Dallas Winston Jacket Novels & Stories

I rolled my eyes at that logic and Austin's head may have been turned away to do the same. The ladies also decided we needed to dress casually so we didn't look like a couple of thugs. I thought Austin would put a stop to that one, but he's so fucking in love with his woman that he just smiled, kissed her, and came downstairs in khaki pants and a polo looking like he just showered and changed after a day on the golf course. Now I'm wearing jeans and a black dress shirt along with fucking western boots Celina bought me last Christmas. The only description I come up with is flaming queer cowboy. If anyone actually says the word cowboy in my vicinity, I'll drive my fist into their face until on

I rolled my eyes at that logic and Austin’s head may have been turned away to do the same. The ladies also decided we needed to dress casually so we didn’t look like a couple of thugs. I thought Austin would put a stop to that one, but he’s so fucking in love with his woman that he just smiled, kissed her, and came downstairs in khaki pants and a polo looking like he just showered and changed after a day on the golf course. Now I’m wearing jeans and a black dress shirt along with fucking western boots Celina bought me last Christmas. The only description I come up with is flaming queer cowboy. If anyone actually says the word cowboy in my vicinity, I’ll drive my fist into their face until on

The next morning, neither Dax nor I really spoke to each other. We took turns in the bathroom and getting dressed for the day. It was going to be another hot one, so I chose a grey short sleeve cotton sundress with white sneakers as we were going to go visit the stadium. Dax put on khaki shorts with a white polo. He styled his hair back with gel and put on a pair of nice sneakers.

LYSANDER'S POV The charity gala for the "Young Artists Foundation" was exactly the kind of high-society purgatory Uncle Julian loved. It was a sea of champagne, fake smiles, and men in tuxedos who looked like they were made of cardboard. I stood in front of the vanity in my dressing room, adjusting the collar of the piece Callie had sourced for me. It was a custom, high-neck black silk jacket, clearly tailored for me with how well it suited me. The back was made with a mesh panel that exposed the curve of my spine and anything else behind. I had a feeling Callie had contributed to the design of this one way or the other.

"Eason has fantastic taste," she said, her voice light. "I'll have to ask where he shops for you. If this isn't a power suit, I don't know what is." I looked at it and smiled at the vibrant, blood-red dress. The pin in the lapel of the long jacket that went with it was Mooncrest's crest. It was stylish, edgy, and utterly powerful. Like I was ready to get blood on my clothes. Fight-starter.

But also to myself. I was in and out of the shower in five minutes, threw on a loose white button-down and my favorite coffee-brown pants that still managed to fit without suffocating me. I tied my hair up in a low bun, slapped on a bit of lip gloss, and snatched my bag. I was practically out the door when I came face to face with Winston, already dressed like the CEO of the century. He was dressed in a tailored grey suit, crisp shirt, and a dark bow tie that somehow made him look both lethal and devastatingly handsome.

This is it. Taking a deep breath, she subtly adjusted her evening attire, ensuring she looked her best. It was time to make her move. As if sensing her presence, Wyatt's gaze suddenly drifted towards her. He was donned in a tailored black tuxedo that hugged his broad shoulders and accentuated his tall and well-built physique. The jacket was expertly cut, with a slim silhouette that emphasized his confident stance. Wyatt was handsome.

When James turned around after deciding to leave his jacket in his car, he saw the owner’s familiar face. “James,” the similarly tall man said with a friendly smile. “Dallas,” James said, smiling back at his old friend. The two men shook hands with a laugh before Dallas handed over James’s mask. Dallas was a tall, handsome man with chocolate skin and dreadlocks hanging down his wide back that he tied at the nape of his neck. “I wonder what happened today. You haven’t stepped into the club for over a year,” Dallas said to James as the two men walked into the club.

At the laundromat after closing... 🤎 Donald wore His long-sleeved, cloth jacket that covers him too well below his knees and is barely tied with string at the bottom left side. The sleeves of his jacket are very wide and reach down to well below his hands, they're decorated with a single thread lining and a decorative band. The jacket has a deep v-neck which reveals part of the modest shirt worn below it and is worn with a dark cloth belt, which is held together by a big belt buckle. The cloth belt is solely decorative and a status symbol.

S'go", as you say, right? Awe damn, where's my jacket?" "The one that was 'banished' to yer dirty clothes mountain you always leave on my floor? I put it in the closet by the front door. 'Where it belongs'," Tony replied with a sly grin. "Boy, you lazy. S'go already!" Dillon whipped his leather bomber jacket from the hanger in the front closet. It was the walnut brown one Tony had given him when he confronted Dillon about their shared love. While he may leave it on top of his mountain of dirty clothes, he did indeed take care of it. Every Friday into Saturday they spent together, and every week like clockwork, Dillon broke out the mink oil.