Peyton Church is a city girl by anyone's standards. Born and raised in New York City, she grew up wanting for nothing. She attended the most prestigious preparatory schools, shopped on Fifth Avenue, dined with the rich and famous and was adored by...
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I WOULD BE lying through my teeth if I didn't admit the thought had crossed my mind that at some point in time I would have you put my mouth on Hunter's. If I really wanted to sell this relationship to the rest of Rock Valley High, kissing would inevitably be a part of that.
I just didn't expect to... not hate it.
To Hunter's credit, he's quick to respond to my sudden attack on his face. His arms wind around my waist, hands splayed just below the small of my back as he holds me close to him and kisses me back.
It's no quick peck, either. Both of us put in an effort to make it look real, and I'd hazard to say that isn't too hard for Hunter considering everything that comes out of his mouth could be considered a form of sexual harassment. I, on the other hand, choose to forget exactly whose lips I'm kissing if I'm to have any hope of making it look convincing.
Hunter's mouth moves against mine in a way that's almost inappropriate for a high school cafeteria. It's not some innocent, emotion-driven kiss between a puppy-loving couple. It's hot and it's intense, fuelled by raging teenage hormones and sexual frustration.
Just as a rush of heat blossoms in my stomach, I plant my palms against his hard chest and break away from the kiss with a gasp. I feel his hands grapple at the loose material of my sweater as I pull away, and I open my eyes to see him watching me with a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face.
"Damn, Skirt. I'm not complaining, but maybe give a guy some warning next time you're gonna give him—"
Whatever obscene comment was about to leave his mouth goes unheard as a fiery hell-storm descends upon us.
"You bitch," Clarissa seethes, her face practically the same shade as her hair.
Instantaneously, every head in the vicinity of our table turns to us. That is, everyone who wasn't already gawking at mine and Hunter's very public display of affection. Not that it was a display of affection at all, because it wasn't. But I'm more than happy to let them all think that it was.
I turn around in Hunter's arms, calmly meeting Clarissa's angry glare with a pleasant smile. "At your service."
Her long, pointy nail points toward me menacingly. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are, you lying tramp, but let me remind you—"
"Oh shut up, Clary," Hunter groans, jumping into this much sooner than I thought he would. I mean, a chick fight sounds very much like something Hunter would have a wet dream about. "Don't you have other people to annoy?"
Her expression changes in a nanosecond, shifting from pure rage and hatred to soft adoration, and I resist the urge to toss my cookies when she bats her fake lashes up at him. "Hunter, baby," She coos, sounding more childish than sultry if that was her goal. "Why don't you come sit with me and the girls? You've already gotten all your community service hours this year, there's no need to sit here with the less fortunate."
