Chapter Three
Three days of working at the bar, and I'm ready for my freedom. Not that I mind the money. It's just extremely overstimulating by the third night. By the time Sunday rolls around, I'm fifteen hundred dollars richer, but have to take the whole day to recuperate.
I sleep in so late that it's lunch time when I make it to the cafeteria, and in my sweats nonetheless, because obviously I'm going to be lazy and not bother with anything that takes real effort. It's quiet with only a few people lingering around. The silence is welcoming, but also kind of has me wondering about Millie-Jane. I haven't seen her around in the past week. If it wouldn't make me look like a weirdo, I'd find a way to check in on her to make sure she's okay. People don't usually say okay see you tomorrow then up and vanish.
I'm still wondering about her as I get up to toss my trash. Passing the cork board on my way gives me a thorough distraction as I notice one of the flyers hanging up. The board itself is busy with papers of many colors hanging on top of each other. The one that catches my eye is a bright pink and in big bold letters invites anyone and everyone to an on campus outside movie marathon.
This seems to be a weekly occurrence, but I've never had any interest in going. Last week the genre of movies playing was romcoms, and the week before that it was musicals. Neither of which are really my thing, with the exception of a few here and there. Tonight, however, it's going to be Troma. My inner nerd actually does a little happy dance. I stumbled upon the cheesy, eighties, gore core movies a few years ago, and absolutely love them.
As lame as it may sound to the normal college goer, I spend the rest of my afternoon in the campus library working on assignments that are due in the next two weeks. There isn't any real reason for doing it in the library, other than finding it as a place of comfort when I get tired of staring at the same four walls of my dorm room and start feeling claustrophobic. The librarian who always seems to be working is a girl around my age and is super nice to everyone.
I wrap it up and pack all my things roughly an hour before dark. It gives me just enough time to run back to my room, drop all the things that I don't need, and grab a pillow and blanket.
It isn't until I've got everything spread out on the grass that I wish I would've thought to bring some snacks with me. Fortunately, it isn't long before I see one of those little sidewalk vendors pushing a small cart down the walkway, and the smell of freshly popped popcorn wafts in my direction. I give them a few minutes to set up and for the small line of people to die down before I make my way over. Not ashamed in the least, I buy the largest bucket of popcorn they offer, a diet coke, and some Twizzlers before heading back to my blanket.
The movie is about a third of the way in when jean-clad legs move into my peripheral and a voice says, "Ms. Bardot. You are the last person I was expecting to see out here tonight."
I glance over and up...and up to find Professor Brent standing there smiling down at me.
"Hi, professor," I reply stupidly, sounding like only half of my brain is working. The other half fires up after a few seconds and I quickly add, "Would you like to sit down?"
He hesitates just long enough that I add, "You don't know what you're missing until you try it."
"I just so happened to be walking by," he admits, taking the offered seat. "I had no intention of coming to this one."
"Do you normally?" I ask, keeping my voice down as to not to disturb anyone else.
He nods, "Yeah, I think the whole idea is nostalgic."
"Just as long as it's not Troma," I say, shooting him a smile.
Laughing quietly, he confesses, "I can sit through them. They just aren't my favorite."
Conversation goes quiet as we watch the movie. Some of the people around us laugh and others fake gag at the gore on the screen. One of my favorite parts is coming up, and sure enough, just as soon as it happens, I bust out laughing.
He grins over at me. "You and my pack mate would get along so well."
"He cracks up at the worst parts of the movies, too?" I ask.
His head nods, but he doesn't get to say whatever he's about to. Out of nowhere a huge fluff of yellow launches over his outstretched legs and lands between mine. Thank God we aren't watching horror movies out here, because the surprise floof would've had me screaming like a little girl.
It does still startle me enough to let out a small yelp. Of course, just as soon as it does a wiggle flip and a wet nose is pressed into my hand, I've crossed over into "awww" territory.
"I'm so sorry," a man says out of breath with a recognizable voice.
Sure enough, my Uber driver that I've seen for the past three nights is copping a squat on my blanket.
"I saw you guys sitting over here and thought it'd be nice to come say hi," he says, still trying to slow his breathing. "Sherlock had other ideas. Almost yanked my arm off trying to get here."
Assuming Sherlock is the yellow floof that is now belly up with his tongue lolling out, I rub his soft fur as I give Palmer a fake glare. "Now I'm really beginning to think that you're stalking me."
"Hey," he replies, holding his hands up. "You're the one that called me all weekend."
Professor Brent looks from one of us to the other. "You guys know each other?"
"Only in twenty minute increments," I tell him with a quick wink.
I swear, I don't think his jaw could drop any quicker than what it does. Palmer only makes it about ten seconds of silence before he loses it and starts cackling.
It's contagious, and I can't help but join in a bit before admitting, "He was my ride home from work all weekend. Turns out he's the best around. You guys know each other?"
Palmer smashes his lips together with a grin, and slowly coming of out of his bewilderment, Professor Brent answers, "We're pack mates."
Seems like we're all full of secret surprises tonight.
