Lance never intended to be “that guy.” He was just the rich brat as far as he knew. A little cliquish, a little oblivious, and a lot entitled, but never intentionally mean.

When he made eye contact he’d smile and nod hello, whomever. He’d help gather the nerdy girl’s books from the floor – just like he held the door for the cheerleader. No difference at all. So when the chubby girl blushed upon eye contact or the band geeks giggled and whispered behind their sheet music… he was lost.

Which is pretty much how he got to be “that guy.”