Fat Guy With Dreads の小説・ストーリー

He had shaggy brown hair and forest brown eyes, and a laidback aura reveling all around him. The most noticeable thing from him would be his lime green scarf around his neck, covering his nose and mouth. He almost looked 20 or even 25 to be in high school. To Scarlett, he seemed more of a crackhead enthusiast or maybe he was already stoned. "Just call me Danté." He introduced himself with a procrastinate energy. Behind the shaggy brunette was a teen boy with short blonde hair. Rather buff for his age. He had hazel brown eyes, and a stubble body, wearing a jacket over his quite muscular figure. "Gadiel, nice to meet you." Scarlett nodded back in acknowledgment.

Then I remembered what he looked like. His striking figure stood tall and confident, his presence commanding attention despite the simplicity of his attire. Dressed in nothing but a pair of form-fitting, charcoal-gray shorts, his physique was on full display, showcasing a body sculpted through dedicated physical conditioning and an unwavering commitment to fitness.

Richard growled. The crowd of people separated making a way in the middle, and there stands a 6'5 man with brown chocolate hair cut from the sides and long on top with little flecks falling on his scalp, he had muscles and some veins where popping out from his arms, he was wearing a shirt which he folded its arm length to his elbows and he wore black tights jeans with black boots, he looked like he's from some bike gang or something,with two sets of brown eyes.

Apparently, it's some long-standing family tradition. Compared to five years ago, I've got to say he looks a lot less like the street thug he really is. I guess that's what money does to the worst of the worst. His shirt sleeves are rolled to his forearm, his pouch of a stomach straining against his shirt, a bit of a double chin, fat cheeks, and of course that hairline. Looks like he ditched the gym the moment he made money, which means two things: One: he's less fit and has lost most of his form.

We all need a good distraction from time to time. The man I've been waiting for walks out of the dining room proving all of Cammie's words true. His hair is gelled perfectly and flops just the right amount to the left side. I don't know what he does for a living, but he's never worn a suit and tie, yet somehow, he makes his tight-fitting jeans cradle his ass. You could probably bounce a quarter off of his tight butt cheeks. The long sleeve thermal shirt with an unbuttoned flannel on top is enough to make any girl soon. It's like he's a… Metrosexual lumberjack.

But God, the man aged like fine whiskey. Now he is forty-seven, six-three, built like a linebacker who discovered CrossFit and never looked back. Dark hair with that perfect silver threading at the temples, sharp blue eyes that seem to cut straight through bullshit, and a deep voice that has been the starring feature in my filthiest fantasies since I was old enough to have them. I arrived Friday night with an overnight bag, a fake smile, and a plan.

My curiosity got the best of me, and I found myself looking out to try to see the two guys everyone seemed to drop for. I found Reed reasonably quickly as I knew what he looked like with his long blonde hair pulled back into a man bun. He was standing next to a guy maybe an inch or two taller than him, which was hard to believe as Reed was already a giant. I could only see the back of his head with messy, longish dark brown hair on his head. He was just as massive as Reed. He had solid muscle with a slight bit of a tribal tattoo that peeked out from his uniform on the left side of his neck and collarbone, then again down his arm on the same side.

MADDIE POV I school my expression as I turn to look at the elderly male approaching me. He stands at exactly six feet, with white hair cropped short and a thick white moustache, emerald green eyes sparkle out from under equally thick and bushy white eyebrows. He’s wearing an expensive suit that does nothing to hide his beer gut and overall smarminess. His smile is smug, like he’s happy he finally won something.

There was a time when my life was happy; now, I spend my time trying not to drown in pain and sorrow. A bell rings out, indicating the opening of the door. I look toward it, and my heart stops. A big, muscular man walks in. He has to be about 6’5, and his complexion is a nutmeg color. He's wearing a blue polo shirt, dark blue jeans, and tan boots. His muscles are exploding out of his clothing, but it's as it should be. He's facing me so that I can see his face fully. He has the same light brown eyes with extra long lashes. He has the same thick pink lips. His hair is the difference: long dreads that hang past his shoulders.

Goosebumps had already drenched my skin and my heartbeat could be heard from a thousand miles. Dreadlocks dangling in his rigid face. Tattoos running through his arms. Braces that gave him a more scary edge. Dressed in just a white tank top and ripped baggy denim pants. Eyes so red you'd know he's been on some substance all day. A fucking addict and also Mad Dog's right-hand man. If he's here, then definitely Mad Dog is here. I clenched my thighs in fear that I might pee on myself.