Two months later…

"Fuck!" I shouted. "Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!"

I jumped out of bed, scrambling to find my clothes. Sam's room, as always, was a goddamn mess. As I looked over the piles of his clothes that lay here and there, some clean, some dirty, all impossible to tell apart, I knew my chances of gathering together the articles of clothing I'd thrown off last night during the midst of another one of our drunken bouts of passion.

"What's the deal, darling?" asked Sam, rolling over in bed and giving me a look at his bare, chiseled body.

I wanted to stop and stare, but I didn't even have a moment for ogling.

"My Poli-Sci final," I said, darting a hand into one of the piles and pulling out my bra and panties. "It starts in less than an hour, and campus is forty minutes away.

"Oh," said Sam, seemingly not bothered by this new information. "Just call a taxi and be done with it."

I couldn't help but scowl at this. Sam's blasé attitude and inability to be flustered by anything was definitely one of the traits that I'd grown to appreciate during this whirlwind little courtship of ours. But sometimes, I had to admit, his lack of concern for the schedules that most of the world lived by could set me on edge, especially in a situation like this. Not to mention I'd already spent far more money than I was happy with over the last two months on last-minute cab rides like this.

But instead of saying actual words, a frustrated grunt escaped my lips.

"Darling, don't you know I love it when you grunt so," said Sam, reaching over and giving my rear a playful swat.

As frustrated and frantic as I was, I couldn't help let a smile break out across my face. No way I'd let him see it, however.

"I'm just…" I said, stepping into my panties and throwing my bra straps over my shoulders, "…really, really, really behind with a lot of my classes. You know the dream where you're in college and you remember at the very end of the semester that there's a class you've forgotten to go to?"

"Maybe a bit," said Sam. "I only managed a couple of semesters at Oxford before I gave that place the laugh."

I stopped stone still.

"Wait, you went to Oxford?" I asked, wanting to make perfectly clear I'd heard correctly what he said.

"Yeah," he said, folding his hands behind his head. "Why?"

"I mean, I knew you dropped out of school, but Oxford was that school? Why didn't you mention that before?"

"You never asked."

I guess he had me there. I threw on the rest of my clothes, this new revelation settling into the ever-growing stack of evidence about Sam's slacker nature. This new bit of information was especially frustrating. Sam was possessing of a brilliant, sharp mind, something befitting something a little more prestigious than being a bartender. But to know he threw away an Oxford education…

I set it aside for now; I had my own concerns to worry about.

Grabbing my phone, bag, and the rest of my things, I started out.

To say the last couple of months were a whirlwind would be the understatement to end all understatements. The romance between Sam and I was like a tornado in the middle of a hurricane. We were with each other nearly constantly, and when we weren't making love, we were out with him and his friends, going to the hottest and trendiest nightlife spots in the city. And though I hate to admit it, this lifestyle had begun to take a serious toll on me. Not only on my body from the constant hangovers and sleeps of three to four hours a night, but from the lack of attention I'd been giving to my studies. My grades were going down in a perfect inverse to just how hot things were getting between Sam and me, and I knew that something had to give.

I hated to do it, but I flagged down a cab and directed them to campus. I wanted to cry when I considered just how much of my semester stipend was going towards irresponsible frivolities like last-minute cab rides and greasy take-out food. The serious, student who had gotten me to London was being replaced by a reckless party girl. And I had the man in my life to thank for it.

The cab pulled up to the stately building and I got out in a hurry, shoving a crinkled bill at the driver and shutting the door behind me. My heart pounding, I checked the time and saw that I had only a few minutes to get to the class. Professor Jenson was known for his stern, uncompromising nature, and I shuddered to think how he would react to a student –an American student, no less- tromping into class after the test had begun.

But as I reached the tall door leading to the testing hall and realized that I was five minutes past, I knew I had no other option. Taking a deep breath, I placed my hand on the door handle and pulled it open. The hall was so quiet that even the soft hush of a door being opened was loud enough to attract the attention of the fifty or so students there. My face went red as their eyes all latched onto me, and heavy with shame, I made my way to Professor Jenson, who stood at the front of the hall, dressed in his usual double-breasted suit and spectacles.

His eyes flicked to me, and I knew that I was in serious trouble.

"Um, hi Professor Jenson," I said, my voice as meek as could be.

He said nothing, simply handing me the exam and directing me with a stern point of his finger towards one of the open seats. I scurried over to it, my face still flush with shame. Flipping through the booklet, I realized that so much of the material was just unknown to me; the hours that I should've been spending studying were now occupied by Sam, and a sick feeling came over me as I realized that I likely wasn't going to be turning in my best performance. I made my way slowly through the exam over the next hour and a half, the students tricking out until it was just myself and a couple of others left, and then finally just me.

