Sodapop Curtis Description Novels & Stories

She’d always suspected that Curtis was a dangerous man, though she had no real idea in what way. Yeah, she’d seen him brutally and viciously beat drunk men to a pulp, but then again, that was his job. Bouncing at Curves meant that Curtis was among the first people to step forward when trouble started – and trouble started there often.

“You look like you’ve been dragged to hell, and even hell didn’t want ya and sent you packin’.” “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” I tease, rolling my eyes. “You’re a real southern gentleman, Curtis.” He waves me off with one of his huge, calloused hands. Curtis is average height and portly, but his strength is truly incredible. His stained white shirt is coated in sweat while he yanks and fumbles with the chainsaw, mumbling curses under his breath. I find his company comforting in a way I can’t explain. “Are there… big animals out here?”

There was nothing to be nervous about. "Let's get you another one of those," the Hispanic man said and signaled to the bartender. We began chatting as I sipped on another glass of alcohol. The man sitting on my left was a tall, thin black man named Curtis. He had gone to Columbia and was now an accountant by day. He was clearly very intelligent and witty, and confident in himself. On my right was Greg, who had gone to BYU as a baseball player and become a Mormon missionary before leaving and finding a new life as a high-school gym teacher. He had dirty blonde hair and light blue eyes. He was the shortest of the group, and also probably the most reserved.

He was handsome and I couldn't peel my eyes away from him until he finally smirked and told me that my client has arrived. The slight embarrassment that he knows what I was there for made my cheeks flush and I couldn't read his expression when he moved back and blended in with the rest of the crowd. I took a deep breath and walked to the bar where Curtis Cuthbert, who can pass as Captain America's stunt double was ordering himself a drink. I could hear my heart pounding when I squeezes beside him to order the gayest cocktail of the century. "Appletini, please...oh, I'm so sorry..."

Families would come too to have Papa’s ice-cream milkshakes. “Oh how romantic!” Anna exclaimed. I held her hand and we went inside. “Hey Papa Curt!” “Andrew!” his old voice spoke. “It’s been a while” Papa Curt was an old man in his early sixties. This Shoppe was owned by the Curt’s for generations. After Papa Curt, his grandson, Miles, would take over this Shoppe and eventually get the title Papa Curt. “It has. Could we get a vanilla and a chocolate ice-cream milkshake?” I smiled.

Though he didn’t want to drink water right now, since it was his daughter who had suggested he do so, he gladly accepted the drink. Curtis lifted the cup and drank it all in one go. "Can I have another cup?" Bianca's eyebrows furrowed, and everyone present looked at Curtis in a somewhat strange manner. The men who had come with Curtis particularly couldn't believe their stern and dignified leader was acting like this. It was just a request for a cup of warm water, but Curtis' tone seemed to carry a hint of helpless affection for his daughter. "It's just water. If you want it, just ask for it. What are you doing?" Bianca remarked, shooting a glance at the servant next to her.

SHELBY POV I have been working both jobs for four weeks now, and the pay is excellent. All the tips I make go into my brand new savings account, and I already have $900. Nothing else has changed. Curt still comes in every night to buy beer. He does shoot me a smile every time now, but nothing else. He seems to be getting worse. He hasn't shaved in who knows how long, and he looks tired. So very tired. It breaks my heart to see a guy like him so broken.

So I circulated, greeting and exchanging pleasantries. I was thinking of getting another glass of wine when a thin, querulous voice called, "Zo-ra!" A pudgy little man stood right in front of me, his ginger-coloured hair sticking up in tufts around his head. I groaned. Curtis was the last person I wanted to run into. He had been pestering me to model for his company and I had refused time and time again. I knew what Curtis really wanted was for me to become his new mistress. Modeling for his company would just be a front. I was not willing to taint my reputation for him.

"You need these more than I do." That night, around the bonfire, someone commented on the fragrant cream on Curtis's hands. "Hand cream," he replied proudly. His men, intrigued, learned it was his partner's creation, designed to soften and protect their calloused hands. They were amazed to learn his partner also made the medicines he'd shared with them. Suddenly, a frantic cry pierced the night. "Curtis! Curtis! Someone's bullying my sister!" The same boy from earlier rushed towards him. "Curtis! Where are you going?!" his men shouted, but Curtis was already running, the boy clutched in his arms.

But until they had Sapphire out of whatever nightmare she’d gotten herself into, he had to tread carefully. Unlike most of the Donovans, who were tall and blond, Curtis was a short, stocky guy with shoulder-length brown hair and a goatee. He had small, kinda beady brown eyes, and a nose that looked too long for his face. At first glance, he seemed harmless enough, until you got to know what a ruthless little bastard he was. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here,” Curtis said. “I lost one of my best men because of you, and had to fire another.” Razl snorted. “If they were your best, Donovan, then you need to do some new recruiting.”