’s your mom at?”

His question was answered by the clanging of a pot on the stove downstairs and a couple choice curses in a familiar feminine voice. Now fully awake, Flip became aware of the scent of bacon, eggs, and pancakes – his favorites – and strong black coffee just how he liked it. This was a rare treat. Flip usually assumed the duty of cooking breakfast on the days they could enjoy it together. Hearing his girl down in the kitchen, slaving away over the stove at such an unconscionable hour, as she deemed it, made him grin at the effort she put in for him.

“Your mom’s a keeper,” he confided to the cat and patted her round belly. “But you’re a sorry little porker.”

Flip stretched again and ran a hand through his unruly hair. He thought he should brush it before going downstairs, but he knew how she liked it when he looked a little wilder than usual. She liked him best when he smelled fresh from a shower but looked unbrushed, unshaven, and what he thought was mildly unkempt. Women are nonsensical creatures, he had realized early in his dating career. He damn sure needed to brush his teeth and wash his face though. He pulled on the pair of jeans he wore the day before and the flannel shirt he had thrown across the room the night before, only bothering to button two of the center buttons. The phone he’d left in his jeans pocket buzzed insistently against his ass.

Should have turned the fuckin’ thing off, he lamented as he retrieved it and saw the tirade of missed calls. He knew what all those calls meant. But as long as he ignored them, he had plausible deniability, as the bloodsucking lawyers say. As his girl would say. He lost his phone; his battery died; service is bad out at his place; his wife threw it at his head and it broke against the wall.

Against his better judgment, and because it was Stallworth calling and Flip didn’t feel right about ignoring his best friend, he answered.

“What,” Flip grunted, leaving no doubt as to his feelings over this intrusion. He thought to himself, This is the beginning of a bad fuckin’ day.

“Good morning to you too,” Ron said in his easy, affable tone. “It’s a beautiful day out, isn’t it?”

“I have a feelin’ I’m not gonna think so after you tell me why in the hell you’re calling.” Flip walked sullenly to the bathroom while Stallworth ran through some pleasantries. Thankfully, he didn’t lead with Happy Birthday. Flip would have hung up on him. Flip lifted the toilet seat and unzipped his jeans.

“We just got a big break in that jewel heist case. Actually, I did. On a stakeout last night,” Ron said proudly, then paused. “Are you taking a piss while I’m talking to you?”

“We’d both be happier if you weren’t talkin’ to me, but you called,” Flip muttered and flushed the toilet. He held the phone toward the bowl so Stallworth could hear the rush of water, mimicking Flip’s interest in the matter.

“You’re a barbarian, you know that?” Stallworth laughed despite himself.

“Flattery don’t do it for me,” Flip said as he ran the sink, letting the water warm. He noticed four angry red scratches on the side of his neck from his girl’s fingernails and felt a rush of pride. “Go out and catch your jewel thief and take all the glory. Girls love that shit.” He splashed his face with hot water and lathered it with his soapy hands. “I’ll read all about your heroics in the paper.”

“It’s not that simple,” Ron said regretfully. “We need you on this one. You know I wouldn’t be calling if we didn’t.”

“I’m off. It’s a Sunday. And it’s,” he just stopped himself from saying my fuckin’ birthday. “Too fuckin’ early.”

“You think I like being the guy who has to roust the bear out of his cave?” Ron tried to joke to his entirely unreceptive audience. “We need you. Get dressed and get your ass out here.”

“God damnit.” Flip hung up and shoved his phone back in his pocket. Oh yeah, it’s gonna be a great day, he thought. Aloud, he grumbled to his reflection in the mirror, “Happy fuckin’ birthday, you old bastard.”

*******************************************************************************************

A scalding droplet of bacon grease jumped from the sizzling cast iron pan to land on your exposed thigh, making you cuss under your breath as you quickly wiped it away. You were always extra prickly in the morning. Flip deserves a nice birthday breakfast, you reminded yourself and inhaled deeply, deep enough to force a good mood down your throat along with the chilly morning air. Also in honor of his birthday, you opted for a casually sexy look as opposed to something more comfortable like pajama pants and a tank. You wore only one of his favorite shirts, worn until it was soft as velvet, and slippers. Early on you had realized he liked that look on you and something about seeing you in his clothes appealed to his innate possessiveness.

It was chilly inside the cabin, save for the heat from the stove. On cold winter mornings like this the little cabin furnace had to work overtime just to keep the pipes from freezing. To really get the temperature up in the cabin, a fire needed to be lit in the living room fireplace, but you were not that ambitious before sunrise and would leave it to Flip.

