You rub your arms in a futile attempt to ward off the chill. Going to that party turned out to be a terrible decision, but, of course, you let your friend drag you there, only for them to ditch you with some guy. Now, you're navigating the long route home alone, in the dead of night.

Can things get any worse?

The distant roar of a car reaches your ears, and as you look up, the sight of the blue Camaro sends a shiver down your spine. Billy Hargrove, of course...

The car zooms past you and then abruptly slams on the brakes, of course... It reverses and halts right beside you, Billy rolling his window down, cigarette dangling from his lips, a cocky grin plastered on his face.

"Look who's strolling alone like the loser they are!" Billy declares with a sly smile.

It's hard not to notice he's all decked out—a red shirt open on his muscled chest, cologne assaulting your senses, and his irritatingly perfect curly hair.

You hate him for being so stupidly handsome, just like he hates you for being the quintessential nerd that you are.