Nick Jonas Three Front Teeth Novels & Stories

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that she’s high on crack. “Ibraco!” Jonas smiles, flinging his arms wide open but I remain where I stand. I do not feel like hugging him, he reeks of overpoweringly cheap perfume. Jonas swallows hard when he sees that I do not return his welcome and lets his arms hang by his side, swinging them uncomfortably. “What brings you here? Should have told me earlier, I could have prepared a warm welcome for you.”

“Or maybe the third test is no longer necessary.” Andreas smiled meaningfully. * Jonas wiped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief. He stepped down from the podium with a flushed face. His jaw clenched and he didn't say a word during the short break. Perfect timing. Jonas needed a break to catch his breath and calm himself from the various waves of dissatisfaction that had bombarded him throughout the presentation. Jonas walked briskly. He wanted to leave the meeting room as soon as possible. However, his gaze collided with the most inconvenient person.

As if drawn by my thoughts the door opened and Nikolas entered. He had changed clothes, into a pair of Theo’s bell bottoms that were a few inches too small with a very bright shirt; it was hard not to laugh. He looked grossly out of sorts with his attire, his face sculpted like a Grecian bust. His high cheekbones and large eyes, offset by dark, long lashes was regal in nature, certainly the direct opposite of his rather gaudy clothing. His eyes simmered with checked rage as his gaze landed on James. A slow smile curved his lips, his mouth opening slightly, showing the sharp points of his fangs.

he says, winking and looking at me again for a split second. Jagger lets out an exasperated sigh, moving his free hand through his hair. “She is a lot prettier than you’re ugly face, I don’t know what she is doing with you,” Jonas says and I can’t help but laugh at his words as he looks at me over his shoulder and Jagger’s grip on my hand tightens a little. “You better shut the fuck up; he doesn’t look like he can take your lame-ass jokes right now,” Ghost says, and Jonas shrugs. “It’s a warning; we don’t want you crying like a baby,” Ghost says, and Jonas looks at him, frowning.

Jonason murmured, "Am I very old?" "You're almost 30 years old, don't you know it?" Miley gave him a look of disgust. "If it weren't for the fact that you are usually expressionless, there would be countless wrinkles on the corners of your eyes!" Jonason frowned. "Christin likes to smile. I haven't seen any wrinkles on him yet." He had good eyesight and should have noticed some if there were any. "Nonsense! Christin is more diligent than Natasha in terms of using face masks, alright?" Miley recalled what Natasha had complained to her before. She immediately felt that Jonason did not really bother about self-care.

I knew he was talking about my inheritance. “I will never allow myself to have a dime out of that money.” I swore. Jonah let out a laugh; “As if you if you have a say.” “Stop laughing. It’s enough looking at our hideous face nobody wants to see your monster teeth.” I mocked Jonah with a smirk on my face. Jonah has ugly set of teeth and hates it when someone makes comments about it. I watched with satisfaction as his face turned dark with anger. The next thing, I felt a fist stamp into my face. And then I fell unconscious.

he mouthed. For a second I almost lost control. I wanted to make the sound stop. I wanted to break something. I wanted to hurt the one who hurt us. But I saw Adrian’s eyes. He did not ask me to not protect him. He asked me not to let rage take me. Not to become the thing I hated. I gave him a small nod. The door swung open. It was not a masked stranger. It was not a man with a rifle. It was Jonas. Head of my security team. Sweat ran down his face. He looked like he had run a long way.

I noticed how his jaw was tight, his teeth clenched, and how he was breathing slowly and carefully — in through his nose and out through his mouth. He seemed to be counting or keeping track, really trying to get by. And it startled me. "Oh my God." The words were out before I could stop them. His head snapped toward me. Even back then, at twenty-five, he was barely out of his first NHL season—Jaxon Thorne had the eyes of someone twice his age. Ice blue and absolutely angry at being seen when he didn't want to be. "Go back inside."His voice was flat, making it clear he wasn't asking.

he murmured. “I don’t want your food,” I managed to say, my voice weak from exhaustion but laced with defiance nonetheless. If he plans to treat me like a worthless piece of trash then I rather starve to death. Jonas’s grip tightened, his expression unreadable. “Eat right now. It’s not a fucking request.” I clenched my jaw, refusing. Setting the tray aside, he grabbed my chin, forcing my mouth open. “Let have it your way then,” he spat, his voice devoid of any emotion.

He has an air of confidence and charm that's undeniably attractive. "Likewise," Tristan replies, grinning as he extends his hand to me. His touch is warm and inviting, a distraction that is welcomed, as I don’t think it is fair for me to think about Noland when I am miles away and in a crowded place. “And this is Jonas, he is an architect, he loves art in its own way too!” Natasha grins and I smile at the young but charming ginger man who extends his hand to shake mine. “Pleasure to meet you Jonas, glad to know another kindred soul in this place,” I mention and he grins nodding.