As you thought of him, you heard the wooden stairs creak and knew he was descending them. His footfalls were always light, he moved agility for such a large man. You pretended not to hear him and moved to the side of the stove, leaning forward in a provocative invitation under the guise of fiddling with the coffee maker. Predictably, Flip took the bait and wrapped his arms around you from behind, pressing his chest against your back and molding his body against yours. But his arms enfolded you chastely around your waist and his hands didn’t roam higher or lower to seek out their favorite places.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you purred, rubbing your ass back against him. You felt he was wearing jeans and turned inside his arms to face him. He was fully dressed, right down to his boots. “You’re violating your own self-imposed dress code, or rather lack thereof, for this weekend.”

“I have good news for you, sugar,” Flip told you with a grin and kissed you deeply. “You get to sleep in today after all.”

“You mean after we succumb to a food and orgasm coma in a couple hours?” You grinned back. “I’d call that a nap, but suit yourself.”

“I got a call,” Flip started.

“We agreed no phones this weekend!” you cut across him, instantly bristling. “That was your rule. I have a big trial Monday and I’ve been ignoring my phone for a day and a half already. You better be joking.”

“You of all people know rules are made to be broken,” Flip tried again, still maintaining his grin that now looked moronic to you.

“I’m sore everywhere from you wanting to act like a horny teenager all day yesterday.” You raised a dangerous eyebrow. “I got up when it was still dark to freeze in your kitchen and get burned by grease to cook for you on your birthday, and you’re taking calls?” Your voice had dropped an octave and sounded deceptively calm. Flip knew these were very bad signs.

“I didn’t even take my phone out of my pocket yesterday. Ron caught me off guard this mornin,’” Flip used a reasoning tone, like he would when talking to a jumper. It didn’t help your darkening mood. “But listen, there’s been a big break in that jewel heist Ron and I’ve been workin.’ He got a tip, a hot tip, on where we can catch the bastard. But it’s tonight.”

“And Ron needs you to hold his hand for this escapade?” you asked testily.

“Well, he’s still a little green on things like this.” Flip rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the floor. He always did that when he was in trouble, like a grounded boy trying to look contrite. “I can eat breakfast real quick with you before I go.”

“Real quick?” you laughed sarcastically. “Just what every girl wants to hear?”

“How about I eat somethin’ else before I head out.” He winked at you, trying his best to lighten your mood.

“Yes, I’ve always loved the wham, bam, thank you, ma’am approach.” You glared at him. “How long will you be gone?”

“Well, I have to go in now to go over everything and get briefed before I go out to nab the bastard.” Knowing he was digging his hole deeper, he muttered the next confession. “And it’s at some fancy party down at the Broadmoor tonight. They figure I’d be better to walk in there and get the job done. That reminds me, I’ll need you to pick out a nice suit for me.”

“Let me make sure I understand you correctly.” You stepped away from him, beyond arm’s reach. “You’re leaving me alone today – on your day off, on a weekend, on your birthday – to go out to a swanky party at the Broadmoor while I wait here until you decide to show up again?” You raised your eyebrows. “And then, let me guess – when you get home, late, I’m sure, you want me to feed you dinner and fuck you all night again. Or will you have eaten dinner at your soiree?”

“Sugar, you know I can’t control the timing of these things,” Flip said regretfully. “Breakfast looks great. You look delicious. I don’t want to leave, you know that.” He shook his head and asked exasperatedly, “What do you want me to do?”

“It’s your birthday.” You crossed your arms over your chest and narrowed your eyes. “So, it’s your choice.”

Flip had been in enough life and death situations to know he was approaching one now. But he didn’t have much choice. “I have to go in. But I’ll be as quick as I can and I’ll see you tonight. I’ll make it up to you tonight, sugar.”

“This is such bullshit, Flip.” You were fully angry now. Flip knew he was going to be in trouble for a while. “I blew off my responsibilities to let you fuck me as much as you wanted this weekend, and what do I get? You blowing me off to run out and try to catch some petty thief? What happens if you don’t catch this guy today? You have no personal consequences. If I screw up at my job, I lose business and lose actual income, and still, I’ve been blowing off my duties for you this weekend. But you have to strut out to make an arrest now, just so you can dick wave.”

“C’mon, darlin,’” Flip pleaded, holding his arms out, as if you’d run into them. “It’s not like that.”