"Ohhhh, small world. So, are you the one who likes these movies?" I ask Palmer.
He bunches his nose in disgust. "No way, man. That is definitely Jake. We're all forced to watch them every now and then when it's his night to pick the movie, but I do not enjoy it. Not the way he does anyway."
"That's fair," I reply with a quick nod. "It does seem to be an acquired taste. You either like it or you don't."
"You should come over some time and watch some with us," Professor Brent suggests.
Palmer is already nodding before he finishes. "For sure. I'm sure Jake would love to meet another Troma fan."
My eyebrow lifts questioningly as I ask, "Aren't there some kind of rules against fraternization, Professor?"
"Please call me Brent outside of the classroom Ms. Bardot," he replies, adding, "and there are loopholes around the rules."
Palmer does the smirk thing with his lips again, flicking his eyes down to the blanket. Curiosity gets the best of me.
"What does that mean? What kind of loopholes?" I ask.
Even in the dark I notice his cheeks pink a bit, and he stumbles on the first word, "Umm, well, if an omega is being courted by a pack, it negates the teacher-student rule as long as the omega is of age."
How is this something I never knew? Likely because I never wanted a pack and never even considered it. That also brings us to that curve in the road.
"I don't think that's a good idea," I confess, breaking it to them easy without admitting that the last thing I want is to answer to a pack of alphas and not being able to make decisions for myself.
Brent nods with a quick dip of his chin and turns facing the screen, but Palmer looks like I just kicked his poor floof. "Why not? We're a good pack. Not like the bad ones that everybody talks about all the time. Good standing in society and nice. Well, most of us. Roz and Cordell can be kind of jerks sometimes, but I think that's mainly because of their jobs. Jake is only an ass when he gets super stressed, but he just gets real quiet and shuts us out."
It kind of breaks my heart a little to hear him defending his pack so vehemently, knowing they aren't even close to being the problem.
"And I don't know if it helps or not," he adds, "but we smell pretty good, too."
I can't help the laugh that bursts from my lips, and I try to hide it with my hand.
His grin pops back onto his face. "I mean, with our scents, you know."
Hands gesturing between himself and Brent, he carries on, "I've had all sorts in my car and met tons of people at the fancy parties Roz drags us to. I'm just saying that not all scents mesh well together."
Even put that way, it still makes me giggle a bit, and a small smile creeps across Brent's face.
"I never would've considered that you or your pack might stink," I tell him, fighting another laugh.
"Sorry," he apologizes sheepishly. "I've never really been around an omega. I thought the scent thing was a big deal."
Brent lowers his head into his hand, and I try my best not to do so much as smile as I tell him, "It is, but that's nothing to do with why I'm saying no. I'm not looking for a pack right now. I want to stay focused."
Face lighting up instantly, he says, "That's it? Because maybe our version of courting is different from everyone else. It doesn't always mean you're wanting to be stuck with us forever. We can be courting friends. "
I honestly can't even fault him for trying the angle, and I don't see how anyone would be able to deny the sad, little puppy dog eyes he's giving me as he says it.
"Fiiine," I tell him, dragging the word out playfully.
He pumps his arm with an exuberant but quiet, "Yes! So, plan for dinner and a movie Sunday. It's Brent's turn to cook all day, and he always makes the best food."
Holding his fist out for a bump from Brent and then jumping to his feet, he reaches down to grab Sherlock's leash. "Time to get this good boy home before his dog parents start to wonder where we've run off to. See you Thursday night."
Just as fast as he and the orange floof have appeared, they disappear just as quickly, leaving Brent and I speechless for different reasons.
We turn to each other and let out quiet chuckles and speak at the same time.
"Is that not his dog?" I ask
"Thursday night?" he asks.
I laugh again. "He was my Uber this weekend. Taking me back and forth to work. I guess we've adopted each other at this point and he'll be my ride next weekend, too."
"It's not his dog," he confirms. "Palmer is pretty much the baby of our pack and is still undecided on anything he wants to do in life. He seems to want to try everything before settling. You'll probably see him around campus since he's taking classes on top of being a driver, dog walker, and several other odd jobs. You should ask him about those next weekend. Where is work for you?"
"Oh," I start, only slightly embarrassed. "Over at The Rowdy Rooster. I'm a bartender over there on the weekends."
He gives me a knowing nod. "So, you're a dancer, too, then?"
"Yeah," I reply. "It pays really, really well, and the people are always nice. Three nights a week and I make more than a lot do working forty-to-sixty-hour jobs."
"Good for you," he praises. "As long as you enjoy it, then that's all that matters."
"No judgement then?" I ask, masking my bitterness. Wouldn't be the first time someone did. Just ask my roommate. I thought she was going to have an aneurysm and hasn't spoken a single word to me since.
"Nope, none from me," he says with another bright smile.
