Flip the Colleague [Flip Zimmerman]

Ch 1: Flirting on Dangerous Ground

You pulled up to the station on a chilly morning. It was only your second week at the Colorado Springs Police Department, but the first week had flown by in a blur of introductions, HR nonsense, and figuring out what your role actually entailed. Despite that, you still felt the familiar nervous flutter of a first day. Of course, you could've done without your first official assignment - filing paperwork.

You thought to yourself, Why do they always have to initiate the new hires with all the shit work that no one else wants to do?

"Whatever." You muttered aloud, begrudgingly, as you turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car.

You'd spent years studying criminal justice, with plans of becoming a lead detective someday. Ending up in Colorado Springs had been unexpected, but when you heard their investigation unit was stacked with top-tier talent, you saw it as a smart career move. You'd wanted a mentor with an impressive reputation - someone seasoned, respected.

What you found was... Flip Zimmerman.

Tall. Hazel-eyed. Dark hair falling just below his ears in that perfectly groomed yet effortlessly bed-headed way. He was charming. Mysterious. And the unit's best detective. That man was your mentor. And at the moment, you were nothing more than his coffee bitch. Black. No sugar. Of course that's how he took it.

"Mornin' newbie," Flip said without looking up from his newspaper. You set his coffee on his desk.

"Well look at that, you're already remembering the important things." He smirked. "Good."

"You got it. Need anything else?" you asked, quietly hoping he'd request something far more exciting—something straight out of one of those cheap, badly written porno fantasies.

"Nope. All set." He lifted the mug to his lips and took a long sip.

"Ok. Cool. I'll just...go back to the filing room, I guess." Your words trailed off, drenched in something dangerously close to desperation. He didn't react.

Jesus, get yourself together. He wasn't interested in playing games with you.

You turned to walk away, feeling ridiculous for even entertaining the thought.

"Wait." His voice stopped you, low and deep. "Come here."

You froze, then slowly turned back around and walked toward him, heart pounding.

"Yes?" Your voice cracked slightly. "What is it?"

His eyes locked onto yours, burning with something you couldn't quite name. You didn't know what was happening, only that it felt like you might combust just from the intensity of his gaze.

"This coffee is cold. Warm it up." A flirtatious smile slowly crept across his face.

It was a ridiculous request, but at that moment, you would've done anything if it meant seeing that smile again.

"Really? That's what you need?" You gestured toward the mug. "I suppose operating a microwave is an acquired skill that not many have."

As you leaned over his desk to grab the coffee mug, you glanced at him once more. He was relaxed back in his chair, watching your every move.

"That's a good girl." He murmured, barely loud enough for anyone else to hear.

What. Was. That.

You stood at the microwave, mind racing. Was he interested in you—or just messing with you? You remembered every HR lecture and policy you'd sat through: any sexual relationship with coworkers or superiors was strictly forbidden. Surely Flip knew the rules. He wouldn't risk his career for some newbie ass.

Still... that good girl lingered in your mind like a challenge.

If you wanted to learn anything from this impossibly gorgeous man and actually move up in the department you'd need to keep your focus sharp, your thoughts clean, and your hands to yourself. But goddamn, he made those three rules nearly impossible to follow. It didn't help that he looked better in a flannel than most men did in tailored suits. Or that he was a qualified expert rifleman, something you learned later that afternoon at the shooting range.

Not only did you want this man watching your back in a shootout - you wanted him in your bed.

Flip never seemed to be phased by much. He was difficult to read, always composed. During homicide investigations, he was quiet and methodical, never letting emotion interfere with the work. Though it seemed like he practically lived at the station, you rarely saw him leave for anything non-work-related.

You were still new to town and hadn't made many friends yet but that was fine. Work was your priority. Still, every so often, you treated yourself to a visit at the low-key pub down the street. Rick's Place. Owned and operated by the same old guy for over twenty years, Rick.

That evening, you worked until around 9 p.m. before heading out. Flip was still reviewing case documents in a meeting room with another detective. You passed the window and nodded to him. He glanced up, considered you for a moment, then nodded back - his version of goodbye.

You drove a few blocks to Rick's Place, grabbed a seat at the bar, and ordered a sandwich and a beer. You were starving and exhausted. Rick dropped off your food and chatted for a bit when suddenly he boomed, "Zimmerman! Good to see you! Been a while."

You nearly choked. Turning around, you saw Flip walking in alone - confident, magnetic, devastatingly attractive. The thought of other women hitting on him made your stomach twist.

"Well, well... guess you didn't make it very far." He smirked. "Hey Rick, my usual, please."

"Oh, funny. You know the word 'Please'." You shot back, referencing the coffee incident earlier.

He didn't react. No smile. No eye contact. He just stared down at the bar, expressionless. It made you feel oddly dismissed.

"So, how's the case going? Making any headway?" you asked, changing the subject.

"It's complex. Involves a lot of undercover work on my part." He took a swig of beer, lips curling around the bottle as his head tilted back, eyes briefly closing.

For fuck's sake. Everything he did was drenched in sex.

"I'll be working late most nights until it's closed."

"Oh." You shook the thoughts from your head. "Um... if there's anything I can do to help... you know... maybe bring you coffee while you're out undercover and totally oust you, just let me know."

A small chuckle escaped him. "I'll keep that in mind."

Then he looked up - and there it was again. That electric tension. That unbearable pull. You wanted him to grab you, lift you onto the bar, and devour you right there. Rick and the passed-out drunk guy be damned.

Does he feel it too?

Before you could dwell on it, he broke eye contact, placed a $20 on the bar, and told Rick to put your dinner on his tab.

"Oh, you really don't ha—"

"Enough." He raised his hand, stopping you. His hands were massive. He stepped closer, voice low and intoxicating. "It's the least I can do for a good girl."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. He waved to Rick and walked out before you could say another word.