Page 5 of Testing the Kot'oll Officer

"Here you go," I slide the drink across to Targoth, who grabs it without meeting my eyes. He practically scurries away, his scales dulled to a matte finish.

I kind of feel bad for him, but not really. Maybe there's someone out there who will enjoy his terrible flirting skills.

Once he's safely lost in the crowd, I let out a long breath. "Thank you," I tell the kot'oll, meaning it. "I owe you one."

"It was... interesting." He's about to say something more when there are other patrons.

I move to make him a drink before the crowd gets too close. "Here you go, my perfect boy."

He snorts. "Is that me? Boy? Come on..."

I give a nervous chuckle. Now, it feels like I have to keep this going, otherwise... If Targoth finds out that I'm lying about having a mate, he's going to go twice as hard with his flirts and...

He takes a sip of his drink, his bronze eyes twinkling with something that might be amusement. "Your 'perfect boy' needs a stronger drink than this."

I lean in closer, keeping my voice low. "Listen, I know this is awkward, but... could you maybe stick around for a bit? Just until he's gone? Targoth has a habit of lurking, and if he realizes this was all an act—"

"He'll be twice as persistent," he finishes my thought, nodding. One of his lower hands drums a pattern on the counter while an upper one fixes his hair. "I suppose I could spare some time. For public safety, of course. You can have me until closing."

For some reason, ‘I can have him’ sounds good. I know that's not what he means, but I won't mind.

"That'll be amazing, thank you. You're perfect."

"Exactly." He takes the drink that I just prepared and takes a sip. I swear there's a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

The crowd is a bit too close by now, which... Now, I have to have this dialed in.

My cheeks warm. "You should've been here earlier."

"I can't be here all the time." His voice drops lower as other patrons press closer. "Traffic violations don't stop themselves."

I lean in, playing up our fake intimacy for the benefit of any watching eyes. "Oh right, my brave defender of parking laws. How many scans did you make today?"

"Seventeen. But there's that one from a bit ago..." He takes another sip, "Almost one for a particularly stubborn human who left her ship in a no-parking zone while rescuing strays."

"That human sounds delightful," I say, wiping down the counter to hide my grin. "And heroic."

"Reckless," he corrects, but there's no real bite to it. All four of his arms shift slightly as he repositions himself on the stool. "Though I suppose some might find that... appealing."

A group of rowdy Centaurians waves for service, and I hold up a finger to signal I'll be right there. "Well, stick around, traffic cop. Your 'mate' might need more defending before the night's over."

"Is that an order?" His bronze eyes glitter with something that makes my stomach do a little flip.

"Consider it a strongly worded suggestion." I head over to serve the Centaurians. "From your mate."

The word feels strange on my tongue, but not entirely unpleasant. As I move down the bar, the kot'oll's keen eyes are locked onto me, all four arms now relaxed against the counter. For a fake boyfriend, he's doing a surprisingly convincing job.

I suppose that's something a police officer is good at — guarding something. I'm definitely not an item, but I can use some guarding, at least for now when creepers loom.

The night wears on, and the bar's energy shifts from cheerful to rowdy as the patrons indulge in more rounds, I keep one eye on the crowd and the other on my kot'oll, who seems to be taking his role as my protective partner quite seriously. He doesn't drink much, nursing his single beverage while surveying the room with an air of quiet authority. It's comforting to have him there.

Every so often, our eyes meet, and there's a spark that passes between us, which warms me. It's all passing moments that'll end soon, but there's a part of me that enjoys it. It's not everyday you get to have a four-armed traffic officer playing the part of your mate.

As I pour another round for the Centaurians, I catch my guy stifling a yawn. It's getting late. Maybe he's been on duty for hours before coming here. Yet, he hasn't complained once about staying to help me out.

I slide a fresh drink his way, a special concoction I reserve for favored customers. "On the house," I say with a wink. "For my 'heroic' mate."

He raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "I thought I was your 'perfect boy.'"

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