“No, it’s exactly like that.” You shook your head and shoved past him toward the stairs. “If you’re going to work today, so am I. I have a hearing to prep for, and at least I can bill three-fifty an hour. I’ll be late too.” You paused at the bottom of the stairs to twist the knife a little more. “Since you let these criminals interfere in our lives, maybe I’ll take your thief’s case pro bono after you arrest him and get him off in court instead of getting you off in bed.”

“Calm the fuck down!” Flip lost his temper and instantly regretted it. He calmed his own voice and added, “It’s not that big of a deal. Quit pullin’ your lawyer shit on me.”

“Are you having a senior moment? You must be getting old, after all,” you snapped and stormed up the stairs. “Don’t worry. Maybe we’ll celebrate your birthday next year.”

“You don’t think you’re overreacting just a little?” Flip asked foolishly.

“Not just yet, I’m not.” Halfway up the staircase you turned, pulled off a slipper, and threw it across the room at him. Flip ducked just in time to avoid a perfectly aimed headshot.

“You missed!” Flip bellowed triumphantly then added a cocky laugh.

You didn’t miss your second shot. You whipped your other slipper with more sting, sending it flying right into his chest with a satisfying whap. Then you turned on your heel and trotted up the stairs.

“Love you, sugar!” Flip shouted sarcastically after you. His face was hot and the thick vein in his neck pulsed angrily.

“Happy fucking birthday!” You slammed the bedroom door.

*******************************************************************************************

The drive into the station seemed longer than usual, possibly because Flip spent the better part of it grinding his teeth and strangling the steering wheel in a white-knuckled death grip. He was not at all amused when Stallworth met him at the station door holding a cane.

“Take it easy, old guy,” Stallworth said, offering him the cane. “Need a hand getting to your desk?”

“You’ll need a hand pullin’ that cane out of your ass if you don’t get it out of my face.” Flip shoved past his friend and made his way to his desk, waving off several other old jokes and happy birthdays. His menacing glare would be enough to make strangers piss their pants. Sadly, his co-workers at the station knew this was mostly posturing and it did little to deter them.

Chief Bridges was waiting for Flip at his desk, leaning against it intrusively. He wore a shit-eating grin and said with every indicia of seriousness, “Forty, huh? You know what that means, Zimmerman. It’s time to re-take your firearms training. Maybe driving too. Make sure you’re not slipping as an old man. A man’s aim is the first thing to go.”

“Fuck you,” Flip growled irritably. “I’m in better shape now than I was in my twenties.”

“It’s worse than I feared.” Bridges grinned. “Sometimes, the mind goes first.”

“Forty’s not all that old,” Stallworth came to Flip’s defense. “For a tree or a tortoise.”

“Don’t let me catch you trying to get little blue pills off any trafficking suspects.” Bridges waved a finger at Flip. “I’ve had to write up more old farts for that in this department than you want to know.”

“Not one of my complaints.” Flip smirked. “You sound like you have some personal experience in that department, Chief.”

“I’m glad you’re a cocky sonofabitch, Zimmerman. And a ladies man. It makes this part of the job a helluva lot more fun for me,” Bridges said and Flip’s smirk melted away. “A ladies man is just what the doctor ordered for this sting. Turns out our jewel thief is a broad! Can you believe it? Word says she’s going to the event at the Broadmoor tonight and she’ll be wearing a black dress. All you have to do is sidle up to her, blow whatever smoke up her ass you need to, and get her to waltz right out of the party with you and up to the room we have setup. Stallworth will be there to help make the arrest in case you need backup. You think you’ll need a hand putting handcuffs on a woman once you get her into your bedroom?”

“I can’t fuckin’ do that and you know it!” Flip exclaimed angrily, on the verge of shouting. “I’m already in deep shit with the little woman over comin’ in at all today, and you think I’m gonna go out to a party and then bring some floozy back to a hotel room? I’ll do stupid things in the line of duty, but that’s a death sentence. No fuckin’ way.”

“Scared of a dame, are you, Zimmerman?” Bridges poked.

“I’m scared of the one I have at home,” Flip huffed indignantly. “I’d be a fool not to be. She’d string you up right alongside me, Chief. Find someone else. Ron’s single.”

“Our thief’s a tall gal. A woman won’t be interested in a man who’s shorter than she is, now will she? You’re the only man in the department who’ll be taller than her in heels.” Bridges looked at Stallworth and shrugged. “There’s a height requirement on this ride, and Ron’s several inches too short.”

