Chapter Twelve
Tennyson
Leaving Greer sucked, but I needed a job. A job worthy of him. Not driving Uber or working at a temp agency. No, I needed something steady—something that showed I was worthy. Worthy of the omega who took his family’s failing restaurant and turned it into a thriving business by taking a chance on an idea sparked by a conversation with a random stranger.
Sure, that stranger was me, but that didn’t make his accomplishment less. No, he was amazing in all ways. Kind, smart, hardworking, and sexy as fuck. I was going to be worthy.
I bound up the steps of my apartment building and, after taking a quick shower and pulling button-down shirts and ties from the back of my closet, the clothing that used to be my everyday wear, I got dressed and headed to Pops’ place. I had figured out what I needed to do. I just needed his reassurance.
“Hey, Pops,” I called into his apartment as I let myself in.
“Where you been, boy?” he shouted from the kitchen. “I drank almost the entire pot already. Get your butt in here.”
I had told him I had a date the night before, and he was ready for the gossip. Which worked for me because I needed someone to discuss things with.
“Whoa, you look—dare I say like Professor Black?”
“Instructor Black. Remember I never got the professorship.”
He handed me a cup of coffee.
“Thanks.” I took a long sip, wanting to gather my thoughts as I saw him bootless. “Is that allowed?” I eyed his foot.
“Strictly speaking?” He cocked his brow. That would be a negative.
“No—but it is fine.”
“Put the boot on, or I won’t tell you about last night.”
He hobbled out of there so fast then returned appropriately clad. “Spill. I am wearing this piece of torture device so spill it.”
“I swear sometimes you are more of a gossip king than those guys playing chess in the park.” Not that anyone had their thumb on the pulse of the happenings in town more than they did, but Pops sure wanted to.
“Fair point. Now, begin with that grin or the clothes. I’ll take either.” He plopped on his chair and folded his arms as if that would hurry me along. It did.
“I am going to see my mother about the long-term sub position that she emailed me about last week.” I drank the rest of my coffee down as I watched him process what I’d just said. After the denial of permanency or whatever bullshit they used as an excuse not to pay me a real salary at the college, I walked. I did what any single alpha with more pride than sense would do, I decided to give up years of hard work for fun—a trip to Peru, which was what sparked the travel bug inside me. I’d never regretted it—not really—but there were times like this when I wondered if I’d ruined my professional life on a lark.
“I think I need to hear about last night first,” Pops finally said. He was right. One made no sense without the other.
And it wasn’t just Greer. Although he played a part in it. I was turning thirty, and I needed to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up, and if it was Tennyson the world traveler, so be it. My gut had been telling me that wasn’t it.
“Last night was amazing.”
He waved his hand for me to continue so I did. I told him about our conversations, the way Greer made me feel, the way he felt like home more than any place did, and how it had me half feeling like I was going crazy and half like I was about to start the best adventure of my life.
“So what do I do?”
“You, son, do exactly what you already decided to do before you walked in here. Go get that job, and while you are filling young minds with knowledge, decide exactly what it is you want to do to make your money. Notice I didn’t say when you grow up, or for your career. I ain’t nothing like your mother. Sometimes a job doesn’t need to be a passion or something amazing. Sometimes you just need a steady income so that the rest of your life can be what you want it to be. Sometimes a job is a job.”
On this we both agreed, only I’d never fully let myself be okay with my part-time temporary gigs. Maybe that was the key to it all, though. Maybe it was because they were just temporary from the get-go. Maybe what I wanted to be when I grew up was exactly what I needed to be looking into.
“Thanks, Pops. You always say what I need to hear.” I grabbed his coffee mug and my own and brought them to the kitchen sink. “I’m off to get a job. Tell Gizmo I said hi.” I gave a half wave at the door.
“You were supposed to think he was sleeping, not cheating on you with the neighbor.”
I wouldn’t call hanging out with Mr. Gomez when his wife had her knitting circle cheating. Gizmo was that dog who understood what his humans needed and provided it, and he claimed an awful lot of humans.
“It is what it is,” I teased before heading out the door and straight to the one place I very much did not want to be which, unfortunately, was also the very place I needed to be—my mother’s office. Yay for having a dean for a mama.