Ally Beardsley Age Novels & Stories

“Wow, he sounds like a keeper,” Nan chuckled. Becky nodded. “He’s picking me up here… he’s so good-looking I might die,” Becky chuckled. “And he’s a little older as well. Definitely early 30s.” “I guess we both have big nights,” Nan laughed.

"Are you angry?" "I dare not." Gladyce shook her head. "But I do have something to do." Realizing she was in a bad mood, Shelton didn't dare to be so arrogant. "Well, just tell me how old you are. Can you?" Gladyce had no choice but to tell him, "Nineteen years old." "Good!" Shelton seemed to have been satisfied with the answer. He smiled and said, "When is your birthday?" "It's already passed." Gladyce said patiently.

I said sarcastically pulling my head up. “My pleasure,” she laughed walking into the house. “If you like, we could go in and you could feed them,” Josh offered. “No. I don’t like being around them when I’m in a bad mood.” I turned and looked at him. He looked different, older than he really was. “Nice beard.” I said rubbing the back of my hand over his fuzz, “How old are you again?” Josh laughed, running his own hand over his beard, “Nineteen. It’s a good look for the ladies.”

he chuckled and continued what he is doing to her hair, "All my life I never celebrated my birthday. I even don't know it was my birthday for being focus too much in my business." "So, you don't know you're already that grey-headed?" Irish raised her eyebrow and get off in his top. "What the hell, love!" Basil glared at her. "Hahaha. What? You're already a grey-headed. How old are you now again? Wait..." She started counting in her mind. "It's 2025 now then if I'm not mistaken you're 1988. So, it means you are already thirty seven grey-headed!" Basil grimaced, "Don't judge my fucking age, love. I still can give you a lot of babies." he grinned.

Brie and I were gone for the first truly hot, sunny month, having spent it on the sea instead. Ryan sighs with relief as the sun beats down on his face. He’s finally starting to look his age–a man in his mid-forties with two teenagers daughters constantly giving him hell. His dark brown hair has gone a soft, pepper gray around his ears and forehead, and his neatly trimmed beard is almost completely gray, but I’ve never known him to keep a beard this long.

They went through much the same process as he devoured both broth and bread. Allorah noted, as she went about her task, that though he wore a full beard, as yellow as the rest of his hair, and small wrinkles fanned from the corners of his pale blue eyes, the rest of his skin was unlined by the passage of time. In her estimation, he couldn't be more than five and twenty years of age. Her mouth tightened as she remembered that apparently twenty-five years was all it took to kill enough of her people to achieve an officer's rank.

He stood in silence for a moment then seemed to remember his manners, "By the way, I’m Lloyd McConnell.” “Mack Beal. I’m glad I was there. I’ve never seen anyone so afraid of the water actually, talk themselves into getting into it.” Mack held out his hand, but Lloyd didn’t take it, so he let it drop. “She’s pretty young to be running around alone... If you don’t mind me saying.” Lloyd snorted as he walked to the suite door and opened it, “Don’t let her looks fool you, she’s twenty-three going on fifty-three.”

beau 182 He had a cocky smirk on his weathered face, his silver beard mirroring his hair. He looked too strong for his age as he filled out the light grey tuxedo, a plaid handkerchief tucked ornately into his pocket. He nodded looking around at the now vacant dias.

A zipper? She pivoted to face Davies Dolan. He looked about fifty in mortal years, though there was no way she could estimate his age as a vampire. Mostly bald, he had embraced the condition by keeping the rest of his hair buzzed short. His moustache and beard were closely cropped and well- groomed, dark hair sprinkled with gray. His brown eyes immediately checked her out, focusing on her chest for far too long. She lifted her leather portfolio to block his view. "How do you do? I'm—"

I answer. We work comfortably, enjoying idle chit-chat as we work. I make enough breakfast for the whole pack while Becca is moulding her pastry into the most delicate shapes. I wouldn’t have believed pastries could be in those shapes, had I not seen them for myself. She’s exceptionally talented. "Becca, do you mind if I ask, how old are you?" I ask, realising that I know very little about her. “Not at all, I am 25 years old” she answers me.