“Just put a tail on her and grab her when she goes to the ladies room,” Flip suggested. “Easy.”

“If you haven’t noticed, the CSPD has been written up in the paper about once a month this whole year. All you overeager assholes making scenes and causing property damage during arrests,” Bridges chided both men, who had each been featured prominently in various articles. “The last thing I need is some big public scene at the Broadmoor to kick off the holiday season. Do you think this is a fucking negotiation, Zimmerman?��

“There wouldn’t be any negotiation if I told you to shove it up your ass along with my badge and gun,” Flip grunted, thinking that his job was interfering too much in his enjoyment of life.

“What else are you qualified to do? Public relations? Customer service?” Bridges laughed. “Being shacked up with a high-power lawyer the way you are, you should thank me every day for this job. You think a dame like that is gonna want some unemployed grumpy sonofabitch keeping her couch from running away. I got news for you, Zimmerman, cabana boys are about fifteen or twenty years younger than you.”

“Nope, I’ll go over to the dark side.” Flip smirked again. “The Feds have been houndin’ me pretty hard lately.”

“You’re getting to be a crotchety bastard in your old age,” Bridges said dismissively. He patted Flip on the back as he started toward his office. “Quit your bitching moaning and go get the job done. The faster you get it done, the faster you can be back home with your wife.”

“Sometimes I envy those whiny bastards who call in for their birthdays,” Flip groaned to Stallworth when they were alone.

“Too late for that now,” Stallworth said brightly. “Man up.”

“Manning up has never been a problem for me.” Flip glared at him and sat down heavily in his chair.

“What happened there?” Stallworth eyed the scratches you had left on Flip’s neck, pulling his shirt collar back to get a better look. “Are you being abused? Do you need a safe house interview? Was there some animal control problem with a bobcat I missed over the weekend?”

“I guess I’ve still got it,” Flip said proudly.

“Wow, and you left her on your birthday to come down here for me?” Stallworth batted his eyes and teased, “I can’t tell you how much that means to me. I feel like that’s a big step in our relationship.”

“She already calls you my work wife.” Flip shook his head. “Watch your ass, rookie, or there’s gonna be some domestic violence in our relationship.” Flip slumped in his chair, highly unamused and gestured for Ron to get on with it.

“Want me to talk slow when I go over this, old timer?” Stallworth teased, holding the casefile.

“Not in the fuckin’ mood.” Flip glared at his friend, not teasing at all. He snatched the file from Stallworth and slapped it down open on his desk. He was going to get this shit over with as fast as humanly possible. He retrieved a pair of glasses with large lenses and tortoise rims from his shirt pocket, a new addition to his wardrobe. He only recently capitulated to wearing them on occasion. But only for reading. He narrowed his eyes at Stallworth in anticipation. “Not a fuckin’ word.”

Before Flip could take in much on the first page, a commotion from the front of the station drew his attention. An argument and raised voices along with the shuffling of papers, all boded nothing good in a police station. Flip shoved up from his desk and hurried to see the cause of the uproar. Several officers argued with a fat little man who was so short Flip could only see the shiny top of his greasy bald scalp hovering chest level to the average sized officers around him. Dan Goldleaf was a private investigator who served papers in his spare time, one of the lowest forms of ilk to a cop, just above pedophiles and traffickers. Worst of all, the human shitstain worked for most of the defense lawyers in town.

When Flip approached the unruly spectacle, the trollish man excitedly waved the papers in his hand. He was gelatinously fat, and his whole body jiggled with the movement. He flashed a golden smile as he waddled to Flip. He pushed the papers into Flip’s chest and announced, “Here ya go, Zimmerman!” Quick as a ferret, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture of Flip holding the papers in a clenched fist, a deadly glare on his face. Goldleaf straightened to his full height of around five feet and popped the lapels of his brown jacket, crackling a fresh mustard stain. The gaudy gold rings on every fat sausage finger glittered in the fluorescent lights. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Flip wanted to squish the greasy troll like a slug, but there were too many witnesses for that now. He looked at the crumpled papers he held in his fist and backed to the wall until his back was pressed against it. It kept him from pacing like a caged animal. He had been served with a formal looking document consisting of several pages. The papers had been sent by the law firm of Dewey, Cheatum & Howe. It began with:

CANDICE GOODING,

Petitioner,

Vs.

PHILIP ZIMMERMAN,

Respondent.

