Page 10 of Testing the Kot'oll Officer

"Yes, you can obviously be there." I head to the kitchen. "If there are things in your way, just toss them to the side."

"Okay."

I pour water for us. It is getting late by now, he has to be tired from his work and staying in the bar with me. The problem is, I don't know what I can give or do to thank him. I can make him extra drinks next time he's there, and tell him that I'm thankful, but that doesn't feel enough.

I pick up the cups and head to the living room. Vatok's sitting on the couch with a straight back and everything that screams how he's a serious guy.

Handing Vatok his water, I can't help but notice how his eyes follow my every move. It's like he's trying to figure out a puzzle, and I'm not sure if I'm the puzzle or just a piece of it. I sit down next to him, leaving a polite amount of space between us, but the magnetic pull of his presence makes the distance feel ridiculously small.

"Thank." He takes the cup from me. His fingers graze mine, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm. I withdraw my hand, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

"No problem."

He takes a sip of his water and stares ahead, examining my home, which is.... unsettling to some extent, but when I invited him over, I should have expected that. He is a police officer and probably is trained to examine everything.

Silence lingers between us again. What do I do?

I don't mind the silence, he makes for pretty good company, which I know from our interaction in the bar, long before we pretend to be mates.

Is the pretend over now that we're away from anyone else's eyes?

I clear my throat, taking a sip of my water to buy some time. "So, Vatok, how long have you been a traffic officer?"

He leans back against the couch, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit. "About five years now. It's... methodical, which I like. There's a certain satisfaction in bringing order to the chaos of the streets."

I chuckle. "I can imagine. My bar is pretty organized, but I've seen the traffic outside during rush hour, it's chaos everywhere."

He laughs, a deep, resonant sound that fills the room and makes me feel lighter. "Do you call the bar organized? But just like in your bar, you get all kinds of characters. It keeps things interesting." He lifts his brows at me. "By the way, I haven't told you this. Do you know that it's wrong to be flying away when you're under inspection?"

Is that referring to how... "Hey! I've explained myself."

"But I wasn't done with you." He folds those arms and looks scary again.

I roll my eyes. "Come on... Are you here to arrest me or something?"

He takes my wrists, still folding his other two arms. "I don't understand you. So bold."

There are tingles from our touches. His hands are hot, which makes me wonder about the rest of his body. "When you work in the bar for a bit longer, you'd know about street smart."

He grunts and gently squeezes my wrists. "With the wrong officer, you'd be in trouble."

I sneak closer to him, resting on his side. "Are you saying that you're the right officer?"

The words hang between us, heavy with an implication I hadn't fully intended. But as I look up into Vatok's amber-flecked eyes, I realize I don't entirely mind the possibility of him being the right officer for me. I have to be out of my mind to want someone like this, barely knowing him. But...

Fuck... Maybe I just got smacked over the head with this handsome and muscular guy... I really should put myself together.

His gaze softens, and one of his hands releases my wrist to gently brush a strand of hair behind my ear, a gesture so unexpectedly tender that it sends a shiver down my spine. "I'm saying that I'm glad it was me that night."

I... I know he didn't fine my spaceship, probably shrugged it off, pretending that he didn't see my traffic violation. But in themoment, the air seems to be charged and I don't know what to do.

I've never been this... restless. I've never been stuck like this without having a comeback or something to say to ease the tension in the room. One would think I've had plenty of training from serving patrons in the bar. Yet... with Vatok...

Vatok's eyes flicker to my lips, and for a moment, I think he might lean in, closing the space between us. My breath hitches, my heart pounding a wild rhythm in my chest. I've flirted with countless customers, exchanged playful banter, and deflected advances with ease. But none of that prepared me for this.

He clears his throat and looks away. "I think the pretense is over. No one's watching."

His words hang in the air, and for a split second, a pang of disappointment ripples through my chest. The pretense is over—no more fake relationships. But then, why does my heart still race? Why does the room feel smaller with Vatok in it?

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