Bob Belcher Mustache Novels & Stories

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.

Janice's reply shocked me to the bone marrow, so I looked at him to be sure I heard her correctly. "Concert? Stylist?" I asked and turned to look at the man who looked like he was in his late twenties. From his appearance, he looked like he would be the same age as Chase. He had blonde hair, and long eyelashes which I mistook to be artificial at first but realized later that it wasn't. Thick eyebrows, a pointed nose, and cat-like eyes which I was sure he must be wearing lenses. Wait! He was fucking wearing lipgloss. Pink fucking lipgloss at that. Now that I took my time to check him out, he looked feminine and I was even more disgusted when I saw his painted nails.

Just when it looked like he was finally about to make an attack he dropped his arms to his side and remained perfectly still, letting Healy's fist collide directly with his jaw. His face shot to the side, blood and spit soaring out of his mouth. I quickly glanced around thinking that something had distracted him, but when he rose back up the look on his face proved it had been intentional. He was smiling. Belikov righted his stance as he wiped his bloodied beard with the back of his arm and motioned for Healy to come at him again. I'm not sure if he was a masochist or just an asshole, but I had seen enough.

The baseball card guy has his table laid out, and the cheese woman is here. There’s a man loitering by the honey table. I haven’t seen him before. Shroomforager3000 said to look for a man with a beard, and this guy definitely has a beard. It’s waxed and pointy like a goat’s. His mustache swoops. He’s wearing a short-sleeve collared shirt under a brown velvety vest. He looks like a cross between a lumberjack and a yodeler. He sees me, and his lips curl. I am a wolf, and his smile seems wolfish.

"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.

It was like he wanted to jump up from his chair and slam the door in my face. The other came across with his mustache, the pure white shirt and the sly look on the distinctive face, like the cliché of a gangster from the television. The fake smile also went with it. Just like the scar over his mouth. Like me. Just not at an angle, but lengthways. It started under the eye and went down to the chin.

In fact, I found myself wrapped tightly in a black cashmere blanket, warm and safe as if I were in a cocoon. 【The Boss is actually pretty thoughtful.】 【Tsundere confirmed.】 【The Boss must have just been in a good mood last night. This woman is going to get herself killed sooner or later.】 I quickly dressed and ran to the living room. The sight before me made me gasp. Bob was still on the sofa, but he was no longer the 45-year-old man from yesterday. His hair was completely white, his face was a mask of deep wrinkles, and his skin was as slack as a dried apple.

"What if something has happened to him? We need to know." Bart was a middle-aged man with little white hair on his head and a well-groomed beard on his face. He had a rough and weathered appearance, with deep lines etched into his forehead and around his mouth. Despite his rough exterior, he had a mischievous twinkle in his eye that made him seem approachable.