“Prudent? Is that what you call throwing away opportunities because you’re feeling like a little girl with a crush?” He sneers, shaking his head. “I thought you were better than that archaic nonsense.”

“What if I told you my family is more important to me than my career? What if I told you I’d walk away from academia forever if it meant I could live down the street from my brothers and watch my nieces and nephews grow up?”

“I’d tell you that you’re being immature and you’ll regret shaping your life around everyone else instead of building it around yourself.”

“I don’t need you to understand my decisions to know they’re right for me. I don’t need your approval.”

“Of course you don’t. That’s my point. Live your life. Don’t make your choices based on anyone else.” He reaches for my hand. “Come on. I’m sick of arguing. Let’s go to bed.”

I pull away. “I’m going home.”

He drags a hand through his hair. “You’re going home angry.” He says it like it’s the dumbest possible choice.

“Yes. I am.” I roll my shoulders back. “I think we should stop seeing each other.”

“What?”

I wave a hand between us. God, I don’t even know how this started. Teagan’s right. Sleeping with George wasn’t just unwise, it was completely out of character for me. “Whatever this is? We need to step away for a while.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if that ring was for you, would you?” His frustrated expression transforms to a sneer. “I see now. You want a proposal. You’re looking for a declaration of love, a promise that I’ll provide for you forever as if you’re a child and not an independent woman?”

I grab my purse from the table. “You don’t see me at all.”

“I see a scared little girl.”

“Fuck off, George.”

Shay

Apparently, I’m capable of flipping from adoring girlfriend to vindictive ex in no time, because the day after my breakup with George, I’m determined to find out if there is a Buttercup.

One thing I know for sure is that I owe it to the woman George is seeing to tell her we’ve been sleeping together. If he didn’t tell me about her, chances are he didn’t tell her about me. But the problem is I don’t even have a name, let alone a way to get ahold of her. I can’t exactly ask George for her contact info. I doubt he’d be interested in supporting my mission.

So I find myself doing what any slightly unhinged ex-girlfriend would do: I wait for George to leave campus on Thursday evening, and I get in my car and follow him to Chicago.