We needed a staff-only table in this place. The staff room out back was far too hot and stuffy to study in, so I had to come out here with everyone else. Except there was only one seat free, and three guesses who was sitting at that table.

Ellie had let me serve George thinking she was doing me a favor. If the job involved just looking at him then I would have been grateful. Unfortunately, when he spoke, his words drove me crazy. And not in a good way.

He had the posh English accent most Americans assumed everyone here spoke with, but while he sounded charming as hell, his words made him sound like an arrogant douchebag. If I’d wanted one of them I would have stayed in America.

Even by student standards, he looked roughly kept and disheveled, but damn he could pull it off. He had serious bed head, and the bags under his eyes suggested he hadn’t gotten much sleep, but somehow that look suited him.

The lack of sleep could no doubt be traced back to a female student who lived on campus. The slim-fit shirt he wore—with more buttons undone than done up—had so many creases, it was obvious he’d thrown it to the floor in a hurry the night before.

The lack of a jacket even though it was about to rain also screamed “walk of shame.” He probably wouldn’t like that term though. Not judging by the way he’d stood up for Jody. The coffee shop was supposedly full of liberal, modern students, but George had been the only one to do anything about that little scene. Everyone else had just stood back and watched—me included.

George waved me over, motioning to the empty seat opposite him. I triple checked the rest of the tables to see if anyone else might be leaving, but everyone was settled in for the day.

I had no choice.

I walked over to George’s table and set my books down loudly. I wanted him to know I was only here for one thing, and it wasn’t to continue our conversation.

“Hi,” he said, a big grin etched across his face. He sat back in his chair, with one ankle resting on the other knee as he sipped at a coffee that must surely be empty by now.

“Hi,” I replied, looking down at my books and frantically opening the page to where I’d left off. I had a hundred pages of reading to do before I could even make a start on the three-thousand-word essay that was due in two weeks. I didn’t have time for anything—or anyone—else right now.

“Glad you could join me.”

“I’m not joining you. I’m sitting here to work.”

“So I see. What’s the topic?”

“The English Civil War.”

“Ah, a favorite topic of mine.”

“You like English history?” I asked incredulously. He didn’t exactly look like the history type. He was more the type to fake an interest to get in someone’s panties. Was that what he was doing now?

I crossed my legs under the table. No time for thoughts like that.

“I like most history up until the end of the English civil wars actually. After that it starts becoming too focused on politics. I can read about kings and queens all day, but prime ministers send me to sleep.”

“Wars?” I asked. “You said English civil wars. Plural. There was only one.”

George gave a shrug of the shoulders. “I’d say there were three, but it depends how you define it. People lump the separate conflicts together and refer to it as a war, but that’s not really accurate. So what’s your essay on?”

Was this really the same guy who had spoken to me earlier? They seemed like two different people. I didn’t have any special interest in English history—I’d only chosen it because it seemed like the logical thing to study in England—but I could listen to George talk all day. If I had professors like him, it wouldn’t be so difficult to stay awake in class. Without the arrogant words, his smooth voice was like a drug that made me sleepy and aroused at the same time. Either way, I’d be heading to bed.

“Nothing,” I replied, snapping out of my trance. “I mean, we can choose what to write about.”

“And what are you going to write about?”

“I don’t know yet. I still have loads of reading to do.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were already getting in your excuses for turning me down later.”

“I don’t need an excuse to do that,” I replied. “Besides, I’m already going out with friends tonight.”

“I want to see you again.”

The word ‘okay’ was on the tip of my tongue, and came desperately close to escaping my lips. Would it really be such a bad idea to see him again? He was as easy on the eyes as he was on the ears. He was older than the other students, and didn’t look like the type to down shots at the end of the night.

He was the ‘Prince Charming’ I’d been looking for, but maybe that’s not what I wanted after all. I’d told everyone back home that I was going to England to meet a nice English guy and settle down, but that was only half the story. I was also escaping my past heartbreak.

I’d been concentrating so much on finding a man, that I hadn’t dealt with the shame I still felt for what happened with Stan. Maybe I wasn’t ready to move on just yet.

“No,” I replied eventually. I couldn’t be taken in by a nice accent and a handsome face. And nice arms. Strong shoulders. Deep, dark eyes. “I have too much work to do.”

He looked surprised, as if he hadn’t heard the word ‘no’ in a very long time. “The hard bit is finding a title for the essay,” he said, quickly moving on past my rejection. “Once you’ve got that, the rest will flow easily.”

“Sure. But like you said, finding the title is the hard part.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “If I give you an essay title and some pointers on what to discuss, you agree to go out with me tomorrow night.”

“I can’t go out three nights in a row,” I pleaded. My brain was already begging me to get an early night. However, face-to-face with George, other parts of my body were making pleas of their own.

“I have you in bed by ten. Whether you choose to sleep or not is up to you. Do we have a deal?”

I looked up to the ceiling and then back down with an overly-dramatic sigh. “Okay, but it had better be a good title.”

“It’ll more than suffice. Call it ‘The Fallacy of the English Civil War.’ You can split it into two sections: first, the fact that the war wasn’t English. It involved Scotland, Ireland, and Wales too. People often look past that. Second, it wasn’t just one war. If you want, you can talk about how history has chosen to refer to it in a way that promotes English dominance over other nations, blah, blah, blah.”

“That sounds… better than anything I could have come up with.”

“Good, then it’s a date. I’ll meet you outside here at eight.”

“It’s not a date,” I said firmly. “I’m just going to have a drink with you to thank you for your help, and also to thank you for shutting up so that I can get on with my reading.”

“Fine with me,” he replied. “I just want to enjoy my last couple of weeks of freedom.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. I’ll leave you to it.”

I stared at the page in front of me, refusing to turn and watch him walk away. The words wouldn’t sink in. I wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but I should be able to get out of it easy enough. I could fake being ill on Saturday if necessary.

I sure as hell couldn’t go on a date with George. I could handle the drunken idiots, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle him, and that had me scared.

Maybe I didn’t want to meet Prince Charming after all. I was just running from my past. The last thing I wanted to do was repeat my mistakes.

Wasn’t that exactly why we studied history in the first place? To learn from our mistakes.

Those ignorant of history are doomed to repeat it.

I knew my history, and I was determined not to repeat it.