Alexia was not used to commuted relationships. She was hot and overconfident enough to pick up any girl she wanted when she felt like sex- what did she need a girlfriend for?

But your cute overbearing ass had forced her to rethink. She’d picked you up at the cop bar she usually went to with her colleagues. The next day, you’d stuck around. She’d tried to hint at you to leave her place, and had somehow been coaxed into buying you breakfast, then lunch, then you made her dinner.

You’d gone home the next day before she was even up after a night of mind-blowing sex. She had driven to the Precinct that morning, only to find you were the new Sargent that had transferred in from Manhattan. Her jaw had dropped, her travel mug of the coffee you’d left in her pot that morning clattering with a thud to the floor.

That was a year and a half ago. Now, she did her best to keep you happy. You were so much more in-touch than she was, with your emotions and shit. You wanted to sit down and talk about it when you fought. Her first instinct was to finger you on the counter. Another thing she wasn’t used to was having to work for affection.

She was so used to just phasing in and out of relationships that it felt completely foreign to be expected to work to preserve the relationship and ensure it met the needs of both parties. You didn’t let her just fuck whenever she wanted- no. She was learning patience, how to be slow like you liked. She was starting to like it too. Who knew another person could get you off?

Right now, it was your birthday. It was your day off, convienantly, but you’d still go to work anyway. You didn’t have many friends despite your outgoing personality. It was largely because the civilian-cop barrier was so strong. You were just too different for most of the population, or work got busy and you didn’t have time.

Anyhow, you’d been going out less and opting to nest in your apartment. She was at your place, making you breakfast you’d probably refuse for a yogurt cup you’d eat in your car on the way to work. She’d gotten you gifts, and she was going over to your family’s townhouse with you on the weekend for you birthday.

She smiles softly to herself as she cracked two eggs in the pan she was using to fry the hash she had made from scratch. She heard you get up, and the shower turn on, then the blow dryer. She had just finished up when you walked out of your bedroom, clad in your work stuff. “Surprise!” She said, holding out the bowl to you with a smile.