Aliens Love Curves

Chapter 8 – Stryker

T he first rays of Ova's sun haven't yet pierced the morning mist when I slip out of bed – or rather, off the couch that's become my nightly torture chamber. Every muscle protests; I've spent another restless night thinking about Casey and the mysterious lunch she had with Harlan.

Yesterday's memory burns fresh in my mind as I step into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over my tense muscles. However, the shower's heat does little to ease the tension in my muscles as images from yesterday keep flashing through my mind—especially Casey's face lighting up at Harlan's invitation.

Later, I’d stayed hidden close to the apartment and had watched his sleek chauffeur-driven glider pull up. My stomach had pulled tight when I saw the way Casey had practically floated out of the apartment door, all smiles. How the dress she'd chosen to wear for him had hugged every curve...

My fist connects with the shower wall, the impact barely registering. I shouldn't be thinking about Casey like this. Shouldn't notice how her flight suit clings to her body during manoeuvres, or how her eyes sparkle when she's excited about a new glider modification.

But I do notice. I notice everything about her.

While Casey was being wined and dined by that smooth-talking CEO, I'd wandered the complex, trying to walk off my anger – or jealousy, if I'm honest with myself.

That's when I'd seen it. The activity on the far side of the launch pad had caught my attention – workers moving with suspicious efficiency in the shadows of the early evening, loading large crates into unmarked gliders. No manifests, no documentation, no official oversight.

I close my eyes, letting the water run down my face as I replay the scene. The workers had been careful, professional. Too professional for a legitimate shipping operation. And those crates... standard shipping containers don't need reinforced plasma shielding.

The early evening air had been crisp, the faint hum of distant gliders providing cover for any conversation. I'd positioned myself carefully, using the cargo containers to break up my silhouette while maintaining a clear view of both approaches.

Movement had caught my eye – a maintenance crew, starting their evening checks. They were being watched, I’d realized, by someone in the upper control tower. The figure had been barely visible, but the glint of electrobinoculars was unmistakable. My interest was immediately piqued. Why would maintenance crews need surveillance?

Towelling off, I catch my reflection in the mirror. My pink skin is flushed darker than usual, whether from the hot shower or my troubled thoughts, I'm not sure. I dress quickly in my instructor's uniform, not that I’ve had much use for it so far, my tail twitching with nervous energy.

In the combined sleeping and living room, I pause and listen because the room is still cast in darkness. The window coverings are still closed, and Casey is emulating soft sounds of sleep. My hand reaches for one of her small feet sticking out the bottom of the covers. I’m tempted to wake her, to confront her about yesterday. Instead, I grab the tech-pad we brought with us and write a quick note:

As soon as you awake, meet me at the far side of Launch Pad C. Important. - S

An hour later, I'm leaning against a storage container, watching the morning traffic of gliders coming and going. The spot gives a perfect view of where I'd witnessed last night's activities, while keeping us hidden from casual observation.

The sound of footsteps makes my ears twitch. Casey approaches, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. The morning sun catches her hair, creating a halo effect that makes her look almost ethereal. Her uniform, standard issue but somehow transformed on her frame, moves with each confident stride. Her curves hugged by it in a way that makes my mouth go dry. I force myself to focus on my anger, on the mission...anything but those damn human curves.

"Have a nice lunch yesterday?" The words come out more bitter than I intend for them to.

"Stryker, about that—" she begins, but I cut her off with a sharp gesture.

"Save it. We have more important things to discuss."

The hurt that flashes across her face makes my chest tighten, but I press on. "Watch." I point to the loading area. "Yesterday, while you were enjoying Harlan's hospitality, I observed multiple unmarked gliders being loaded with shielded crates."

Casey frowns, moving closer to get a better look. Her shoulder brushes against mine, sending electricity through my body. "Shielded crates? What for?"

"That's what we need to find out." I try to ignore how good she smells, like stardust and something uniquely Casey. "Standard cargo doesn't need plasma shielding. Whatever's in those crates, Harlan doesn't want it detected."

Casey turns to face me, closer than I expected. "Speaking of Harlan..." She bites her lower lip, and my eyes are drawn to the motion. "There's something I need to tell you."

My tail stiffens. "What did he want?"

"He... he offered me a chance to race the prototype. In the Annual Sky Race."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "Absolutely not."

Casey's eyes narrow. "Excuse me?"

"It's too dangerous," I growl. "That prototype hasn't been properly tested. And putting you in such a public position could compromise the mission. There might be someone i the crowd who knows you are an Enforcer."

"What!? That’s ridiculous.” Casey’s voice raises an octave. “I’ve only just graduated. I’ve not been on patrol... Anyway, it's not your decision to make," she snaps, taking a step closer. I can feel her hot breath caressing my face as she looks up at me. "You're not my superior anymore, partner. Or did you forget that?"

Her proximity is intoxicating, her defiance making my blood simmer. "I haven't forgotten anything. Including how recklessly you flew yesterday."

"Recklessly?" She jabs a finger into my chest. "I flew brilliantly and you know it. You're just—"

"Just what?" I lean down, bringing our faces inches apart.

"Jealous," she breathes, her eyes flickering to my lips. Now I can practically taste her delicious breath.

The tension between us crackles like static electricity. For a moment, I think about closing that small distance, about showing her exactly what she does to me. Her breath hitches, and I realize she's thinking the same thing.

Instead, I step back, running a hand through my hair. "This isn't about jealousy, Casey. It's about the mission. About your safety."