I got up, my chair squeaking against the floor of the now-empty hall, and made my way to Professor Jenson.

"Mary Metzger," he said, taking my exam.

"That's…that's me," I said.

"Please meet me in my office in an hour. I wish to have an urgent conversation with you."

"Sure," I said.

Then I hurried out of there. I spent the next hour pacing around the campus and twisting myself into knots wondering what he wanted to talk to me about, but knowing deep down that it was likely about my grades during this last half of the semester. Finally, when the time arrived I made my way to his office and rapped gently on the door.

"Come in," came the voice from within.

I opened the door, revealing Professor Jenson sitting at his wide, stately desk. The campus was stretched out in the window behind him, and he gestured towards one of the old-fashioned, high-backed chairs in front of his desk.

"Have a seat," he said, his voice stern.

I did just that. As I took my seat, his elderly face was furrowed into a tight expression as he looked over the papers in front of him. Looking closer, I saw that it was my exam. I gulped.

"You know, when you started off this semester with me, I had the highest of hopes for you here," he said shuffling the exam into a neat stack and setting it aside. "I personally looked over some of your work from your first year of university in the states, and it led me to believe that you'd be a natural fit for our humble academy. However, the direction your grades have taken in these last couple of months have led me to…reevaluate this judgment."

At that moment, I wished nothing more than to be able to shrink into nothing and disappear into one of the cracks of the chair.

"I'm…sorry."

I didn't know what else to say.

"However, when I begin to think in that matter, I'm forced to remember that I was once your age, and I know that if the grades of a promising student take a turn for the worse, there's likely an…external factor at play. I'm guessing you're not the drug and alcohol type, and that you've likely not become addicted to one of those time-stealing video games, correct?"

I nodded, unsure of where he was going with this.

"Of course. A new boyfriend, perhaps?"

I was a little uncertain about discussing my dating life with an older man like Professor Jenson, but he seemed to have my situation pegged.

"Um, yes," I said, feeling a little better as soon as the words left my mouth.

Professor Jenson nodded.

"And you two started dating..." he looked down at some papers in front of him through the spectacles that were set on his bulbous nose, "…about two months ago, correct?"

"That's right," I said.

God, I couldn't believe that my relationship with Sam had impacted my grades so directly. Was I that impressionable?

"And I'm going to guess that he's not a fellow student here at our fine academy, or any other, for that matter."

"No, he's not."

I was reminded of what Sam told me today about Oxford and felt a fresh, hot wave of anger rush over me. It was so frustrating to think about the potential that he'd thrown away. And for what? To work in some stupid club? But I pushed the thought aside and brought myself back to the conversation.

"I thought as much. Miss Metzger, as I said, I was once your age. Now, things are a little different for young women than they are for men, of course, but I remember what it was like to be consumed with the opposite sex. I myself was involved with a pretty young girl, Emma Waterson was her name; I remember her face as clear as day, even so many years later."

A dreamy expression crossed Professor Jenson's face as he fell into nostalgia.

"And when you're in love it can feel like nothing else in the world can even hope to matter as much. However, the reality is still there, and doesn't go away just because one is stupefied by this particular chemical concoction."

"What…what happened with you and Emma?" I asked, my curiosity overcoming my sense of decorum.

"We were from two very different backgrounds, you see," said Professor Jenson. "She was but a shop girl from a humble family, and I was a young man from a prestigious background going to Oxford."

The word slipped into my gut like a shard of glass.

"So, when I realized that I was putting my future in jeopardy for the sake of a childish little romance, I called things off with her. She was heartbroken, perhaps not as much as I, but I'm sure she moved on. I certainly did."

His wistful tone, however, suggested that this was not entirely the case.

"Then what happened?" I asked.

"The rest of my life happened. I graduated with honors, continued my education, then my career. I met another lovely young woman along the way, one a little more suited to my situation, and married her. Four children, forty years, and that's that."

A silence hung in the air.

"Anyway," he continued, "back to the heart of the matter. You're going to be here for another semester, young lady, and fortunately for you, your stellar performance during the first half of the semester has pushed your overall grade into the bounds of what's barely acceptable. And I assume that your performances in your other classes are of a similar nature."

I said nothing; I sure hoped so.

"So, I present to you a choice. You can continue on this path and likely not see the end of your second semester here, or you can take the holiday break to reevaluate your life, to think about what sort of future you want for yourself, and what types of people you think can you get there. If you make the right decision, I would quite like to know- I'm looking for students for a research project starting in the spring that I think you would be a perfect fit for…well, the ‘you' that was here during the first half of the semester, that is."

