The Red Sleeve Novels & Stories

But in workout gear, it’s a game of where’s skin. He’s got this incredible realistic grayscale full sleeve piece on his right arm of a mountainscape of a wolf pup sitting on a lake looking at the rippled reflection of a full-grown wolf. His legs are grayscale realistic mythology scenes featuring, you guessed it, wolves. His left sleeve is different, still grayscale, but it’s a Nightmare Before Christmas sleeve. And his back dude has a full-color Japanese Godzilla piece. And lastly, his chest piece is this grayscale twisted grove of branches that comes together to look like a guitar with a raven on the perched wings spread wide on the top.

I scoffed quietly. The same words, the same actions, the same expression. Blood poured from below her belly, staining the seat of my Ferrari. "Madeline! Please hold on, it's a red light!" Madeline clutched her belly, her voice rising in a sharp, piercing tone. "Matt, are you trying to kill me? You've got to run the red light! I can't take it anymore!" I twirled my finger absentmindedly on the steering wheel. "Madeline, running the red light is illegal and I'll get a fine. We should be good citizens, right?"

Chapter Nine: Red Is the Color of Possession ‎ ‎The dress arrived sealed in a black garment bag. ‎ ‎No note this time. ‎ ‎That alone made my stomach twist. ‎ ‎I unzipped it slowly, my breath catching when the fabric slid into view. ‎ ‎Red. ‎ ‎Not innocent red. Not playful. ‎Deep. Dangerous. The kind of red that whispered instead of screamed. ‎ ‎The dress was sleeveless, cut low enough to suggest scandal without crossing it, hugging my waist before falling in a clean, elegant line that promised movement. The slit climbed my thigh—not high enough to break a rule, but high enough to test intention.

Jack sat on a table and Rose kept the plate of moon cake in front of him when Jack lift his hand his sleeves of the Armani suit slide at back and Rose saw the faded scratch wound on his wrist. Rose had itched on her tongue to ask about it, but she has to maintain the respect of her client. Jack noticed her gaze on his wrist and pulled his sleeves forward. "A photo frame had broken off my room and when I was picking the glasses, I accidentally scratched one piece to my left wrist," Jack said. Rose saw the tall, handsome, sharp-featured young man with weird expressions. Wouldn't he be rich enough with the team of servants why was he playing with broken glass by himself and also this scratch is

We talked about tea for a while before I took out Hola’s design draft and handed it to Christine. Christine glanced over and said, “It’s not your design.” I nodded. “However, this design is not bad. Although it is only a common windbreaker. It is more ingenious and concise. Especially this pair of sleeves. The red plum on the sleeve is very charming. The sleeves are the lantern sleeves. They can keep hands warm in winter, and they are very practical.” Christine’s evaluation of the design was also very high. “I am truly honored to see such a compliment from you.” I said.

"You're going to go stay with your grandmother tomorrow. Don't come back here for a while." What she said made me snap instantly. "No way! You know she hates me! Why would I go there just to get yelled at?" Just thinking about Grandma filled me with anger—hate, even. I had a hideous, twisted scar on my left arm that looked like a giant centipede. It was four inches long. For a woman, a scar like this was simply too ugly. I wore long sleeves all year round, even in summer, just so people wouldn't stare or ask questions.