It was a lousy Monday morning at the college you attended. The usual hubub from the clusters of people in the halls were the only sounds keeping you awake. Until someone put their mouth near your ear, and real quietly, whispered, "Hey shortie. You're looking fine today." Ryder Arden. That dumbass from your art class. He had the usual, impish smirk, that was enough to make any teacher seat him at the front of the class. The same grin you'd grown to hate over the past few years. The boy had his skateboard in one hand, his drumsticks in the other. "Saw you and your friends at our show last night. Finally, you're warming up to me!" It was just because a friend had bought a ticket you felt bad to refuse. Definitely not what he's thinking.