VERIFIED PETITION TO ESTABLISH PATERNITY

COMES NOW the Petitioner, Candice Gooding, by and through undersigned counsel, Rob Cheatum, and in support of her Verified Petition STATES THE FOLLOWING:

“Christ, it’s a fuckin’ paternity suit from some bitch named Candice Gooding. Says she has a five-year-old kid and it’s mine! She’s comin’ after me for goddamn child support,” Flip gritted through clenched teeth. Every muscle in his body contracted and he shook with rage. He wanted to break something, or at least punch through a wall. He managed to grate out, “I don’t even know this bitch!”

“Candice Gooding,” Stallworth said slowly, enunciating every syllable, as if speaking to an idiot. “That doesn’t ring any bells?”

“It sure as hell doesn’t!” Flip was fuming, his chest flushed hot.

“What else could she call herself?” Stallworth mused, pretending to consider the issue. “Candy maybe?” Slowly, the red flush drained from Flip’s face until he was unusually pale. “Candy Goodie, maybe? Ring any bells now? Wasn’t she an ex-girlfriend some five, six years ago?”

“Motherfucker,” Flip groaned. He suddenly felt very old, as if he had aged a decade on his birthday. He leaned against the wall and knocked his head back against it roughly, as if he could bang some sense into his younger self. “She wasn’t my goddamn girlfriend, and you know it. She was just a slutty little cocktail waitress whose big dream in life was to be a stripper in Vegas where she could make the ‘big bucks.’ She was hot and easy and I fucked her a few times when I was hard up. Big deal. Any port in a storm, you know? Every girl I banged when I was footloose and fancy free wasn’t a girlfriend.”

“Guess you should have used some rubber to weather that particular storm,” Stallworth quipped, studying the papers more closely. “That candy must have been good if you went back for seconds.”

“Fuck you, buddy,” Flip said, really and truly wanting to punch something now.

“Better call your wife,” Stallworth suggested.

A look of pure terror flashed across Flip’s face for an instant before he could mask it. “Don’t you dare call her. Or tell her anything about this at all! Christ, you want to get me killed?”

“She’s a lawyer. Who do you think will be handling this for you?” Stallworth tried unsuccessfully to be helpful.

“Just haul me out back and shoot me now. Get it over with quick.” Flip dropped his head into his hands, shaking his head. “She can’t know a thing about this until I figure it out.”

*******************************************************************************************

“Hey, Sugar,” Flip crooned into the phone when you answered. “I was thinkin’ that since I have to get dressed up and put on the ritz tonight that you could get all dolled up too like you like and meet me after. I’ll take you out on the town and show you a real nice time.”

“I’m not in the mood,” you said, your tone told him you were far from appeased. “I thought you decided we were working today. And tonight.”

Flip had called while he was changing into his suit, a black one with a button up shirt in a dark shade of charcoal. He realized you had picked out one of your favorites for him that morning and it made him feel even guiltier. A nice suit usually had the effect of making him feel dashing, now it felt like he was dressing for his own funeral. Maybe I am, he thought to himself with a rueful smirk. Aloud, he said, “I know you’re mad as hell, but I promise I’ll make it up to you. I love you, sugar.”

“I’m on the clock, Flip,” you said sternly. “Something you know a lot about, right? We’ll catch up later. Whenever that might be.”

*******************************************************************************************

On the drive to the Broadmoor Stallworth informed Flip, “I called a clerk I know at the court who can verify the paternity suit on a Sunday. It’s real.”

“It’s like all my birthday wishes are comin’ true.” Flip glared out of the window, particularly eyeing the couples walking down the street, having a much better evening than he was.

Stallworth had informed Flip of all the details of their sting, how the event was in a private room of the Broadmoor, how they had booked a suite under the name of Frank Zeiss, a cover name Flip often used. All Flip had to do was find the mark, lure her up to the suite, and help Ron make the arrest. Flip didn’t even want credit. He wanted to forget everything about this day and pretend his fortieth birthday was limited to the nearly perfect Friday and Saturday he spent with his girl. Before he had to leave on call. Why in the fuck did he have to answer his damned phone this morning?

Flip stopped in at the hotel bar before seeking out the private event room. He needed a drink for this shit. He ordered an Old Fashioned and swirled the tawny liquid around in his glass. He thought of the way you always laughed at him like he was an idiot instead of suave when he tied the cherry stem in a knot with his tongue for your amusement.

As he thought of you, to his horror, you walked into the bar and aimed right for him. Wearing a sultry blue dress that hugged your curves in all the best places, he thought his girl had never looked like more of a knockout. But…

“What the hell are you doin’ here?!” Flip grabbed your arm when you got close to the bar and yanked you to him.

