Just Some Guy Without A Mustache Novels & Stories

I want to appear rigid and unmoved, so, yeah, I find myself plopping down into the empty chair. Richard stalks across the kitchen a few seconds later. He pulls out the chair beside me and sits down heavily. I keep my head up and gaze straight, but I can still see the smirks around the table. “How are your biscuits this morning?” one of the new guys asks. They’re all wearing various shades of black. I mean, black, but different kinds of it. Anyway, this guy looks tough. He has his hair cut into that up-cut style that makes people appear gangster-like, but this guy truly looks the part. He has a long scar that runs from his forehead, zigzags across the bridge of his nose, and down over his chi

A smile escaped my lips, and I thanked these people in my thoughts. I returned my gaze to Justine, who was wearing in loose, sloppy, old faded jeans and a tattered sleeveless top. His hair was unkempt, and his face was unshaven, yet despite his beard, he still looks attractive. I'll give him that. His beard definitely adds to his hotness and sexiness. Furthermore, he appears to be completely comfortable with those firearms. He is undoubtedly the real definition of the word 'sigma.' Justine chuckled. “Yeah, he absolutely is,” he says picking salmon out of a can with his fingers.

I had to elbow my way to get close to bar top before resting my elbows on it, sighing. “Tom Tom,” I called out. “Four whiskies.” He looked at me, frowning. Poor kid looked haggard and busy. “Okay,” he said, hustling to get the drinks before more Rebels tried to get his attention. I stood there for a second and then felt something pinch my ass. I shot straight up, whirling around. “What the hell?” I asked. This guy was just standing there, grinning at me. He was missing a front tooth, and his beard was patchy and graying. “Girl, you was making it too tempting,” he said, “just sticking that round behind out there.”

Some people are outside drinking or smoking, but it's way quieter than it was inside. I place my beer next to me. "You know I'd never gotten ghosted before." He starts smiling. "That when you'd done it I didn't even realize it at first." I'm not surprised he hasn't ever been ghosted he's a good looking guy, his skin tone like latte, curly short hair, handsome face, has his life together. "Tell me something Yasmine." He ask with a straight face, leaning into me. "Did you ghost me because I had bad breath?"

Men fall over themselves for her as much as they do to Stace. Justin plays a little diddy on the piano and synthesiser; he looks like a rough biker, long unkempt hair tied up into a top knot and a long shaggy beard; he is all muscle and tatts and loves to show them off. I don’t think Justin owns a t-shirt or even a shirt, for that matter. If he could play nude, he would. He does during rehearsal, and I’m not complaining.

"You don't know me. I may have kidnapped a child." "Right." He piles some ham on bread from the table. "Yeah, you're a real desperado, sweetheart. Anyone can see that." Again, he mocks. "For God's sake, look at yourself. You're an annoying, tiny female with a conscience as wide as Kansas. I sincerely doubt you've done anything wilder than sing in the shower." It stings. I couldn't say why, but the bland and goody-goody description put my back up. "I've got a tattoo on my butt."

“Of course.” The man who is maybe in his forties, has dark brown hair and a Hitler style mustache that would make anyone roll their eyes, is right where I want him. He licks his lips thinking about all the possibilities on how this could go. He could get lucky. He could have just found a new member for the cult. Or he discovered the next sacrifice.

The least I can do is wear some fancy drawls under my clothes for a day or two. Patty straightened and decided to be a good sport. “All right, I'll do it for you.” Jackie smiled at her victory. “Good. You’ll love them.” Patty shrugged. “Excuse me,” a man said. Patty and Jackie looked up at a black man in a three-piece suit. He wasn't wearing a tie. He had a neatly trimmed mustache and full lips. His afro was short and square shaped. He had a sexy smile.

Matt said. “One of the guys was a pretty boy, skinny, brown eyes, and sandy brown hair. The other was creepy as shit. He was tall, but not as tall as me and Dex. He had no hair, I mean none – not on his head, clean shaven – he didn’t even have eyebrows. He had the bluest blue eyes I had ever seen,” D.J. stressed. “You said, three guys,” Williamson said nastily. Matt could tell Williamson was pissed. He couldn’t stand people who turned their backs on their friends.

Grant. Wearing nothing but compression shorts and a cocky-ass grin. Shirtless. Chest gleaming with sweat. Arms flexed. Hair damp and messy. He looked like a fucking ad. Like someone dropped a Calvin Klein model in the middle of our locker room. “What the hell do you want?” Malik snapped, stepping in front of me. “I came to say hi,” Mason said casually. “Didn’t get to catch up after the game.” “We’re not in the mood,” Liam growled.