All For Fun | Jenna Ortega Imagines

Officer Ortega II (j.o)

(Y/N's POV)

It's been two months since I was pulled over, and Officer Ortega seemingly faded from my mind. Especially once I got home to my girlfriend. She practically fucked any mischievous thoughts I had right out of me. The way we sexed that night, reminded me of why I got the ticket in the first place.

However, the reminder of the ticket was also a reminder of the officer and the unused phone number. For weeks, whenever I found myself alone, and away from my girlfriend, I pondered if I should text Officer Ortega, but I always chose to not do so. I didn't know what I would say to her. I didn't know how to hide it. Hell, I'm already hiding the fact that I have this ticket from my girlfriend. Furthermore, I didn't even know if it was actually the officer's number, and I refused to find out. I didn't need to complicate the situation anymore than I already did.

But boy, oh boy, did I think about doing so.

So many nights, I dreamed of this policewoman in my presence again. The dreams were excruciatingly vivid. I could smell her perfume, her breath. I could feel and see her enchantingly dark orbs peering into my soul. I could hear her voice cycling in my mind like a broken vinyl.

The thought of this woman drove me mad. My fucking god, but here we are: June 9th.

A date, I never thought I'd be so anxious for. I anticipated this court date like it was my birthday; unhealthily preparing for everything that could go wrong but more significantly, what could go right. I wasn't even worried about the ticket. I was worried about how my interaction with Officer Ortega would go since I didn't reach out. Would she be mad? Would she be cool? Would she be indifferent?

I was spiraling.

I groaned as I entered the lobby of the courthouse, stepping into the line of people to pass through checkpoint. The sounds of metal detectors ringing my ears as I moved along the line.

"Empty your pockets, and put everything in the basket," an officer spoke to me. I nodded, doing as they asked. My phone, my keys, my wallet, and my citation were all I had, so this was easy.

I wasn't dressed up either. I stood in a black shirt with black jeans and sneakers. It's Traffic Court after all, I didn't need to be dressed up.

I walked through the metal detector, not hearing a beep. But some magical way, I was still searched by another officer. I smacked my teeth. As the officer pat me down, I looked around the lobby; at other officers, clerks, and civilians.

"Clear," the officer said, fanning me out of the way, "Move along."

I collected my stuff and headed for the courtroom. I exhaled uncomfortably as I approached the room; my chest swelled and my palms sweated. We're off to see the wizard... the magical woman of my dreams.

I walked up to the clerk counter, a man was shuffling paperwork, "Good afternoon, I'm here to check in."

He looked at me, grabbing a pen and clicking it, "Citation number?"

I looked over the ticket, reading aloud, "20022709."

He wrote something on a sheet of paper, and handed me a slip, "You're checked in. You're number 22, have a seat and wait for your number to be called."

"Thank you."

"Your welcome."

I slid on a bench in the center of the room as chatter filled the courtroom. I sat my citation beside me, and wiped the sweat from my palms on my thighs. My eyes wandered the courtroom. There were officers standing along the corners of the room; some in heated exchanges with the people they pulled over and some just guarding.