Right on cue, Noemi’s eyes filled up with tears. She twisted her hands in front of her while she worried her lip with her top teeth. It made him want to sink his teeth there and bite her hard until she screamed. Were her nails sharp enough to break through his skin if she clawed his back? His cock really wanted to find out. Okay, maybe his balls were in on that desire too.
He was just damn thankful that Noemi was distracted with her car and wasn’t looking down at the huge bulge in his jeans that he couldn’t exactly adjust because the damn thing was way too tight. He’d thought they were uncomfortable even before his cock swelled to epic proportions.
Time to dial up the charm. “Please don’t do that,” he said in his most soothing voice. “Don’t cry. It’s fine. Your car is fine. My car is fine. There isn’t even a scratch. We don’t even have to exchange info.” He paused, letting that sink in but Noemi played right into his hands and burst into big, wet, noisy sobs.
Yeah. She went into what teenage girls liked to define on the innerweb as full on ugly crying.
Big wet tears roll down Noemi’s cheeks even though she balled her hands into fists and pressed them into her eyes to try and staunch the flow. They kept on coming. Her shoulders heaved with shuddery sobs and her nostrils flared.
“H-hey…” Her bursting into tears and needing a shoulder to cry on might play right into his nefarious cards but god, he was shit at trying to comfort women when it came to tears. Byron reached out and gently set his fingers- just the fingers, not his hand- on her shoulder so that she didn’t get the wrong idea. “You look like you could use a friend.”
Noemi swiped hard at her eyes like she was furious with herself for giving in to the temptation to cry. “W-what makes you think that?” She stared back at him with watery, red-rimmed eyes.
He couldn’t help but notice a stray trail of snot leaking from her left nostril. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him because while he obviously didn’t find it attractive, he wasn’t exactly disgusted either.
“I don’t know. You might have a lost look about you. And you’re crying over a tiny tap at a stop sign when neither car is damaged. Crying like there might be a meteor speeding towards earth, about to strike at any second but…” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Last time I checked, there weren’t any reports about world-ending space catastrophes, so it must be something else.” He slowly raised a brow while Noemi sniffed. “Want to talk about it? There’s a nice place down the street that has good breakfast specials.”
To his surprise, Noemi swiped at her eyes one more time and let out a tiny laugh, but it was genuine. “No thanks. I think the universe has an unspoken rule about spilling depressing life stuff with strangers.”
Byron shrugged. He dug the toe of his newly purchased black industrial-looking boot into the dirt. The things were uncomfortable as hell, but when it came to stores in a resort town, hiking boots and riding boots were pretty much the only options, just like plaid seemed to be the town’s unofficial uniform of choice.
“I seriously don’t mind. You are new to town? I don’t remember seeing you before.”
“Yeah,” Noemi admitted, too easily. She was far too nice, and it could get her into trouble. “I am actually. I- I don’t know anyone here. The move- it’s been- everything… it’s been overwhelming. Sorry. I didn’t mean to stand here and break down like a bawl bag. You must think I’m crazy.”
“Nope.” What he thought was that there was something wrong with his stomach because when he thought about Noemi racing halfway across the country, bawling in the street on the verge of a meltdown, and her being far too trusting with strange men, something in his lower belly cramped hard. It felt a little like he’d just tried to digest an old leather boot. “I don’t think you’re crazy. Life just gets hard sometimes. Please. Let me take you for breakfast. I don’t know of anything that a good stack of waffles with whipped cream and berries couldn’t fix.”
He hated whipped cream and he had no idea if the diner he’d spotted the day before with the black and white checkered canopy and the flashing old school lights lining a sign that proclaimed they did all day breakfast, actually had waffles, but it was resort town for god sakes and he was willing to bet a fifties looking diner probably had something close. Just to be safe, he tacked on another version of temptation.
“Or a milkshake? Greasy fries with thick gravy that will be sure to clog your arteries?”