This entry is part 3 of 9 in the Flash Fiction: 25 Minutes or Less
The cupcake was iced with garishly pink cream and some sort of candy hearts and it was set in front of her with candle already lit.
âMake a wish.â
Elizabeth Webber propped her chin on her fist and gave her best friend a dirty look. âWishes are for kids. Birthdays are for kids. Who told you?â
âI snuck a look at your driverâs license when I realized weâd been working together for a year and it hadnât come up.â Johnny Zacchara shrugged. âBlow it out.â
âBite me.â
âThought about it,â he said carelessly as he sat across from her, behind his side of their battered partnerâs desk in their shabby office. âIt wouldnât work.â
âThatâs because you laugh too much,â she muttered, eying the cupcake as it were toxic poison. âIt distracted me. Also, you donât do it for me.â Though it was a mystery because Johnny was, objectively speaking, pretty fucking sexy with his dark hair, soft brown eyes, and killer smile. And yet⌠âAnd your girlfriend would kick my ass.â
âThis is true. Nadine is tiny, but feisty.â Johnny frowned now. âThe candle is going to melt the cupcake if you donât blow it out. Câmon, Bits. Make a wish.â
âWishes are bullshit,â she muttered. âFine. You know what I wish for?â
âJesus, donât say it. Thatâs not how this works.â He looked faintly horrified. âThey donât come true if you say them outloud.â
âGod save me from Catholics and their superstitions.â She sighed. âFine. Iâll wish something to myself, Iâll blow this out, and we can go back to work.â
âIt has to be a real wish, not something stupidââ
âThere are a lot of rules for a goddamn birthday cupcake,â Elizabeth retorted. She closed her eyes and decided what the hell. She wanted to see Jason. Just one more time. She opened her eyes, blew out the candle, and then shoved the cupcake across the desk. âYou eat it. Iâm not in the mood for a sugar rush. I have a defendant I have to keep from going to prison for the rest of his life.â
âYouâre no fun,â Johnny said, but he grabbed the cupcake, tossed the candle, and ate it. Then he mercifully stopped reminding her it was her goddamn birthday, got back to work, and let her work in peace.
A half hour later, he headed home to the lovely Nadine while Elizabeth continued reviewing the lab reports for court the next morning. If she had a prayer of keeping Dillon Quartermaine from doing ten to fifteen years for a crime he hadnât committed, she needed to keep her head in the game and poke as many holes into the DAâs case as possible.
A knock on the door to their suite distracted her about an hour after Johnny had left. She blinked bearily when the knock sounded again, but realized it was likely that their receptionist had left for the day. âCome inâit should be open.â
âItâs not.â
The voice was muffled, but its identity was unmistakable.
Elizabeth rose slowly to her feet and went into the cramped room that served as their waiting room, passing the wastebasket where she could see the gaudy cupcake wrapping and the candle still decorated with icing. âWhat the fuck are you?â she muttered down.
She slowly unlocked the deadbolt and tugged it open to find out that she was not, as hoped, hallucinating.
Lieutenant Jason Morgan was, indeed, standing at the threshold of her office.
âWhat are you doing here?â she asked, and then winced because damn if that hadnât sounded like more angry than she had intended. Well, better than happy or relieved, or aroused. Because she was all of those things to. He didnât dress like a high-ranking member of the Port Charles Police Departmentânot in his jeans that wouldnât be called tight, but they certainly clung to the right parts, and a t-shirt that stretched across a broad chest with rippling muscles.
God he was gorgeous.
And standing in front of her. Fucking birthdays.
âYou gonna let me in?â he asked, his brow arched.
She stepped back to do so, closing the door when he passed her. He turned at the tiny desk that Maxie Jones usually sat behind and faced her. âWhat are you doing here?â Elizabeth tried again, and was pleased her tone was way more even than it had been before.
âItâs your birthday,â Jason said, leaning against the desk. âDid you think Iâd forget?â
Hoping. Praying. âYou did last year.â
âYou told me not to come by last year,â he reminded her. âBut this yearâŚwell, itâs been two years. I wanted to check in.â
Check in. Sure. âWell, youâve checked in. Iâm alive. Looks like you are, too. Great. I have court tomorrow.â She went back to her desk.
âYou always have court tomorrow,â Jason retorted as he followed. âAre you seriously still mad at me?â
No. Yes. Damn it. âI donât know,â she muttered, but she felt better behind her desk. âAre you still mad at me?â she demanded.
He hesitated. âI donât know,â he echoed. âI justâŚitâs been two years. I just thoughtâŚwe should acknowledge it.â
âItâs been acknowledged. Your sister is dead and itâs my fault. You made that clear then, and since you canât decided if youâre still mad or not, you still think so.â She shrugged. âSo if thereâs anything elseâŚâ
âDamn it.â It was more of a hiss than an actual swear, but he closed his eyes for a minute. âI came here to check on you, yeah. But alsoâŚDiego Alcazar escaped from Sing Sing about three hours ago, and I thought he mightâŚâ
âCome to finish what he started.â Her bones chilled. âBecause he escaped on my birthday and the anniversary of the day he killed Emily and nearly killed me.â
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