Romans & histoires Mr O Hair

He didn't answer anymore, he combed it and bonded it on the top of my head and cut it. He was still grimacing when he cut it, it's obvious that he regrets my hair but I don't care. This is my hair anyway not hers. He cut the rest of my long hair that wasn't tied up until it completely became mohok. "It took him a while to wake up." "I never imagined her with this hairstyle, but it suits her perfectly." "That's right. It looks like Miley Cyrus is the only peg." "Why is he also broken-hearted?" "What do you think? Could it be that he is just tripping that's why he's acting like this? What is he just addicted to?"

"Yes, the one who had hot pink hair last year." Ryan Hardy was a race car driver, a shocking choice of career for a girl whose father was a detective and her mother owned a restaurant. To describe Ryan, think Billie Eilish meets Miley Cyrus. She was definitely crazy but she had a chill personality, the type of person who knew the best places to hang out on a Saturday night and the best clubs to hop into after a stressful week. What her racing fans seemed to love most about her was her hair. Ryan's hair was always undergoing some type of transformation, whether it was an unusual hair cut or an obnoxious color of hair dye which would cause her to be seen from a mile away, she wasn't afraid to

he raises his brows as he awaits a reply from her. Melanie smiles into his hair. “Of course, you always look adorable in anything to wear or do. Be it long or short hair, you will always look graceful to me.” she blurts out truthfully. Mr Gordon loses the band that is holding his hair and lets it fall to his back. He stares dagger at the band in his hand and then throws it out of the window. “I also have long hair but she wouldn't talk about it, she kept on packing my hair up without leaving a comment. She is there praising him like he is the only one growing long hair.” he spat as he flips the barbecue over.

The rooms was beautiful and everything screamed rich as if telling me I don't belong here. I looked at Mr DiCaprio who was typing away on his phone. The man was as handsome has my prince charming in my dreams if not more. The two things I like about his face was his eyes and hair. His hair looked really soft and shiny making me wonder what hair products he used. "What hair products do you used sir?" "What" "I said what-" "I heard you the first time, why do you want to know?" "So who are we meeting?" "Mr Richard, he his an old investors of my father."

Why is he so irritated this time? When Mr. Johnson exits the elevator, I'm surprised. He's young. Well, younger than I imagined. I mentally thank myself for dressing up a bit more today. He is tall, with blonde hair cut just above his shoulders, blue eyes, and a thick beard. Based on his size, I can imagine his physique underneath the suit. I stand up to greet him. He is almost as big as Ryan. "Mr. Johnson! Good afternoon!" "Good afternoon!" He quickly looked me up and down, making me blush. "Follow me. Mr. Ryan is waiting," he nods.

His face looked like it had been carved. From his high bridge nose to his chiselled jaw. He had brown curly hair. But he was nowhere near Rodrigo. Rodrigo is indeed handsome, he has features of a Greek god. “You must be Hillary, oh you're even more beautiful than I expected.” He said while stretching his hand for a handshake. I looked at Rodrigo and he didn't have death glares in his eyes so I shook him. “Who are you?” “Oh where are my manners, I'm Greg. I'm a good friend of Rodrigo.” I smiled when he said it.

Rosie forced a smile and said, "He doesn’t want hair extensions." "What?" The hairstylist paled.

He wasn't the man who had kissed her that night, he was the head of the Mafia speaking. “Did you always want to grow your hair?” She spoke out of nowhere. Hugo looked at her for a moment before he chuckled. “Why you don't like it?” He asked playfully, putting his hands on her thighs. “No. … It's actually the opposite. You look handsome when you twist and pull your hair in the messy bun”. She said, fidgeting with her fingers. “Like this?” She gaped when she saw him pulling the hair tie, expertly combed his hair with fingers and twisted them in a single movement into a messy bun, all under five seconds.

Mr Stark scoffs at that. “More than you? I don’t think so,” “Hey, I’m not bossy,” I pouted. I welcomed the silenced as he washed my hair, his fingers massaging into my scalp. “Mr Stark?” he hummed quietly. “My hair can get tangly when its wet. You might want to use a brush,” I pointed out.