Bob Belcher Mustache Novels & Stories

he said, referring to the bag he held. “Hunter, that's my name,” he said to Bobb. Bobb stood still for a moment, contemplating if telling the stranger his name was worth it. “Bobb,” he said, finally making up his mind. Hunter was a tall, muscular man with a rugged appearance. He had a thick beard and long hair that was tied back in a ponytail. He wore a leather jacket and jeans, and his boots were caked with mud. His eyes were a piercing blue, and they seemed to glow in the darkness. He had a stern expression on his face, but there was also a hint of kindness in his eyes.

She certainly wasn't in the mood to persuade horny werewolves to tell her where their boss was. A few steps into the hallway, Belinda came face to face with another man. His hair wasn't blond. In fact, it was as dark as a starless night and was long enough to fall past his shoulder. He was very tall, very broad, and very very handsome. Belinda had grown up surrounded by good-looking men, but this man was on another level. He was gorgeous. His skin was olive, like he spent a lot of time in the sun, and his chin was clean-shaven, except for the stubble of a mustache above his lips. His lips... They were full and invoked dreams of kissing him. He looked like he would be a wonderful kisser too,

I had buttered up the old fool, praising his accent, the bald gash on his head and that ridiculous mustache that made Hitler look like a child next to him. Who the hell even wore mustaches like that anymore? Certainly not me. I’d sooner eat dust than have that atrocious debacle on my face. The man had classified himself as a dignitary, mentioned getting a gift worth two thousand dollars for Mrs Stone and fully intends to present it to her himself. It had been both working and amusing to watch. For one, I had wondered if his mustache would fall off if he kept talking. Another thing that had me wondering was the two thousand dollar gift in question?

I mentally rolled my eyes, he was always getting into trouble. " Mr Federico," I arched my brow at the police who referred to the boss as Federico. Wasn't that supposed to be his father's name? But…not bad afterall. " I did nothing..." Mr Boris, obviously in his fifties, white beard and wrinkles all over his face, quite short, though having a big belly that popped against the somehow tight polo shirt he wore. he snapped his head at us. His thick russian accent sounded skillful to be true.

All of the people were still wearing their masks as they silently watched me. "Ahh, you must be Ivan's little girl." His voice was raspy, like someone who had smoked for a long time. His beard was grey and in need of a good trim. The top of his head was balding, and he held a relatively large belly. In other words, he was the image of total creep. The kind of weirdo you were warned to avoid as a child before heading to the park with your friends. I put on my best fake smile and prepared myself for one hell of a performance.

As I immersed myself into eating, he stared with bewilderment, once I caught him looking, he pretended to look away, for a moment I thought it was cute. His brown colored curly hair which fell on his face was in a neat half puff, he’d shaved in the sides of his head. His face features were sharp, all inclined as thou he’d just been sculpted. His sharp nose, long and thin, his chiseled jaws, which were covered in beards,

I'm beyond humiliated, yet I'm not giving up. "Okay," I cross my arms. "Real mature." A smile spreads over his lips, and it warms his entire face. "Sorry, darling, but I will be taking this one." "Don't call me that," I confidently look up at him. "I ain't no darling." He cocks his head, and amusement plays over his features. I take a minute to absorb him. Brown hair, longer at the top, shorter on the sides. Chocolate eyes, a short beard, and a short mustache as dark as his thick, perfectly shaped eyebrows.

Searching for a diplomatic answer, she finally said, "Bernabe’s a great businessman, but maybe his fashion sense isn’t up to par?" Faye dashed her tears away with an angry swipe, a smile twitching at her mouth. "He also said I need liposuction and another facelift." Outraged, she abandoned all sense of politeness. "Guys are jerks." However, when her gaze returned to Chase, drawn by the magnetic power he exuded by just being in a room, she knew her statement wasn’t entirely true. Not all guys... "You can say that again." "Guys are jerks."

I asked tentatively. “Uh… Noah? Is that you?” Bob replied. “Yes, it’s me.” I said, feeling a bit awkward. He held out his hand and I shook it. I sat down on the creaky old chair and studied the man in front of me. He must be in his early fifties. Beneath the grimey clothes, greasy hair and unkempt beard was a man who could've been quite attractive, if he'd take better care of himself. There were some similarities between us, but the one that convinced me most were his eyes. They had the exact same almond shape and bright green color as my own.

I can’t move, I can’t look away. He’s not too tall, black hair long enough to fall over his eyes. There’s a beard on him when hardly any male here has one, even ones with wolves. It’s very neatly trimmed and he looks beyond grown and masculine. He’s wearing a damn leather jacket of all things, what a cliche! Goddess I bet he probably rode in on a motorcycle and doesn’t bother with a helmet. Don’t be stupid, a helmet would ruin that perfect hair! Damn him for being so gorgeous too! Ugh, that’s all I need. For someone to catch me staring. Next the bully assholes will be trying to poke out my eyes. Look away Harlow… look away.