Novelas y relatos de Tyler Durden

The air was thick with the smell of cheap beer, weed, and a dozen competing perfumes. And then I saw Tyler. He was standing near the front door under the glow of the porch light, surrounded by a few of his teammates. He was laughing, his head thrown back, the column of his throat exposed. He was wearing a simple grey henley, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the corded muscles of his forearms. The fabric stretched taut across his chest and shoulders with every movement, and my breath hitched. My heart the stupid traitorous organ gave a painful lurch against my ribs.

The hum of the fridge filled the silence of the apartment — familiar, steady, too loud for a morning that already felt heavy. Footsteps shuffled down the hall. Tyler appeared, hoodie half-zipped, backpack slung over his shoulder. His hair stuck up at odd angles — kid looked like he’d wrestled with sleep and lost. “You’re up early,” I said, reaching for a mug. “Coach said I could come in before class to help with drills.” He grabbed a protein bar and then spotted my phone lighting up again. “You’re trending. Again.” “Lucky me.” He tore open the wrapper, chewing slowly, eyes narrowing. “It’s about her, right? The reporter?”

He hated that the conversation he started to intimidate Fred ended up being a pleasant conversation between Fred and Diana. But Alpha Darren wasn't giving up, he still wanted to get Fred out of here as soon as possible. “Does being a prosecutor give you so much free time? I think you're pretty busy.” “Thank you for your concern Alpha Darren, but it's time for lunch. I'll be back to work after lunch.” “Doesn't that mean you have to work now? Your food is gone.” Alpha Darren looked at Fred's plate to show the man that he didn't need to be here anymore.

Chapter 19 The bullpen of Floor 42 was a cacophony of clicking keyboards, ringing VoIP lines, and the stale smell of communal microwave popcorn. George sat at a desk that was essentially a slab of laminated particle board, squeezed between a shredder and a water cooler. "Kendrick!" George winced, looking up to see Tyler, a twenty-two-year-old intern wearing a hoodie and a smirk that cost less than George's socks. Tyler had been at Leroy International for six weeks; George had been the CEO's consort for a year. Yet, here they were.

tired af **Tyler:** pussy. u know what ur problem is? Here it comes. **Tyler:** u need to nut. Like actually nut. U been holding that shit in since birth. Bet u still jerk to hentai pillows or some weirdo cartoon shit I snorted, but the laugh died fast. He wasn’t entirely wrong. **Me:** nah I don’t even watch p**n fr **Tyler:** cap. Everyone watches p**n. What u beat it to then? The cursor blinked. I stared at it for a solid ten seconds.

My father looked oblivious, staring at me blankly. "Well, well, well. Now, who is this munchkin that looks so edible? Terry Halls, you’ve got a daughter?" That was Tyler Perry. He was sitting with his legs crossed, flanked by three tough-looking men in black suits. He wore a black hat and dark shades, sporting a strangely innocent smile. His muscles were evident beneath his clothes, and his face radiated dominance and danger. He stood and walked toward me with a predatory grace. He was about six feet tall with an overwhelming aura. He looked young; maybe twenty-eight.

“That guy by the speakers is Eden. Top scorer for Toronto, completely full of himself. The guy in the grey shirt is Derrick, he's quiet but he's a piece of shit.” My eyes bypassed both of them, drifting out toward the glass doors where the outdoor pool was. Standing right by the edge of the water, chilling with a beer in his hand, was a guy in a black leather jacket. He had a brooding aura, but he was the closest thing to Tyler's handsomeness in the entire house. I nudged Joffery’s shoulder. “What about that guy? In the jacket.” Joffery looked over, and scoffed, shaking his head. “Hell no. That’s Justin. Tyler hates the absolute shit out of him.”

"You feel uhm-" Tyler did. And like i said, he knew exactly what to say. "Zach. Your book-" Tyler's eyes suddenly widened by an idea. "Harry Jayson Moore. Moore, your book" He started as Zach turned to him. "You were right, i never understood it but then you left and i checked him out, on Google. At least I understand that-" He paused. "You did?" Zach asked. "Jayson Moore. The Rockstar stroke amazing gamer. Well the one that died a year ago, just to sure we're talking about the same person-" Tyler added and you could tell the unease drifted slowly from Zachary's void eyes.

He wasn't drunk last night and it only infuriated me more that he made me think we had sex, he even made me say it out loud. “So, Ren,” the guy named Justin spoke while I sipped my black coffee. One by one, the football team left and there were only my friends; Natalie, Coleen, and two of Knox's mates who lived with him in this penthouse. Jeremy and Tara left early last night and I only found their messages on my phone. “What's the real score between you and that playboy billionaire Devin?” I choked on my coffee, Natalie giggled while Coleen rubbed my back. I leaned on her while glaring at Natalie when I gathered myself together. “We dated before and we're just friends now.”

I told him. "Nearing the end of senior year, I dated this dude, Tyler. It was nice at first but after the first month, it became so terrible. I don't know why I even dated that asshole. He smoked and drank all the time, he partied way too much, he was just too friendly with other girls. He was such a douche." I shook my head then chuckled humorlessly, "I-I don't even know why I'm telling you all this, sorry." Dean looked at me and pushed loosed hair that had fallen out of the ponytail behind my ear, "I love watching you talk."