Short Spiky Black Hair Novels & Stories

Always the charmer, that one. “I’ve got a paper to do tonight, I won’t be at practice. Want to order some pizzas or something for dinner?” Ron asked as he sat back in his chair and looked at me. I looked back at my mirror image, different only in hairstyle. Archie’s black hair was a mop of long hair on top, boyish and flirty like some of the soccer athletes from Europe wore theirs. Ron’s was cut in a sensible style, short back and sides, a little longer on top. Mine was a little long all over, mostly because I didn’t care about bi-weekly haircuts and styling gel. I just wanted it to grow long enough that I could tie it back and be done with it.

’’ Dylan said. Jason had short blond hair that was cut very close to his skin. He was tall and huge just like the other guys. Connor, the one who had the long black hair and had spoken some moments ago smiled down at her. Crisscrossing tattoos filled his left, giving him that bad boy vibe Amanda was already used to.

She had a decent-sized butt and breasts and a narrow waist. Tonight, she had on a black leather skirt that had zippers up both sides, and it hit about mid-thigh. Her top was black slinky mesh over a silver spaghetti strap crop top. Her hair had long wavy curls and fell down her back to her butt. She wore minimal makeup, just enough to enhance her beauty.

My shoe size is pretty small, only a seven, and it matches my height, a mere 5'5". Not the shortest, but not the tallest. My black color theme matches my hair color, which is, you got it, black. My palish gross skin does little to add to my overall appearance, but that can't be helped because that's what I am. Pale, black-haired, tiny, and very taciturn. Oh, and well-bred. Cayce Vance, at your service.

Eric paused and raked a hand through his crazy hair. For some inexplicable reason she wanted to run her fingers through it too. Like a work of art, Eric Stick’s hair demanded attention. It was long on one side—something to hold on to. The other half was sheared off short. She imagined it would feel soft and silky beneath her fingertips. A row of inch-long spikes ran from forehead to nape, separating long locks from short fuzz. It was shiny and ebony except for the long lock that curled around his throat and hung down to his left collarbone. By some strange coincidence it was dyed the same blue she’d chosen to dye hers—for the sole purpose of ticking off her mother—not a week ago.

’ I ask, making what I want obvious. I swear I can hear him straighten up as he clears his throat. ‘Sure. 20 minutes?’ Oh, yeah, he’s awake and alert now. Perfect. ‘That works. I’ll see you soon.’ All giddy, I quickly dry and style my hair, putting it in a casual, messy, low ponytail with a few loose strands framing my face. I need to do this concoction again. The color turned out great. I walk to my closet and settle on a tight, long-sleeved, plain black top, faded black shorts, and long, thigh-high boots.

I fіgurе іt must be hеr trаdеmаrk. Her ѕkіn is раlе and ѕісklу. Her hаіr іѕ jеt blасk. It’ѕ literally mіdnіght blасk. Shе’ѕ bone thin so lеаthеrу аnd tіnу.

What the hell, get a hold of yourself, Lia! He's tall, must be over six feet tall and broad shouldered. His body is chiseled to perfection. He doesn't look like he has an inch of fat on him. He has black hair styled with the front ones a bit long and straight, and the back is cut low. It's definitely one of those fuckboy hairstyles. Every inch of him is simply human perfection. I don't even realize I'm still looking at him, eyes locked on his perfect features, until he speaks again.

He was tall, easily six-three, with a presence that seemed to swallow the air in the room. He wore a black shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, and dark trousers that showed the strength in his legs. His hair was black, messy, falling over his forehead in a way that felt unstudied. When he moved forward, the light caught his eyes. They were the color of a storm at midnight, silver mixed with a deep, bottomless black. A faint scar ran through one of his eyebrows, a jagged detail that made his face look less like a dream and more like a threat.

I quickly take a shower and change. I put on a black and red tank top (to match my hair. Like Knox having blue tips in his silver hair, I end up having red streaks in my black hair. It's totally wicked! And believe it or not, we were born like that.) and a pair of cut offs and my sneakers. I run a brush through my hair and put it up in a sloppy pony. I'm not impressing anyone, and I really don't give a damn about what I look like this morning. I'm too freaking tired to care!