Jorge From Bunk'd Novels & Stories

With a nod to her brother's laptop, she suggested he could Facetime with his family (Jorge's mother despised computers) and his other South American research chums, "like Dr. Fortuna." That was the name of his time-share rental bed companion from last year, and Isabel's mention was a visible shock to Jorge. He spilled a fork full of green beans. He had no idea how his wife knew the woman's name. Then Isabel mentioned that some pictures had been sent. Jorge was left to explain to Isabel's parents a G-rated version of who Dr. Fortuna was and how he knew her.

He occasionally looked at Jorge and scribbled with a pen. "How did you get here?" the Harry-but-not-Harry continued. "Isn't the maple tree behind the shelter your favorite hangout?" "I sit here too sometimes, you know that. Did you just come fr--" This wasn't Harry, Jorge had to remind himself again. He looked down at his shaking hand in his lap, unsure of what to do. When did his hands begin to shake? "My legs brought me." The not-Harry had asked him again and Jorge's mouth had replied first and clued in his mind later. Strange. He was observing himself be himself from across the TV screen.

Anita chuckled and shook her head. Breakfast went well; they were talking about business as usual when they were together, except, the conversations were filled with sarcasm, which Anita failed to catch on to. “So, Jorge, Anita tells me that you were mugged? Did they hurt you?” MJ asked, and Jorge’s hand froze in mid-air. Jorge cleared his throat and refused to meet her eyes. “Uhm, yeah…I mean, no! It was just a mere scratch.” He said. “You are very lucky, Jorge, it could have been worse.” MJ said in a singsong voice, and Jorge tensed.

"I won't leave our pack fifty warriors short with all the crap going on now. He's got a pack building with mercenaries, and half the packs in the Miami area are still fighting over that f*cking cantina. No, you're going to go up there with five guys and get her for me. Then that f*cker will have no choice but to come here. And then, he's going to die." Jorge thought it over. It took him longer than I would have liked. I could almost see smoke starting to come out of his ears as the gears in his head ground together. "Yes, sir. I'll do that," he finally said. "Good, I'm glad we understand each other." I handed him the laptop. Jorge took it, and started for the door. "Oh, Jorge?" I asked, havi

But it was cold, and I was tired, and my hands were shaking too hard to hold the knife steady. I nodded once. He moved slowly, sitting near the fire but not too close. His cloak steamed where the snow melted off it. Up close, I could see he wasn’t as old as I thought...maybe thirty, maybe less. His face was rough, like someone who’d seen too much of the world and didn’t care to see more. “What’s your name?” he asked. “Doesn’t matter.” He smiled a little, not mockingly, just tired. “Alright, Doesn’t Matter. I’m Jorge.”

And I'm relatively sure that Jorge isn't Duncan Willis's type, though Duncan's gender may be Jorge's. "Jorge, I need to speak to Mr. Willis." He looks up from his computer as his dark eyes shine from below his blond styled hair. He's wearing a camel cardigan sweater over a tight black shirt. No matter who Jorge would like to get it on with, he's always the epitome of chic and style. "Hi, Kimbra. Don't tell me you're firing people again." My eyes widen. "The day is young." "Oh, for such a pretty young thing, you sure can be scary."

“I suppose that friend must be pretty special if you’re willing to fly alone like this.” Jorge chuckled when he saw her cheeks turn pink. “Ah n no, it’s not like that,” she said, offering no further explanation. Her silence made Jorge assume that she did not wish to continue the conversation. He did not take offense. After all, they were nothing more than strangers who happened to be seated next to each other. It was only natural for her to be guarded, to keep her distance from someone she did not know. A few glasses of whiskey later, Jorge signaled his female bodyguard to bring him a sedative. He swallowed two pills to make sure he would sleep all the way to Perth. He had learned to make fu

The only casualty was a corner that ripped. “Look what you did!” Lora fussed, brandishing the image of Enzo at her. The muscles of his chest still gleamed, but the pool background was a little worse for wear. Maybe it was just her interaction with him today, but she noticed new things about the portrait. Like the expression on his face, which she had taken for concentration and dedication, could maybe instead be barely concealed disdain. Arrogance, even. Like he was above all of this. Above being the cover story of Rolling Stone like some kind of rock star of telecommunications. He was nothing but a big jerk.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Jorge? I am trying to wake you up. You can barely drink! Corax said he doesn’t want to see anyone walking straight after today. So you better start drinking! “Here! Open your mouth! Or I will slap your mouth open!” Kaze grabbed Jorge and shoved the glass into his hand. “Damn it! I’ll drink! I’ll drink until you die!” Jorge endured his burning stomach and grieving emotions and finished the glass of whiskey in a single gulp. As soon as the whiskey entered his stomach, it burned even fiercer. “I… Ugh…” Jorge felt sick and went over to the corner to throw up. He slipped on his own vomit and fell on his butt.