Another silence fell. He'd said so much that I needed time to process everything; I couldn't hope to respond with anything meaningful right now.

He rose from his desk and extended his hand.

"Have a wonderful break, Miss Metzger. My mailbox is open when you're ready to give me your answer."

I took his hand and shook it.

"Thank you, Professor Jenson. For everything."

He then led me to the door. As he prepared to shut it, a quizzical expression appeared on his face, as though he wished to say something. But he quickly shook his head, apparently thinking better of it. Then he shut the door, and that was that.

The conversation swam through my head as I made my way off campus. The winter chill had set in this last week, and I pulled my coat tight against the bracing wind as I stepped onto the snow-frosted steps of the stairs leading down from the building.

He's right, I thought. I know he is. There's no reason someone like me should be continuing to date a guy like Sam, someone who wasn’t going anywhere with his life.

But as soon as the thought settled in my mind, I remembered just how sweet Sam could be, how disarming that charming smile of his was. And the sex…

And most curious of all was that despite the certainty that Professor Jenson had projected during our talk, I couldn't help but notice the way he spoke about Emma, his girlfriend from when he was my age. He seemed…almost regretful. What if, in spite of the way his life turned out, he couldn't help but wonder what his life would've gone like if he had decided to take a chance on that shop girl from a humble family? Can you really put a love like that to the side and move on as easily as Professor Jenson had tried to make it seem?

I went back and forth on my way back to my apartment, the snow picking up by the time I arrived home. Opening the door, I walked in to see that Anna was there in the kitchen, a determined, frustrated expression on her face as she stared down at a tea kettle on the stove, as if hoping that she could make the water boil faster with just a look. She was dressed in paint-splattered jeans and a t-shirt, her oversized clothes hanging loosely on her slight frame. Her hair was pulled up into a sloppy bun, a few strands hanging over her forehead.

"There's my party girl," she said. "And just in time for tea."

As if taking its cue, the tea kettle whistled. Anna took it off the stove and poured two mugs of tea as I took off my snow-dusted coat and dropped my bag onto the ground. By the time I was ready, Anna approached with a pair of mugs.

"Finals today, right?" she asked, plopping down onto her favorite spot on the couch, which was now covered in a plastic sheet to prevent the paint that was constantly covering her clothes from staining.

"Something like that…" I said.

Anna's expression turned a shade more serious.

"Something amiss in the garden of Eden?"

"Well…"

With that, I spilled my guts. I told her about my conversation with Professor Jenson, in all the gory details.

"Well, he's right, you know," said Anna, without a moment's hesitation.

"What?" I asked, nonplussed. "Aren't you the consummate party girl? I mean, you're the one who's got a new guy on her arm every week."

"Now, when's the last time you've seen me go out, darling?"

I thought about it. Now that she mentioned it, I hadn't seen Anna leave the house for anything but class and groceries in the last month or so.

"I guess…not all that often, now that I think about it."

"That's right," she said, the steam from her tea coiling around her face. "That's because the beginning of the semester is for fun and frivolities. But now that it's crunch time, and I've got more projects to finish than I can count; it's time to get serious."

"I guess I had it backward," I said.

Anna chuckled.

"Indeed you did. And this is why boys like Sam, as charming and handsome as they might be, just aren't for girls like you and I. Well, for anything more than a week or two of fun, that is. You see, girls like us are going places, and men like him, well, come back to that bar in five years and I'm sure you'll see him right in the same spot, serving the same drinks to the same people."

She was right; I knew it. I'd been spending too much time with Sam, and his influence was beginning to take its toll on my future. The pressure of my situation began to build, and I knew that I needed to make a decision that I'd been putting off for far too long.

And right at that moment, as if on cue, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

"The man of the hour?" asked Anna, her slim fingers wrapped around her coffee mug.

"Yup," I said, sighing. "This sucks; I finally find the sexy British guy that I'd been looking for, and now I know I have to cut him loose."

"Don't worry too much about it, love," said Anna. "We're young; men aren't exactly in short supply for us."

It was small consolation. After all, I didn't want just any guy- I wanted Sam.

I slipped my phone out of my pocket and read the text.

• How were exams?

I sighed softly and considered just how to word my text without giving too much away.

• The less said, the better.

Moments later came the response.

• That bad, huh? Lucky for you, I've got a lead on a party tonight that should do wonders to take your mind off things ; )

"Let me guess, another party invite?" asked Anna.

"You got it," I said.

