Steven R. Mcqueen Height Novels & Stories

Stephen’s facial expression becomes sullen, he looks like a kid who had his candy stolen from him, literally! So, since I don’t want to be the bearer of residual feeling I hurriedly lock my locker then try to flee from him, but he stops me as he stands up, positioning his 6.3 feet tall body that clearly shout out *I go to the gym every fucking day* in front of me like a fucking wall.

There is not much that’s changed except for maybe the few (okay, a lot of) new houses around, but none of those houses can compare with the McQueen’s, though I also wonder what else could have changed. I walk over to the big black gate and knocked on it. A reply comes immediately and the next second a man in his thirty opens the gate and steps out in front of me. He’s quite huge and tall, let’s say six feet five inches and bald and from the look and uniform, I figure he’s the security. I haven’t seen him before and he is also giving me a look that says the same thing. “Who are you?” He asks with an unpleasant scowl on his face.

His closest friend was Peter Cooley, an attorney, whom Steven had known for several years. Peter was very handsome and like Steven, very self assured. At 6'4", very muscular, he had a very commanding presence. I have never really cared for facial hair, but with his closely trimmed beard and always impeccable dress, Peter pulled it off. He was a very friendly and charming man, who seemed to like me as well. I was very glad about this, because that seemed important to Steven.

I watched him walk toward us with a black canvas hand bag slung over his left shoulder and a suitcase in his other hand. Physically, Steven was a genetic aberration: he stood one meter ninety-two of pure lean muscle, with shoulders so broad they made the terminal hallway look narrow. His dark blonde hair was cut close on the sides, leaving a textured upper section, and his eyes, a deep bottle green, shone with a lucidity that bordered on arrogance. He had a square jaw, marked by a perfectly trimmed three-day beard, and sharp, gray eyes that contrasted with his dark hair, which was messily tossed in a careless way. But the most goddamn maddening thing wasn't his typical stupid athlete's body

“Jesus, Rem. You’re as bad as Aunt Genevieve. I can’t take him anywhere, I swear.” A large shadow fell across the table. Sky looked up, expecting to see Kade, but Cam McKay hovered over her. The man was huge; he had to be at least six-foot-five. His shoulders were damn near as wide as the picnic table, yet not an ounce of fat clung to his enormous biceps and flat stomach. With his buzz haircut, camouflage pants and tight T-shirt, he epitomized the lean, mean, fighting machine depicted in the army ads on TV. “Pull up a chair, Cam,” Chet said.

She's probably around 5 feet 7 inches, with long straight light brown hair that she slightly curls with light hazel eyes. Last but not least is Archer MacLean, who is sexy as a damn Greek God. He's 6 feet 4 inches tall, broad muscles in all the right places. He has semi-curly hair that is messy, two day's growth of facial hair always. His eyes where or how do I even describe his drop dead gorgeous eyes. They are the sexiest blue-gray eyes I've ever seen in my life. (These 3 characters will appear in another story). I have a hard time talking to Archer because I'm find him so attractive and I'm terrified that I'll make myself a fool by saying something wrong. I have no problem making small ta

Zoe and I were all giggly and smiles, laughing at the joke they both told. Steve... he is breathtaking and handsome. His hair was blonde and styled in a quiff. He had attractive green eyes and was really tall too. His dimples were to die for and he spoke in the British accent.He was wearing a San Francisco 49ers sweat jacket, over a white T-shirt. Grey sweatpants with a pair of white Nike air max sneakers. “I like you a lot, Rachel.” he said.“Are you serious, Steve?”I asked him. “Of course, you look so beautiful this evening.