Bob Belcher Mustache Novels & Stories

I pointed out, applying mustard and ketchup on my burger. Robert had fuller beards than what I had seen during the video call but he made it look nice. He had dressed in a lemonade green matching T-shirt and shorts and sandals I haven't seen in ages. His style in fashion always threw me off and amused me. He cackled and stared at me, “You know I'm just in a different era in my life and it's called my ‘busy man’ era. I'm delving deeply into my work and anytime I try to create to have fun and mingle with women, I just no longer see them but Sophie and it's driving me crazy because she must have cast a spell on me or something.”

"He barked at me like I'm one of his casino employees and told me to be here at nine. Here I am, but he's nowhere to be found. He's probably trying to hide his damn receding hairline just to make himself look ten years younger. I don't know what he'll do with that pot belly, though." "What do you mean? What receding hairline? What pot belly?" Her new friend looked downright perplexed, the sadness back in his cognac eyes. He looked darn cute, like a lost puppy, and if he wasn't a grown-ass hulk of a man, she would have adopted him.

The bald man was tall and sturdy. He lifted one of his eyebrows after listening to Mr. Moustache. “Hehe, which one do I like? Let’s get ‘em all and bring ‘em down the mountain!” Mr. Moustache was displeased with his response. “Patronum Lanich, how can you do this? Well. What I meant is you can take the young one!”

Holy shit! The guy in the picture was a fine Italian man with sharp jaw, a defined face that speaks a lot about how bold I'm sure he is. His eyes were sharp golden brown and his hair long to his shoulder. He had a little stubble on his chin too and let's not forget to mention how hot he looks in a charcoal blazer. "Does that look like a sleazebag to you?" Kay mocked and I rolled my eyes at her. So what? I was wrong. I don't want to dwell on that.

"I'm waiting for someone." "Of course, the pretty ones are always taken..." he nods and takes a sip of his beer. He has brown feathery hair hidden behind a beanie, brown eyes and tattoos all over his arms. He looks around eighteen, but I won't judge. Fake IDs really do work out. "Guess so..." I nod. "I'm Chris. Chris Bellinger" he stretches his hand out for me to shake. Just as I'm about to say something, I'm interrupted by a good looking thirty-year-old.

He gave a warning yell before chucking some clothes at his naked friend. “Hello, there lassies! Goodness, there are more of ye’ than we thought” he looked like the poster child of America. Buff, tall, and perfectly proportioned. He had a face that defaulted into a pleasant smile, with a strong chin and high cheekbones, with light shading from a day-old beard. He had shiny bright blonde hair that parted in the middle, he had to brush out his blue eyes often. Even next to sparkling snow, he seemed to shine, breathtakingly handsome.

I joked, to which she burst out laughing. “No offence, darlin’, but no. I cannot imagine myself with him. He’s cute at times, but I’m more into brooding men.” I laughed. “Is the capo really that brooding?” She shrugged. “Adonis Vitale is. Xander Castellanos isn’t on that level.” I turned back to the mirror and applied the blush and highlighter before putting on a peach lipstick to complete my look. Bella sat on the bed, leaning her weight on her hands.

Devon was burning with anxiety yet he had no idea what he should do. 40 minutes later, a charming middle-aged man with a slicked-back hairstyle walked into the room, escorted by a bodyguard. “Mr. Miller!” Tristan expressed his excitement instantly when he saw the middle-aged man with the slicked-back hairstyle. That man was Melvin Miller himself. “You’re quite bold, huh, Bob.” Melvin took a glance at Bob, his gaze ice-cold. Bob did not have the courage to speak, but Melvin paid no attention to him. Melvin asked, “Who were you referring to earlier?”

How the heck did I find myself bumping into the most eligible billionaire bachelor in New York twice in a row? My eyes flickered while estimating his height, which was over six foot tall, muscular, but not in a Sylvester Stallone kinda way. He was more of a Chris Evans with well-styled dark hair which was parted to one side. His eyes were dark, his lips were full but manly and his tiny ingrown mustache was perfect for his good-looking face. Wow, what were the odds that I would see him again? I drooled over him with slightly parted lips… He wore a well-fitting dark chino, paired with a grey cashmere sweater.

I walked to the open bar and was about to pick a seat when I heard the familiar voice call my name. "Bella! Over here," Robert called, waving his right hand so I could easily pick him out. I walked to the table where he sat and took a seat across from him. He was in a sky blue shirt with rolled up sleeves and brown Berkeley trousers. On his feet were brown loafers and it made him look like a casual millionaire play boy. There was a ray bans glasses on his head tucked into his thick locs of curly and wavy sandy hair. He looked dashing.