"Just go," she said. "Go and rip that Band-Aid off. The sooner the better."

I fired back an affirmative text, and Sam let me know what time he'd be by to pick me up. I spent the next few hours bumming around the apartment, drinking tea by the gallon, the caffeine only serving to make my nerves even more frazzled. Finally, when the hour arrived, I threw on some proper clothes. Just when I put my shoes on, I heard the familiar rev of Sam's motorcycle's engine.

Yeah, he had a motorcycle. And it didn't exactly make the idea of cutting him loose any easier.

OK, I thought, let's do this. Just like Anna said- ripping a Band-Aid off.

Heading outside, I saw him seated on his bike, one foot propped on the ground. He was wearing a well-fitted pea coat, dark, tight jeans cuffed at the bottoms, and a pair of black dress boots. His gorgeous blonde hair was slicked back as usual, and his blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of Wayfarers. That sly, killer smile formed on his lips as I came out, and once I got a look at him, the motivation and urgency that I'd felt about breaking up with him melted like ice under a heat lamp.

"There's my girl," he said, his voice in its usual low purr. "Ready for another lovely night?"

"Always," I said, my determination to break up with him now being replaced by the usual excitement I felt whenever he and I started an evening together.

I hopped on the bike and wrapped my arms around his firm midsection, resting my head on his back.

Goddamn, I thought. What the hell do I want?

We rode further into town, the snow-dusted city a blur to my left and right. There were few things I loved more than to ride with Sam. Sitting on the back of his bike, my body close to his…it's like there was no one else in the world but him and me.

Eventually, we arrived a little curry spot where we'd eaten a few times before. Over chicken tikka masala, and naan, I explained the situation with my exams to Sam, leaving out the major details, of course.

"Sounds like your professors need to get a grip," he said, dunking a ripped-off price of naan into the orange gravy.

"I mean, they're right," I said. "I need to get more serious about my studies."

"See," he said, popping the dripping bread into his mouth. "This is exactly why I decided to give Oxford the laugh. Too many rules, too much shit taking away from the little time I have. I mean, we only have one life, why spend it doing things we hate?"

Typical Sam, I thought, always living in the moment.

"Another mango lassi, love?" came the sweet voice of our waitress.

"Why, don't mind if I do," said Sam, flashing the waitress his trademark smirk, a blush forming on her cheeks as he did.

That's another thing about Sam: he loved women, and women loved him right back. Sometimes it seemed like he couldn't go more than five feet without making a pass at a girl, and it didn't seem to matter if I noticed.

"Thinking of taking the waitress out back for a little dessert?" I asked.

"Just having a laugh," he said, not bothered in the slightest. "I don't mean anything by it."

More typical Sam, disregarding my feelings when he didn't think they were worth worrying about.

"Besides," he said, reaching over and taking my hand into his as he flashed me another killer smile, "what you and I've got is so wonderful that the idea of any other girl is silly in comparison."

And finally, even more typical Sam. He seemed to know just what to say to get me to forget any misgivings about his behavior.

We finished up our meal and headed over to a nearby bar where we met up with some of his friends from the service industry. There were about seven people in total, four boys and three girls, and the girls reacted in the manner that I'd grown accustomed to with Sam: looking first at him with big, eager doe eyes and then at me with the cutting stares of catty women sizing up their competition. We had a couple of rounds, and as the evening went on I noticed that Sam was spending quite a bit of time chatting with one of the girls, a heavily-made-up little blonde in a tight black dress. But I put it out of my head, thinking that it was just my usual jealousy flaring up.

"OK," said Sam, standing up. "I think it's about time we headed off to someplace a little more exciting."

The girls' eyes stayed locked on him as he spoke; he just had a way with women that no one could ignore.

So, we finished our drinks and headed over to Sam's bar, which is where I seemed to end up most of these nights. It sounds silly, but I couldn't help but love the way Sam was treated like a celebrity there- the bouncer let us cut through the line, the bartenders hooked us up with drinks and shots, and everyone there seemed to know him.

And so did every woman, of course.

Drinks in hand, our little group broke up and headed onto the dance floor. Strangely, despite how often I came here, I'd never quite warmed up to the nightclub scene. I thought back to Anna at home, comfy in her pajamas and working on her projects, and I couldn't help but feel a little envy. But as I watched Sam saunter into the center of the dance floor and become the center of attention as usual, I realized that he cast a spell on me, a spell that made me almost forget exactly who I was.

Recognizing that I was doing my wallflower thing, Sam reached towards me and pulled me into the thrumming mass of dancers, the music deafening around us. He brought me close to him as we danced, and just like with him on the bike, everything else around us seemed to drift away until it was just him, me, and the music.