“It’s nice to see you too,” you said with only a hint of warning in your tone.

“I’m glad you’ve retracted your claws a bit from earlier,” Flip said in a quick, agitated voice. “But it’s not nice to see you. Not now, not here.”

“If you’re here looking for someone, shouldn’t you have your glasses on, old man?” you teased.

“Watch it, sugar.” Flip stepped closer to you until your bodies were nearly touching. “This old man was still goin’ strong when you threw in the towel last night.”

“Nice suit.” You ignored him and ran your eyes over his body. “You clean up alright.”

“This isn’t a game.” Flip fought to keep his voice low. “You could get us both hurt.”

“So serious,” you chided dismissively and placed a hand on his chest. It was endearing how nervous he was at the concern for your safety. A bead of sweat ran down from his temple. “Relax, handsome. All you have to do is stand there and look pretty, right?”

“Funny,” Flip said edgily. “Now get the hell outta here and I’ll call you when I’m done. I don’t want to be distracted by you and I don’t want you mixed up in all this.”

“Actually, I wanted to find you sooner rather than later because I got a call from a colleague. It made me think you might be in some kind of trouble.” You watched him closely as you spoke. “Or should I say, opposing counsel. A lawyer named Rob Cheatum.”

Oh, fuck. Flip’s mouth went dry and he fought to keep his expression stern and to give nothing away. “Must be important for him to call you on a Sunday.”

“Actually, he called me Friday after work. But unlike you, I followed the rules you wanted for your birthday and didn’t look at my phone until I was driving in today. That’s when I saw it. He said he’s representing some woman in a case against you.” You looked straight into his eyes. “What the fuck is he talking about, Flip?”

“Sounds like some bloodsucker out to sue the department again,” he deflected unpersuasively. “Isn’t that how you people get in the holiday spirit, by drumming up business?”

“Oh my god, don’t tell me you lost your temper and punched a suspect again,” you sighed exasperatedly. “It gets old seeing your name in the paper.”

“We all know the only animals worse than lawyers are reporters.” Flip looked around, scanning for his suspect. “All the more reason for you to get outta here until I get this thing wrapped up. You don’t want to be included in a cover story with me when I cause a scene at this party, do you?”

“I can see it now.” You spread your hands like a banner. “Grouchy old man snaps at the younger crowd out having fun.”

“I sure don’t love you for your mouth, sugar.” Flip shook his head. He saw a tall woman in a black dress walking purposefully and fixed his eyes on her like a hunting dog. But there were several women in view wearing black dresses. And what was tall, anyway? The woman was probably five-eight, although heels always threw him off. Was that tall enough to be described as very tall? Probably not. Flip had been staring at her while running these mental calculations.

“Like what you see?” you asked, more to poke him than anything. You knew he was here under the guise of working.

“Not particularly. I’d give her a seven at best,” Flip gritted out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got a helluva lot better at home.”

“Speaking of, how long until the woman you’ve got at home is going to get some time with you?” you asked.

“Not long.” He shrugged.

“Not an answer, Detective,” you quipped.

Flip knew you only called him Detective when you were feeling flirty or feeling as mad as a wet cat. He knew which this was. Best to remain silent, he concluded.

“You’re here to grab some suspect, a woman, I gather from your roaming eyes,” you accused and Flip’s eyes darted immediately back to you, a little wider than usual. “You’re getting served papers from strange women, too. Is this some half-assed midlife crisis? Is it time for you to embarrass yourself trying to pick up eighteen-year-olds in a new convertible?”

“Whoa, pump the brakes on the crazy train.” Flip held up his hands in surrender. “I’m innocent until proven guilty.”

“Oh, you think this is a democracy?” you scoffed. “I don’t think so. This is a monarchy, and all ways here are the Queen’s ways.”

“I’ll tell you all about it later. I promise.” Flip tried a calming tone that had zero effect. “Just let me find this woman and then we can get outta here.”

“Fine.” You put your hands on your hips.

“Don’t fine me, darlin.’” Flip mocked your posture, also putting his hands on his hips. “I know what fine means.”

“This is ridiculous. I’ll find this damn woman in black myself.” You turned on your heel and walked away.

Flip took a bounding step after you and grabbed your arm roughly, stopping you. “You’re making a fuckin’ scene.”

“Is this guy bothering you, miss?” The bartender asked, a clear warning in his voice.

