I go to the pub with the intention of getting drunk. That seems like an obvious reason, but going to the pub doesn’t have to be about getting drunk. You can go to pull a girl, or to meet friends, or to grab a bite.

Tonight, though, I’m going to get drunk. If any of those other things happen incidentally, so be it, but getting drunk will take priority.

“A big pint,” I say to the bartender.

“All the pints are the same size, chief.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Units of measurement tend to work like that, I suppose. Keep them coming, though.”

I slap ten quid down onto the bar, and he snatches it up.

Everything is going right for me. I just got another paper published, and Oxford has extended my contract by three years. Including a raise.

I down a good chunk of the pint in one big swig. I should be celebrating, not drinking alone.

The problem, of course, is Nicole Faria.

In my career, I’m getting everything I want. It’s everything I have worked hard for these past ten years. I never thought I’d want one of my own students. Especially not one so young. Of course I can’t have both: I can’t have my career and Nicole Faria.

Oxford has an extremely strict policy about dating students—even former students.

“She’ll be gone in a few weeks,” I whisper to assure myself. I take a big swig of beer, hoping it will muddy my brain enough that I won’t keep thinking about this.

It doesn’t work. The beer starts to hit me, making me feel a bit numb and dizzy, but then I feel my cock starting to harden as I think about all the times Nicole all but offered herself up to me. Each time, I merely needed to reach out and take her.

Each time, I imagined shoving her face-first against my desk, and commanding her to submit to me. I imagined binding her wrists behind her back. Tying them in tight knots, ones that only I could undo. I’d tell her how bad she’s been, and make her beg me not to punish her for it.

I look down at my empty glass. Idle fantasies. Taking any action would ruin my career. And even though she’s smart, curious, and wise beyond her years...she’s still too young.

“Buy me a drink?” a voice asks.

I look up to see a woman in a black, sleeveless dress. Her accent is northern, and her smile dimples up her face too much...but she looks good. Especially after having a few beers.

I hold up my empty glass.

“Maybe I should buy you one,” she says, sitting down next to me at the bar. “Two pints.”

The bartender nods.

“I was joking,” I say. “I’ll get us a round.”

“It’s fine,” she says, smiling. “I got it. I’ve seen you around campus. German Lit, right?”

I nod. I don’t remember seeing her. I’ve been too distracted.

“And you are…” I start to mumble.

“Rosie,” she says, holding out a hand. “Math.”

“So not a student,” I say. “I’m Elijah Leeds.”

She laughs. “Of course I’m not a student, that would be...awkward. And I know your name.”

She smiles at me, and the smile tells me everything I need to know. If I want, she’ll go home with me. And that look in her eyes tells me that she’ll eagerly submit to me, too.

“Mathematics,” I say. “Not my forte.”

“German is only spoken by what, one hundred million people worldwide?”

I sigh. “Native speakers, if you’re being generous. Maybe twice that if you count non-natives.”

“Math is the only universal language,” she says. “And I mean that literally. If aliens from another galaxy came in contact with us, how do you think we’d talk to them?”

“I like to think that aliens could appreciate Goethe, or at least Hansel and Gretel.”

“Maybe after a while,” she says. “But to talk to them at first, to start teaching them English or Chinese or German, we’d need math.”

And as she drones on about using pi and the planck constant to communicate with aliens, I see Nicole walk into the bar. Her shoulders are back, her posture is straight, and she’s dressed in a tight red dress. It hugs her breasts and hips, and my eyes lock onto her curves involuntarily. I stop breathing.

Nicole looks up at me through her thick lashes, licks her painted lips, and strides up to the other side of the bar. She’s behind Rosie, and I can look at Nicole while still maintaining the illusion that I’m paying attention to whatever Rosie is saying.

“So what do you think?” Rosie asks.

I tear my eyes away from Nicole, to whom the bartender is handing some kind of hard liquor.

“Uh,” I mumble. “I think it’s not the most compelling reason to learn mathematics. It’s...unlikely, and it’s not like everyone on Earth needs to be able to talk to the aliens directly as soon as they land.”

“But the people who know math will get to write the first message,” she says, grinning.

I nod absently and look over toward Nicole, but she’s since moved away from the bar. Some guys—students—are talking to her. One has his hand on her arm, and she’s laughing at whatever joke he’s telling her.

She looks right at me for a brief moment, then returns her attention to the younger guy.

“First impressions are important,” Rosie says, taking my hand.