Matt Dillon Outsiders Novels & Stories

I wave. “Dude, this place is packed,” Dillon says. He’s got that glazed-over, I’m-going-to-party-till-I’m-trashed look in his eye as he takes everything in. Tall and muscular with a freshly shaved head—he promised he’d shave off his blond dreadlocks if we won the championship—he’s originally a California surfer boy who moved to my neighborhood in Pennsylvania when he was ten just to play football in the South, a rich kid. We came from completely different backgrounds, but he’s the closest thing I have to a brother. I grin. “Wish Sam and Chander were here. Losers.”

Dylan was surprised to see Matt outside the bathroom. He was leaning against the wall, and it looked like he was waiting for him. Matt motioned for them to come out, and he followed. They went to the garage, Dylan looked around to see if anyone else was there. "You're sick?" Matt asked. "I'm not in pain," Dylan said "Don't lie anymore, I know you're hiding something. Do you think I didn't notice?" Matt said. Dylan took a deep breath. "Notice what?"

Dillon works for the same company we’re trying to collaborate with. Small world! But I was wrong. Dillon wasn’t the company lawyer. “Ladies,” Damion said. “This is Dillon, my son.”

Now her precious daughter had also been trounced by Adina! However, Dillon was a good-natured person. He did not care about fame, power, and wealth as well as anyone or anything. Why would he rebuke Jasmine for an outsider? Dillon sat in his car while he lowered his head and looked at the picture on the phone screen. They really looked alike. She looked exactly like a young Olivia. The fifty-year-old man’s eyes suddenly turned red. He sat silently in his car for a long time. Once he calmed down, he made a call. “How much cash can I use in my account?”

I said softly. He smiles. "I'm flying to Milan tomorrow morning. So might as well get the chance to have lunch with you." I look straight at Dillion and to be honest he seems like a very nice guy. He has those blonde hair in a cleancut, his eyes are beautifully blue and he looks lean. His shoulders are broad and he looked really nice in a white polo shirt and a pair of black shorts. His biceps were tempting to stare, it's actually well-toned. He looked very hot, to be honest. He's tall too. But he doesn't have any tattoos on his arms unlike Gage. He doesn't have those long curly hair unlike Gage. He doesn't have...

Mateo's pov They all offered me appealing gazes but I knew that was a mask underneath their menacing looks. It was safe to say that no one in the mafia could trust each other but with the way things were moving, my height of paranoia would stretch to its limit and my patience was wearing thin. “Matteo has delivered the painting… but uh, is it safe here now that girl is around?” Angelou linked his fingers together. The man has more rings in his fingers and a scar on his left eye, evidence of five failed marriages. His eyes darted left and right as he spoke as though waiting for someone or backing him up.

“It’s bad enough your outfit barely covers anything.” “I didn’t want him to leave before rescuing us!” I snapped back at him. “Zoe? Is that you?” Mattias called back to me. “Yes! Can you open the door? We got locked inside accidentally.” Dillon’s eyes scanned the small room, searching for something. Then he stalked over to grab the lab coat hanging on a hook beside the door and stuffed me into it. “There. Better.” He nodded to himself, pleased with his handiwork.

He laughed, the sound making my insides feel a tad weird but in a way it felt nice. "I was clearly busy at the time," I began, my hand indicating my room and the apartment before us. "So there was no time to ask questions on whether anyone resided here, spirit wise that is." I gave a small grin. "Plus I didn't know what to say." "Based upon my observation you," Jem said with a light chuckle. "Cora," he said, brushing his fingers across my cheek. His touch was cool and still semi-solid. "Didn't you have any loyal friends to rely on growing up?" I shook my head to tell him no because in some way I always remained the outcast of anyone that I befriended. A loner who believed that trusting other

"Valentina, was it necessary to run to the internet over something so trivial? Do you actually enjoy playing the victim?" "I never named any names," I replied calmly. "I was simply recording my own experiences. You're the one who chose to take it personally." The voice on the other end suddenly choked up. "If you don't think you've done anything wrong, what are you so defensive about?" I asked. It took Mom a long moment before she finally spat out, "You psychopathic, ungrateful brat! If I'd known you'd turn out like this, I never would have kept you in the first place!"

But I had no intention of giving it away. Instead, I held it up, high enough for them all to see the seal. “The Moon Matron line,” I said. “Forgotten, not broken.” The room fell silent. Then, from behind the dais, a door opened and Daxon entered. Every time he walked into a room, it was like the oxygen shifted. He was dressed in formal black, no tie, his shirt open just enough to reveal the mark at the base of his throat a faint crescent scar that pulsed faintly under the light.