You looked at Flip’s hand where he gripped your arm and cocked an eyebrow. Flip slackened his grip and you yanked your arm free. You strode purposely through the bar and toward the series of the Broadmoor event rooms. You looked over your shoulder once just to make sure Flip was following you. He was, of course, walking stiffly a few paces behind with his shoulders set and eyes narrowed, looking ready and eager to bust some heads. The hotel was crowded with holiday traffic and you both knew he couldn’t grab you again without making an even bigger scene.

At the door to the private room, Flip caught you again, grabbing the door handle in front of you and pinning you close with his body from behind. To an observer, it might look affectionate but his body was rigid against you and his tone angry, “This isn’t the time or place for you to act like a goddamn prima donna. Knock it off.”

“Just think, all this because you had to answer Ron’s call this morning.” You grinned and before he had time to process the implications of your words, you pushed his hand down on the door handle and leaned into it.

Flip stumbled into the event room right at your back, a little off balance and fuming.

“Surprise!” A chorus of voices shouted inside the room.

Flip was nearly stunned by the cacophony of light and movement and shouting assholes inside the room. He stood, still gawkily positioned mid-stumble, blinking like a deer in the headlights. There were sparkly lights and girly decorations done in black and gold, and a table set with a giant cake and a few buckets of champagne. Music blared noisily from somewhere. All his traitorous friends smiled at him, Stallworth leading the charge of ingrates. Festive lights even shimmered on the greasy dome of Goldleaf’s head. The group of traitors yelled “Surprise!” again and then broke into a terrible round of Happy Birthday. Flip straightened and smoothed a hand over his suit, trying to look dignified while feeling like an absolute jackass for falling for this shit.

There was little Flip hated more in life than surprise parties. He forced a smile and thought that maybe it wasn’t as bad as those times he’d been shot. But no. The first time, he’d gotten some really good drugs. The second time, he got six weeks off and left the hell alone. The third time had given him one of your favorite scars that made him feel even tougher than he was. No, a surprise party was far worse than getting shot.

Flip squared his shoulders and put on his game face, steeling himself to endure a long night of socializing. He pulled you to his side just a little roughly and joined his own birthday party.

*******************************************************************************************

“That party must have cost a fortune,” Flip bemoaned. “I hope you didn’t foot the bill just to torture me.”

“Not a dime, actually. The owner of the Broadmoor is a client. Or rather, his son on his eighth DWI is,” you said nonchalantly. “He’s innocent, of course. Or rather, he will be once I’m done with him.”

Flip made a noncommittal grunt, still in the throes of post-party-trauma.

“He also threw in a free suite.” You looped your arm through Flip’s and steered him toward the elevators. “I’m sure you’ll like it more.”

The suite was equipped with a private balcony and hottub for guests who liked to enjoy the snowy alpine winters along with a steaming soak and a glass of wine. Flip held the door open for you like a perfect gentleman before slamming it closed behind him after following you inside. He held you at arm’s length when you tried to close the distance between you.

“I need a shower. I’ve been sweatin’ bullets all day thanks to you.” His lips were poutier than usual as he unbuttoned his shirt. Shrugging roughly out of it, he balled it up in his hands and threw it into the furthest corner of the room. Flip paused to glare at the shirt where it landed on the floor and huff a few breaths before storming into the bathroom as he unbuckled his belt. The slam of the bathroom door reverberated through the room when he kicked it closed. He continued to grumble and cuss under his breath inside the bathroom. The few words you could make out seemed to be in vehement criticism of birthdays and surprise parties and pondering the eternal question of just how much bullshit one man can take.

Smiling to yourself at his grouchiness, you decided to wait for him in the hottub on the balcony. Steaming jets and your warm touch would be just the ticket to turn his anger into something a lot more enjoyable for you both.

As you peeled your own clothes away, you could still hear him bitching from inside the bathroom and it made you grin. The icy air hit you when you stepped naked out onto the balcony. Goosebumps rose across your skin, breath fogged from your lips, and your nipples peaked instantly at the chill as you quickly covered the few steps to the hottub. The crisp winter air made the hot water even more welcoming, and a cloud of steam surrounded you when you lowered yourself into the bubbling water. Leaning your head back against the edge of the hottub, you felt all the tension leaving your body as you waited for Flip.

“I’m out here,” you called when you heard him emerge. “Come keep me company.”

Flip’s face and chest were still flushed from the heat of his shower when he walked onto the balcony, scowling. Pausing to linger in the doorway, towel slung around his hips, he leaned against the doorframe. He had to fight to keep his face stern as he looked down at your bare curves sitting tantalizingly amid the steam.

