Sodapop Curtis Description Novels & Stories

“Tessa, you must’ve sucked up to Mr. Pedro if he spared you and beat up Zoe.” Curtis’ voice carried across the open space with that same biting sarcasm he had always used on her, but this time there was something else mixed into it; something darker, more unsettled. He stood a few steps away, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning her from head to toe as if trying to make sense of a version of her he no longer understood. Tessa didn’t respond immediately. Instead, a faint smile curved her lips, slow and deliberate, as though his words amused her rather than hurt her.

His name was Curtis, and he was the opposite of the quiet ghost that had been her real father. Curtis was loud, flashy, and unapologetically himself. He had a booming laugh that could fill a room and a love for big gestures—gold watches, muscle cars, backyard fireworks on the Fourth of July. He wore leather jackets in the summer and always had a story to tell, even if you didn’t ask for one. He called Lissa “kiddo” from the very start, and somehow, it stuck.

Now, they really looked like drunks with their fake smile and tired faces. Curtis made a disgusted face and shook his head before gesturing at the guards to go back to their various posts to which they obeyed immediately. The Don just turned back and left by the way through which he came. Curtis was about to turn back but somehow, his gaze dropped below the couch and they all follow his gaze to see a piece of large glass peeking out from under the couch. His gaze trailed upwards till they landed on the portrait and then he smirked.

“Good morning, guys.” “Good morning.” Me and Ryder say in unison. Curtis smiles. “Breakfast is almost done, take a seat.” He says, as he takes some bacon out of the pan. Me and Ryder sit down at the table and a couple of minutes later Curtis brings over a couple of plates. He sets a plate in front of Ryder that is full of bacon, eggs, toast, hashbrowns and even some fruit. The plate Curtis sets in front of me, only has toast and some mixed fruit on it. He must see my confused expression, because he says. “I figured toast would be the easiest thing on your stomach. If you want something else, I can make you something different.”

“You heard about Curtis and Tessa?” “No,” King said, his gaze automatically swinging over to Tessa Mahoney as she served up shots to a table of rowdy types. He wasn’t too worried, though, because Curtis’ baleful stare clocked her every move. Curtis was protective of all the female staff at Curves, as per his job description of kickass bouncer, but seeing as Tessa was the love of his life, she got special attention when she was around the drunk and leering customers. “What about them?”

Maybe I could do this. I moved through the party, accepting polite small talk from people who'd probably gossiped about my divorce over brunch. Some were genuinely kind. Others were clearly fishing for drama. I was just starting to actually believe that I might survive the evening when I saw him. Curtis stood near the bar, surrounded by his usual circle of sycophants. He looked good—I hated that I noticed—in a perfectly tailored tuxedo that emphasized his athletic build. Our eyes met across the room.

Soon, the waiters began serving dishes and drinks one after another. Calvin got up to pour drinks and serve dishes for them. The two children had endless topics to chat about and got along exceptionally well. The adults didn't disturb them. Margot knew that Curtis couldn't eat much, so she made his dishes lighter. Tommy and Calvin didn't know that Curtis was ill, so they poured him beer. Little did they know that Curtis would reject them. "You two drink. Curtis has quit drinking." Tommy didn't know why this big CEO had to quit drinking. He smiled and said, "Can't you at least drink a small cup for a toast? Just one."

It wasn’t anybody terrifying – though he suspected that some people might disagree with him on that point – since it was Dillon Saunders, his fellow badass, kick-ass bouncer. Dillon nodded in greeting, Curtis returned it. Dillon stalked over to the staffroom, shedding his heavy leather jacket as he went, returned a minute later. He looked around the room, checking things with his practiced eye, then headed over to Curtis. “OK night?” Dillon said in his husky voice, without preamble or small-talk, as per usual. “Trouble?” “None,” Curtis replied. “Tables to watch?” Curtis gestured at one near the pool tables. “The Road Devils are here tonight.”

I couldn't breathe. Suddenly, a deep, heavy, earth-shaking engine roar cut straight through the deafening noise. A massive, sleek, matte-black Cybertruck rounded the corner, tearing down the street with absolute, terrifying force. It mounted the curb without hesitating, stopping right between me and the feral crowd of reporters like an armored shield. The heavy, metallic driver-side door swung open. Nathan Vanny stepped out. He looked dangerously, impossibly handsome in a sharp, perfectly tailored charcoal suit. The morning sunlight caught his smooth dark skin and sharp jawline, and his dark, piercing eyes swept over the chaotic crowd until they locked directly onto mine.

He was already threatening fire and brimstone if he handled the person. His attention was brought back to the circle, when Clem tapped him on his thigh. He had zoned out whilst ruminating on those thoughts. "What is the problem?" Derek asked him, and he shook his head. "Nothing, just stuff. What were you guys discussing?" He queried, taking note of the frown on Curtis' face. Had they thrown him a jab already? He remembered that the Curtis from when they had been young had a saucy personality, never liked jabs and plays, and preferred staying alone. He wondered if that personality still stands now.