Lucas Baker Hoodie Novels & Stories

Zoe came out of the bedroom in his oversized hoodie and sat at the kitchen table with her legs folded under her, hands wrapped around the mug he put in front of her, hair still damp. Lucas appeared at the back door ten minutes later in yesterday's jeans and a clean t-shirt he'd apparently gone next door to retrieve, his brown hair sticking up on one side in a way he didn't seem to have noticed or cared about. Ryan handed him a mug without being asked. Lucas sat down across from Zoe and they looked at each other for a second and then both of them smiled at the same time, small and private, like sharing a joke that didn't need a punchline.

Lucian walked in beside him. Even from across the lanes I could see it: the easy confidence, the way people’s heads turned without realizing why. Dark hair, sharp jaw, those cold grey eyes that looked like they could cut glass. He wore a black hoodie and dark jeans, nothing flashy, but it didn’t matter. He carried the name like a crown. Dad clapped him on the shoulder...it was casual, proud, fatherly. My stomach twisted so hard I almost tasted bile. They spotted me almost immediately.

I stopped walking instantly. “You are standing where exactly right now?” “I am standing directly beside your bedroom window.” I gasped loudly and rushed toward the curtains. Then I pulled them aside without hesitation. The sight before me immediately stole my breath. Lukas stood beside his sleek black vehicle effortlessly. One hand rested casually inside his pocket. The other hand held his phone against his ear. For once, he was not wearing expensive business attire. Instead, he wore simple black shorts that reached his knees. A plain white hoodie rested comfortably against his broad frame. His dark hair looked slightly messy from the night breeze.

Lucian was tossing a lighter up and down, his unhinged blue eyes wide and scanning me from head to toe. "Look at that," Lucian chuckled, walking down the steps toward us. His steps were erratic, loose. "She's wearing the boss's hoodie. Did you break her already, Blackwood? "Back off, Lucian," Killian said, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly growl. He didn't get off the bike.

Lucas? *

"It's okay, we're all men here." He sat in front of him and handed him something. Lucas looked at the bag confusingly. "What is this?" He asked. "Just open it." Kyle cleared his throat. Lucas opened the bag and found a pair of black jeans, a grey simple t-shirt and grey baskets. He looked at Kyle with surprise. "Why?" "Are you planning to wear a hospital gown for the rest of your life?" The producer chuckled. Lucas slowly shook his head, he stood up and bowed to the older. "Thank you."

He was soft spoken. I couldn’t tell it was Lucas standing by the entrance door. I've never seen him dressed like this before. He was wearing a black hoodie sweatshirt and trousers and he had a bike packed outside my house. Almost like he was waiting for me. “Why are you here Lucas?” I’m tired of having him trying to come pull his stunts on me over and over again. He was about to speak and the door opened widely. “Mom?” I didn’t know she was back in town.

Jesus. Lucian was in the foyer, dressed in a fitted black long sleeve Henley tucked into dark trousers with the sleeves pushed carelessly to his forearms. His hair was completely undone for once, falling messily around his face without a single trace of product taming it back and a thin silver chain rested against the exposed skin of his throat. It’s so unfair how attractive one man could be before breakfast. He was crouched in front of Lucas, patiently adjusting the boy’s hair while listening intently to a sprawling story about toy airplanes.

I looked up, and there he was. Lucas from the speakeasy. From last night. Beaming like he had just won a damn raffle. He had one of those boyish faces with sharp cheekbones that could slice paper, and brown eyes just a shade too warm for this cold city. He wore a black mock-neck shirt under a faded denim jacket, with a backpack hanging low on his spine like he hadn’t bothered to tighten the straps. He looked good. Too good. “Mind if I join you?” he asked, already sliding into the seat across from me.

Black hoodie, gloves, and jeans. Even the damn helmet is matte black. Meanwhile I’m still wearing his rainbow sweatshirt. How humiliating. I tighten my grip on the helmet under my arm. “There are buses for this, y’know?” I argue. “There are diseases on those buses.” “There are also seats.” Lucas finally turns slightly, enough for me to catch the smirk in his voice. “With a motorcycle,” he says, “you’ll know every nook and cranny of London in a few hours.” “That sounded deeply threatening.”