My Hired Boyfriend (Completed)

3. Unicorn Crap and Upchucking the Car

                                                                  Chapter 3

            Sandwiched in between the side of the cold lockers and his firm body, I can feel every inch of him pressed up against me.

            Glaring up at him, I place my hands on his chest, pushing.

            He doesn't even budge. His hazel eyes have darkened to a maple syrup hue, darkening.

            "You're in my way, get off," I snap, infuriated with the way my heart leapt into my throat, my face burning.

            Someone was going to walk by and see us.

            The classroom was inches from us, even though we were concealed, the moment someone walked the corner they would see us.

            Pushing him again, he only comes closer. I nearly go cross-eyed.

            With his eyes narrowed on me, obviously disliking the sass I was throwing at him, he inches closer.

            "Get off," I mutter, shoving him and tilting my face away. He was so close. I could feel his cool breath fanning my face.

            I could see the specks of emerald embedded in his eyes.

            I could see every handsome contours of his face.

            And it infuriated me like nothing has ever done so before.

            For some odd reason, I was angry. I was angry that he had jumped into my car. I was angry that he drove my car.

            I was angry that he was manhandling me.

            Now that I fully awake, it was nice to know I still had some sensibility in my brain. Girls like me didn't hang out with guys like him- guys who jump into innocent people's car.

            I snap out of my intense monologue going on in my brain when I feel his fingers brush my thigh. I jerk, so surprised that I jump up, my head nearly colliding with his face.

            He slips a hand into the back pocket of my jeans and my eyes widen, the prospect of having someone's hand on my butt snapping me awake like wildfire.

            Oh the humorous side of things- it took a stranger's hand on my butt for me to take action.

            How classy.

            Half instinct and half out of malicious self- defense, I raise my fist.

            Aim for the nose, the groin and the eyes, that's what Jeremy taught me.

            Instead of teaching me how to ride a bike when I was a little kid, he taught me how to kick butt.

            And man was this boy in for a butt whooping.

            Slamming a fist at his throat, he twists in the last second, my knuckles grazing his skin before everything happens at once.

            With a fluidness that screamed professional, he grabs my wrist, pulling me forward with my momentum. His hand slips out of my pocket to grab my waist, holding me in place.

            He places a hand over my mouth the second I let out a piercing scream. I pant against his hand, my heart rate skyrocketing.

            Who was this guy? The avengers recreated into his body?