The credits start to roll on the screen in front of us, and his phone vibrates in his pocket. The name Cordell pops up on the screen, not like I was trying to look but just happened to glance down out of habit. Brent holds up a finger to me before standing to walk away while answering it. When he walks closer to the building, the lights make him more visible than he was sitting beside me, giving me the perfect opportunity to admire him. In a pair of tight blue jeans, a button-down shirt that strains just as hard around the arms as his one the other day did, and one of those damn vests that he's always wearing, it's kind of unbelievable that he's wasting time sitting here with me and not off with someone more his caliber. I don't think I'm ugly, but I am in no way on his level. And before knowing Palmer is a part of his pack I would've said that there's no way I could've dealt with an entire pack of Brents next weekend. Extremely attractive, intelligent, and successful. And, I am over here dancing on bars. I'll just keep my fingers crossed that the rest of their pack is as down to Earth and as easy to get along with as they are. Chiefly because I can't believe I even agreed to go to begin with.
I admire the way his heavy muscles flex as he pockets his phone and makes his way back over to me. He sits just as the next movie starts, the iris of his blue eyes flashing bright as the screen lights up.
"Sorry," he apologizes. "One of our other pack mates. We normally spend Sundays as a pack since we're all typically off work, but Roz was out of town on business. We decided to all do our own thing, and he was just checking in to make sure he didn't need to cook dinner."
"That's okay," I tell him, surprisingly moved that he is so open with sharing his life with me. It makes me want to share something with him in return. "Me and my mom used to do a huge breakfast and something fun on Sundays. She always had that day off, too. But, that was before the accident."
"What kind of accident was it?" he asks. "Car?"
I shake my head, "Work. She used to work at a furniture factory. One day a machine went haywire and pinned her against the wall. It shattered her right hip and leg."
"Wow, that's awful," he sympathizes.
Looking down at the blanket, I pick off an invisible thread as I tell him a truth I've never told anyone. "That was the easy part. Therapy and recovery was immensely difficult for her. She didn't take it well. One day she started drinking and she never quit."
"How old were you?" he asks.
"Thirteen," I tell him.
"What about your pack?" he questions.
Can't say I blame him. That's always the first question that anyone has ever asked. "My alpha dad and his pack got my beta mom pregnant and abandoned her."
"Wow, that's tough," he replies with a sad shake of his head.
I lift a shoulder and glance back up at him. "When it's life and you don't know any different, it's just how it is. Sometimes when life gets hard, you've just got to be harder."
"That's very wise," he states proudly.
For a moment our eyes lock and his flick down to my lips, but then someone around us lets out a short scream at the gore on the movie and the moment is broken. We both look away, leaving me wondering if he's feeling the same feeling of regret for it being stolen.
We watch the rest of the movie in relative silence, sharing snacks and once or twice brushing hands as we do. Every single time, a swarm of butterflies takes off in my belly and his sweet, fruity-cereal scent gets stronger. I'm not sure if it's my omega sense picking up the change or if it's just his alpha scent trying to persuade me. If it's the latter, I'm woman enough to admit that it's working. I don't think I'll be able to go the rest of the week without smelling it.
By the time the credits are rolling on the second movie, it's late and he stands to help me up before folding my blanket. In a quick gentlemanly move, he takes my hand and kisses the back of it.
"Thank you for letting me join you tonight," he says. "I'm very much looking forward to next weekend."
"Me, too," I admit. "Thanks for keeping me company."
"Anytime, Ms. Bardot, he replies, softly smiling down at me.
The corners of my lips pull up as I bid him farewell with a slight tease. "Goodnight, Professor."
I take the blanket he offers and watch as he walks away, looking back once with a smile that makes me swallow hard. Damn, that man is fine, and I don't think he even realizes it.
With a deep sigh, I gather my trash and dump it before heading back to my empty, lonely dorm room.
The next day I'm walking to my first class when my phone goes off. It's an email for a job offer for a social media manager I sent out back when the semester started. Figured it was the smart thing to do, showing up in a new town. Surprisingly, hardly any of the local businesses had any kind of online presence. There were a few, but they weren't getting any kind of traction or drawing any attention to them. Trying to get a leg up and my name out there, I sent out emails to quite a few of the local places with my resume attached. This only makes the second one I've heard back from.
As I read further down the email, it lays out in detail what the owner expects which is truly nothing more than basic. Seeing as it informs me that I'll be sent all of the material to edit as I see fit and post when I deem appropriate, I won't actually have to take the time to go record my own videos. However, it does have a clause that says that for whatever reason if I'm not satisfied with what is provided, I will be allowed to take my own. I sigh in relief, because it'd really suck to get fired for relying on someone else's tastes and/or lack of knowledge. All I have to do is sign the contract included in the attachment, laying all of this out, then filling out the form for how I'd like to be paid. The email is signed at the bottom by Sanders & Dixson Co.
The whole thing puts an extra pep in my step for the rest of the day. More than once, I find myself wanting to share the news with someone and thinking about Palmer and Brent. After my second class of the day, I stop and almost turn the direction that'll take me across campus to Brent's classroom, but I don't. I keep walking the same way I was heading, promising myself that if it comes up this weekend that I'll tell them. It gives me more than one reason to be excited to see them in a few days.