"My safety?" She laughs, but it's not a happy sound. "Since when does an enforcer prioritize safety over gathering intelligence? This could be our chance to get closer to whatever Harlan's hiding."

"Or it could be a trap," I counter. "Why you? Why now? It's too convenient."

Casey crosses her arms, emphasizing her curves in a way that makes it hard to maintain my train of thought. "Maybe because I'm actually good. Did that occur to you? Or do you think the only reason anyone would be interested in me is because of some hidden agenda?"

The hurt in her voice makes me wince. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean, Stryker? Because ever since we got here, you've been acting like... like..."

"Like what?"

"Like a jealous lover instead of a partner!"

The words echo in the space between us, and I take an involuntary step back. Casey advances, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something else – something that makes my pulse race.

A growl rumbles up my throat. "You want to talk about jealousy?" my control slipping. "Fine. Let's talk about how you preened under Harlan's attention. How you deliberately pushed that prototype to its limits just to spite me. How you—"

"How I what?" Casey challenges, stepping closer. "How I dared to excel at my job? How I managed to get closer to our target in one lunch than we have in days of surveillance? Or how I refused to play the meek little cadet anymore?"

She's so close now I can see the flecks of gold in her eyes, count each rapid breath as her chest rises and falls. My tail lashes with agitation, accidentally brushing her leg. The contact sends a jolt through both of us, but neither of us moves away.

"You have no idea," my voice is rough around the edges, "how hard it is to watch you put yourself at risk. To see you throw yourself into danger without a thought for—"

A sound from behind the containers makes us both freeze. Casey reacts instantly, pressing closer to me as if we're sharing an intimate moment – the perfect cover for two people who shouldn't be in this area. Her body fits against mine like it was made to be there, and I have to stifle a groan.

Footsteps approach, then pass. A maintenance worker, from the sound of the tool belt. But the interruption has shattered the tension of the moment, reminding us both of where we are and why we're here.

Unspoken words hang between us, heavy with implication. Casey's cheeks flush, but she doesn't back down, her chest rising and falling rapidly with emotion. It takes all my willpower not to pull her closer to me so as to feel them press into my chest.

"I'm trying to protect you," I say finally, my voice still rough, but less harsh.

"I don't need protection," she replies softly. "I need you to trust me. To treat me as an equal."

We stare at each other, the morning sun casting long shadows across the launch pad. In the distance, workers begin their daily routines, oblivious to the tension crackling between us.

"Fine," I concede finally. "But we do this smart. We need to know more about those shipments, about what Harlan's really planning. And if you do race, we need contingency plans."

Relief softens Casey's features. "Thank you." She touches my arm gently, and again, I fight the urge to pull her closer. "I know you're worried, but I can handle myself. And maybe... maybe we can help each other better. You watch my back with Harlan, and I'll be able to help investigate the shipments from a different angle."

I nod, trying to ignore how her touch sends heat through my body. "Partners still?"

Casey smiles, flashing her blunt white human teeth, and for a moment, all my doubts and fears seem worth it. "Partners."

She walks ahead of me slightly, and watching her walk, confidence in every step, I realize I don't have a choice. I'm already in too deep. The best I can do now is stay close, protect her as much as she'll let me, and pray that my growing feelings for her don't compromise everything we're here to accomplish.

As we head back to the apartment, the walk back to our quarters is charged with unspoken words. Each brush of our arms, each shared glance, feels magnified. We pass other instructors and racers here on a temporary basis like us, and fulltime employees heading to their morning shifts, but they feel like background characters in a scene focused entirely on the electricity between us.

In the elevator, Casey leans against the wall, studying me. "You never finished what you were saying back there...about what's so hard to watch."

The confined space seems to shrink, her presence filling every available inch. "Casey..."

"No," she pushes off the wall, taking a step toward me. "I want to know. What's so hard, Stryker? What are you really afraid of?"

The elevator stops, the doors sliding open with a soft chime. A group of engineers waits to board, forcing us to step out. The moment breaks, but the question lingers between us.

I can't help but wonder if I'm making a huge mistake. The mission is complicated enough without adding Casey's participation in the race. Without adding these feelings that grow stronger every day.

One thing's certain – between the mysterious shipments, Harlan's hidden agenda, and the undeniable attraction between Casey and me, this mission is becoming more dangerous by the day. And not just to our careers.

As we reach our door, Casey turns to me. "Stryker?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. For trusting me."

The sincerity in her voice, the warmth in her eyes – it's almost my undoing. I manage a nod, not trusting myself to speak.

She reaches up, her hand hovering near my face for a moment before dropping back to her side. The ghost of her almost-touch lingers on my skin as she disappears into the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the growing certainty that I'm falling for the one person I can't have.

That night, lying on the couch that's become both sanctuary and prison, I listen to the soft sounds of Casey preparing for bed. The rustle of fabric as she changes behind a half-closed bathroom door, the pad of her feet on the bathroom tile, and then the quiet sigh as she slides between her sheets – each sound is an exquisite torture.

Tomorrow, we'll investigate those shipments. Tomorrow, we'll plan for the race and whatever dangers it might bring. Tomorrow, we'll be professional partners working a crucial mission.

But tonight, in the darkness of our shared space, I allow myself to imagine a different reality. One where I'm not an enforcer, Casey's not my partner, and the growing feeling in my chest isn't a liability but a gift.

Sleep, when it finally comes, is filled with dreams of curves and courage, of passion and partnership, of all the things I want but cannot have.