Just Some Guy With A Mustache Novels & Stories

He responded. She breathed. Only a day at the house and she is beginning to regret it. “I can’t really remember his name but he is a plus sized and has a mustache. Yes he does.” She explained. His mouth formed an o shape, as if he had understood who she was describing. “Well, we have two men with mustache. One is named Hassan and the other Greg.” He told her. She flicked her hand happily. “Yes Greg. That was his name.” She answered.

Maddy's voice trailed off. Mark remembered the strange looking black man he'd seen walking down the pier behind Myra. There was something about him that reminded him of Mister Potato Head in spandex. Mark remembered a few of Ant's favourite put downs, and the one about Forest Whitaker and Ugly Betty having a lovechild who didn't so much fall out the ugly tree as smash it to bits on the way down seemed particularly apt. "He's a really nice guy and smart too," Jasmine said quietly. "Thinks all men are secretly in love with him though, which I'm pretty sure qualifies him as delusional. I love him to bits."

His hair is in a buzz cut style, full, noticeable eyebrows, long lashes, caramel skin tone, and a clean shave with a little mustache that makes you want to think about bed play. A dance to my favourite song, with an angelic man? I would love that. But who is this man? "May I?" He smiles cutely, ignoring how confused I look. He wouldn't bite. Just a dance, right? This could be just what I need, a dance to lift my mood.

"No, no, I'm not. Just enjoying the beauty of the ocean...alone." The man sat next to him, he obviously didn't get the message. His brown hair swept over his brown forehead, his eyes the color of a raven, they had in them a mesmerizing glow. On his upper lip was a shade of a neatly shaved mustache, he smiled at Harry. "He grunted as he sat, "yes, it's the most beautiful view in the USA. I'm glad I could see this." "Hm-hm." Jackson really hoped he'd leave. This was the only time he had to himself and he saw it get snatched by a random stranger. How unpleasant.

"That’s a lot of beer for just one man. Something wrong?" "Leave me the fuck alone," I grind out, fingers pressing harder against my skull as flashes—more flashes—slice through my mind. Her. Always her. The mustache guy scoffs, reaching for a stool and dragging it closer. "Nice watch you’ve got there," he comments lazily, taking a seat beside me. "You can talk to me. I’m just a stranger, after all." Through the haze of alcohol, I lift my gaze to him. Seeing double.

I snap anxiously, wondering if Mustafins have some magic power no one knows about and can actually hear what I'm thinking right now. “That is exactly your problem,” he gestures to all of me, leaning back on his chair. “I can tell exactly what's going through your head by the look on your face. You're so easy to read, it's —” “Pathetic?” I scoff, rolling my eyes at him. “I know. It's not the first time I’ve been t—” “Endearing,” he cuts me off. “I was going to say, it's endearing.” Oh.

a man with an arm sleeve tattoo slapped the big mustache guy on his back. "Hey, I'm Rocco, I'm sorry about my buddy Elvis here. Yeah, that's his real name. Look, are you here for the audition? come on in, you looked like you can use a drink." "But, my car..." Rocco, the tattooed guy peeked at her gas meter and smiled, "happens all the time to my girlfriend, Elvis, will you help..." he waited and it took Bree a couple of seconds to connect her brain to her ability in forming a sentence.

I honestly don’t know how he’s still standing because even I’m burning and I’m not wearing half as much. He’s got a face cap dragged low, but somehow his features still show through, the kind of soft pretty look that makes people tease instead of threaten, and I catch myself staring for a second longer than I planned… if it wasn’t for the tiny mustache smudged under his nose I would have honestly thought it was a woman playing dress-up. He moves fast though, slipping between chairs, muttering apologies when he almost bumps into someone, and every now and then he looks back over his shoulder like he’s making sure the guy chasing him hasn’t given up.

“I’m Trek and you are?” “Eura.” “Nice to meet you!” Trek smiled. “Same here!” “And Eura, this is our birthday boy and the owner of this club. This Grey Saldieguez.” Leinne introduced the man in a plain white long-sleeved polo shirt and black pants. This man looked classy and his only accessory is his silver watch. The man stands six feet tall, as tall as Lander and Trek. He also has paper-white skin that was glowing. He had very thick and dark eyebrows same as Trek. He’s wearing eyeglasses that gave him more appeal. His hair color was ash brown—Eura bet that he dyed his hair. His pointed nose down to his thin lips looked great to his features.

Pаrt оf mе ріtіеѕ all the mасhо guуѕ оut thеrе thаt dоn’t have thе сарасіtу or opportunity tо open up. Yes, I’m a mаn. I’vе a сосk аnd tattoos. I lіkе tо сuѕѕ аnd lіft wеіghtѕ. I’m ѕtubbоrn аnd wіllful and jealous sometimes, but I’m still human.