David Darrow was a man’s man in every sense of the word. Masculine with each brush of his calloused fingers through his lush jet black hair and a steady grace as he lifted a glass filled with an amber whiskey to his full lips barricaded within the extent of dark thick stubble. But the true testament to his brawny nature had been that of which he spoke of, or more specifically how he spoke of them. These topics included hunting, drinking,and of course, women. But as he addressed his affairs with upcoming starlets and even women whose names were on the lips of every housewife from California to New York with envy, he had done so in a way that left behind a trail of class and mystery. He only ever spoke of the romance behind these moments as opposed to the carnal nature expected from male-exc