“You’re not bad lookin’ for a double agent,” he told you, sucking at his teeth.

“Evil machinations are much easier when you’re pretty,” you teased and beckoned him to join you with a curled finger. “Don’t just stand there gawking about it, handsome.”

His scowl turned into something far more devilish as he tossed his towel back into the room and lowered himself into the hottub beside you. Slinging one arm behind you along the rim of the hottub, Flip wasted no time in pulling you close. Beside you, he turned to kiss your cheek, to nuzzle his nose softly against your skin along your jaw before he moved his lips to the place below your ear. Inhaling your scent, he began to lose himself in you. His kisses drifted to your neck and turned more biting and heated when you raised your hand to stroke his cheek.

“I’m sure sorry for takin’ that call,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Are you?” you asked with a laugh. “We’ll see if you learn anything from it.”

“I’m a quick learner.” Flip couldn’t help but laugh as his hand trailed up your thigh.

Turning into him, you met his lips while he teased you with his fingers. Flip kissed you hungrily, his lingering anger coming out in his eager tongue licking into your mouth, his teeth clicking against yours, and his thick fingers pushing into you.

“We’re not done celebrating yet,” you whispered into his kiss. “Your real birthday present is that I took next week off and arranged with the chief to note you as staking out a cabin for the week.”

He laughed when you told him the location, “That’s our address.”

“Is it really?” you feigned ignorance. “I’d call it a paid vacation on the taxpayers. As someone who gets shafted by Uncle Sam almost as often as I get it from you, I see no problem at all.”

“I thought you had work tomorrow?” Flip asked, looking at you with deep lusting respect.

“You thought so, yes,” you teased. “I’m off too.”

“So, you have to put me through the ringer first to earn it, huh?” He nipped your neck.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a grouchy bastard, you wouldn’t invite being screwed with, hmmm?” You twisted your fingers into his hair. “But we’ll never know.”

“A surprise party is playin’ dirty,” he said against your neck. “That’s hittin’ below the belt.”

“Funny thing is that I agree with you.” You tugged his hair sharply enough for it to be a reprimand. “Ron badly wanted to throw you a surprise party for your fortieth. I told him that I was giving you what you really wanted for the weekend, and that you would absolutely hate a surprise party. After a debate, Ron and I agreed that if he could entice you away from me today, he could inflict his surprise party upon you and I’d help lure you into it. It was insultingly easy for him, I might add. I really thought he’d have a harder time. So, I think it’s only fair to make you suffer a little on top of it. Serves you right for leaving me for your work wife.”

“So, you all gang up on me, huh? Wonderful.” He grinned. “You almost gave me a heart attack with that fuckin’ paternity horseshit. You arranged that awfully fast.”

“I thought it was nice icing on the cake,” you grinned back. “How long do you think it takes me to type a paternity petition? Fifteen minutes tops. Goldleaf is always happy to screw with you and so is Cheatum. A good time had by all. And just think, you chose all this.” You gestured grandly to encompass the enormity of the shitshow Flip had gotten himself into, “instead of staying shut in in bed with me all day.”

“I’ll never answer my phone again unless it’s you,” Flip huffed a laugh.

Deciding he had suffered enough for now, you slung your leg over his lap to straddle him. His cock was already deliciously hard and ready for you when you sank down onto him. No matter how many times he fucked you, it was always wonderfully intense before you adjusted to accommodate him. Flip’s hands smoothed down your sides, caressing you gently now before his fingers would grip bruises into you as you rode him. He kissed your neck and rolled his hips beneath you, groaning in that heady way of his when he was losing himself in the pleasure of your body.

The water sloshed in the hottub and steam whirled around you both as he fucked an orgasm out of you and followed you down into a warm, blissful afterglow. After several moments, cock still buried inside of you, he kissed your neck a few final times and raised his head to look at you with a satisfied grin.

“I hope this birthday was one to remember, old timer,” you teased as you moved your hands to rub the knots in his broad shoulders. “Forty’s a big one.”

“I really hate birthdays,” was his only grumbled response.

“Spoken just like a grumpy old man,” you said amid a fresh stream of soft laughter.

“Real funny, sugar.” Flip nipped at your skin before pulling you close again for round two. “Happy fuckin’ birthday to me.”

*******************************************************************************************

Tagging some buddies!

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#birthday bash #best #fic #my stuff!#my writing #flip #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman x you #winter

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