But the feeling was fleeting, as always, and once the attention of the girls around us fell onto him as it always did, I melted back into the crowd, Sam disappearing among the dancers.

Making my way back to the bar, I took a seat, put my head in my hands, and considered everything that I had on my mind. Everything seemed to be back-and-forth with Sam- one moment he was dancing with me, looking at me like I was the only girl in the world, and the next he was flitting from one tramp to the next, basking in their adoration. One moment he would show a flash of the brilliance that could take him wherever he wanted in this world, the next he was living for the moment, caring nothing about drinking and partying.

It was just too much.

I finished my drink and ordered another, letting the minutes trickle away as I sipped and thought about my life to this point, and what I wanted for my future. I wanted Sam, I knew that, but was there any way to make him a part of the sort of life that I wanted for myself?

Then, like a flash of lightning, it occurred to me: I needed to talk to him.

Why hadn't it occurred to me before? There was so much that I needed to discuss with Sam, and all I was doing was burying it deep inside and hoping that he would figure me out. But that was silly; I needed to be an adult, and I needed to have a serious talk with him about our future together.

And it had to be tonight.

Finishing my drink, I felt a newfound sense of determination. I was ready to lay things out with Sam, to tell him that I loved him, and that I wanted us to have a future together. But there would be terms and conditions, of course. I'd have to make more time for my studies, and he couldn't tempt me every night with rides on his bike and nights out at clubs. I had to be serious, to remember that I'm an adult.

Maybe I'd even be able to lead by example, to bring him back over to the world of adult responsibilities. Maybe he'd even re-enroll in Oxford. Maybe we could get be rich and successful together, getting married and buying a flat on the Thames, possibly even having a few kids someday. Maybe, just maybe, I could have everything I wanted.

How painfully, painfully naive I was.

Scanning the thick crowd of the dance floor, I looked for Sam's blond hair, but I couldn't spot it anywhere. Steeling myself, I ducked into the crowd and searched around for familiar faces. One by one, I found the other members of the group that we'd arrived here with, and asked them if they'd seen Sam. Each one responded with a shrug.

But one member of the group was noticeably absent: the blonde girl with the heavy makeup.

At the time, I thought nothing of it. Instead, I continued to scan the crowd for any sign of Sam. I looked and looked, but didn't find any trace of him.

Then it hit me: the spot upstairs, on the roof.

I don't know how, but I knew that he had to be there. Snaking through the crowd, I made my way to the back door. I took a quick look around to make sure that I wasn't being watched, opened the door and stepped through. As I went up the stairs, I rehearsed all the things that I was going to say to Sam, about how we'd both have to put in work if this relationship was going to be the success that I knew it could be. My words were perfectly formed in my mind, and I was ready to say my piece. Once I reached the top of the stairs, I took one last deep breath and opened the door leading to the roof.

I wasn't ready in the slightest for what I saw next.

It was Sam, alright, sitting on the edge of the roof. But he wasn't alone, not at all- he was with the blonde, his hand running through her hair as he brought her in for a kiss.

But right as their lips were about to touch, they heard the sound of the door open and shut.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I felt sick and horrified and heartbroken all at the same time.

"What the fuck is going on here?" I demanded, my voice coming out in a shrill squeak.

"Babe!" shouted Sam, pulling his hand out from the blonde's hair and standing up. "It's-"

"If you even think about saying ‘it's not what it looks like' I swear to God I'll push you over that roof."

"Then…I won't say that."

My eyes flicked over to the girl, who was wearing a smug little expression on her gorgeous, stupid face, one that seemed to suggest that she was relishing her little victory.

I didn't know what to say, what to think, what to feel. My gut felt like someone had slipped a hot knife into it, and my vision grew blurry. All I could do was what I did next, which was turn and run. I stormed down the stairs, holding back the tears that threatened to burst forth at any moment. My shoes clomped down the stairs and I heard the door open above me.

"Babe, wait!" called Sam.

But my desire to say even a word to Sam was gone, gone, gone. I rushed down the stairs and back onto the dance floor, rushing through the crowd and hoping to lose him. Once through the crowd, I hurried to the exit and into the throngs of pedestrians.

Once down the sidewalk, I turned back one last time just in time to see Sam emerge from the club and search around eagerly for me. But it was too late; I was off with the crowd. I knew at that moment that I'd never see him again.

And as I rushed home the tears that I'd been holding back came out in torrents, the falling snow landing on my crying eyes, the flakes stinging as I ran back home on that cold, London night.