Page 43 of Knot So Social

Logan shuffles through a few sheets of pages. “Your application didn’t mention a job in the past three months.”

Oh, shit. “Um, I didn’t list it because I was only there for three months, on probation.”

My right leg starts jumping nervously.

“Okay, noted. And have you ever helped an omega through her heat?”

“Yes. I had an omega girlfriend back in late high school.” More accurately, we had a girlfriend, me and Joel. I keep the unnecessary information locked away. “I helped her through her very first heat, and we were together for about a year.”

Their pens twiddle as they jot notes on legal pads.

Lafaye smiles at me. “And how did you find the experience?”

I falter. It was a decade ago, but the memories are still clear. Especially the painful parts. But we had a lot of good times, before the relationship crashed and burned.

“Very . . . satisfying.” Heat burns in my face. “I don’t mean sexually, per se. I mean, I liked how it was a whole experience, the touch, the nesting, the sense of being needed.”

I never would have let her go, if Joel hadn’t . . .

Logan asks the next question, tearing my thoughts away from the past. We go into my medical history, my sexual preferences, my availability. They seem to like it when I say I can be on call day and night. Many times, they circle back with sly questions intended to gauge how I view omegas and how tight my self-control is as an alpha.

Understandable, considering how vulnerable omegas become during their heats.

Logan sets down his pen. “Okay, let’s talk about what certification involves. You’ve already got your police clearance, which is great. From here, if we hire you, you’ll need a few more things.”

He ticks them off on his fingers.

“A medical evaluation, your first aid certificate, your level-one omega support ticket, a psychological evaluation, Swedish massage training, and our in-house training for heat assistance. That involves learning guided breathing techniques, scent therapy, and our emergency protocols.”

I nod. Sounds like a lot. “How long does all that take?”

“Well, usually two weeks. But we do offer half time pay while you’re getting up to speed.”

Phew. An inner tension unwinds slowly. The bank account’s looking pretty dry and things would get dicey if I’m unemployed for a month.

A knock sounds on the door, and Debbie peeks in through the glass window. She grimaces in an apologetic way and waves urgently at Lafaye.

“Please excuse us for a moment,” the manager says before they both go to the door.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Debbie whispers. “But we have a booking problem.”

Logan passes through the door, closing it behind him. The only other words I catch are “omega” and “short-staffed.”

I drink up my coffee and stretch my long legs out. Through the glass, Logan crosses to a desk in a set of cubicles and picks up the telephone, stabbing roughly at the dialing numbers.

Can't really expect such a professional place to give me a job since my work history looks like a crossword puzzle. Landscaping, construction, dishwasher; I've done all sorts of unrelated things. Even completed my Alcohol Service ticket and did a stint working in bars. The atmosphere was okay, but so many people treated me like I ought to be available for more than just pouring drinks, and I didn’t like that.

I scoff under my breath. So why am I here, where I purposefully need to act like a stud? Maybe that’s why Joel’s digs annoyed me so much. But I can’t shake the times I helped our ex through her heats. It was different to regular sex. More primal, more special.

Maybe I’m missing being in a relationship.

The door swings open, making me jump.

“Jeremy, I have a question for you,” Logan says, striding in.

I swivel in my chair as much as my long body can. “Shoot.”

“Are you at all interested in a fast-track program?”