(Euphoria 1&2)
Nate Jacob's was many things, but a psychopath couldn't be one of them. Being a little psycho meant he couldn't feel anything and Nate could feel everything, especially with her-Alora McKay
He felt his crotch jump when she wore low cu...
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Chapter 27: Power Play
"Did you get the flowers?"
"They were hard to miss," Alora replied, not even bothering the quarterback with the curtesy of eye contact. A lunch tray was held in her grasp filled meticulously with a pre wrapped turkey and avocado sandwich, a bag of chips, sliced green apples and a chilled bottle of water. "Can't say I was very pleased you broke into my locker." Jacobs scoffed, gooey brown eyes rolling at the sarcasm that Alora couldn't help herself from dishing out—not that it mattered, he'd always loved the feisty bite in her tone; the taunt of a challenge setting his blood ablaze in the best of ways. "They were beautiful though," She finally admits much softer, avoiding his gaze and hiding a growing smirk when it's her turn at the register. Nate's hand disappeared into the front right pocket of his denim jeans, conjuring up a leather wallet and fishing out a few bills to the lunch lady, her hair tied up into a net. She took the money without a word, shrugging when the change was left in her palm, both teens already walking away before she could utter a word. "Trying to butter me up now? Run out of threats?"
Nate's cologne filled her nose, the undertones of his body wash still lingering on his skin from his shower earlier—fresh cedar and teakwood. "Don't start, Alora." He silences her easily, seeming to notice the way her lips purse, subconsciously scolding herself for the way her body reacted when he spoke to her—hating how Alora liked when he bossed her around. "You get my note?"
"I did."
"And?" He prods, his hands free of food but she was sure he'd had some pre-packaged lunch awaiting him at his usual table full of rowdy jocks and gossiping cheerleaders. "Will you?" Nate clears his throat, willing himself to sound more confident than he had a moment ago. "Will you be my date to formal?"
"I didn't think that was your scene."
Nate shrugs a little, one hand hovering over the small of her back to guide her towards his table instead of Alora's usual one on the other side of the cafeteria. "It's not but I look good in a tux and I can't help but imagine what you'd look like in a dress."
A blush forms on the apples of her cheeks, falling into Nate's trap like a gnat to fruit laid out a few days too long. So entranced by his scent and the way his hands linger on her form that McKay doesn't notice the attention drawn to them; how nosy girls wearing too much foundation and lashes coated in one, two, three layers of entirely too expensive mascara huddle into one another, pointing and whispering amongst themselves—their lunches long forgotten as a feasts worth of gossip unfolded before them. "You've seen me in a dress before, Nate."
"I know," If he notices the looks they're getting he doesn't show it, shoulders bumping into boys trying to throw away their trash, too preoccupied in trying to get her to see him—to look him in the eye. "I like when you wear them, especially that little skimpy one that's so short it should just be a shirt."
