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“Let it out,” he murmured into my hair, ignoring the wet mess I was leaving on his chest as he stroked the back of my head. “It’s okay, sweet girl. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”
“Woman,” I corrected, my voice hoarse against his chest.
He paused, holding his hands still in my hair and against my back. “Sweet woman, I promise, it’s going to be okay,” he corrected himself, starting the soothing motions once again.
I nodded against his shirt, letting his deep and raspy voice wash over me. Even if the comfort was temporary, it was a welcome reprieve from the emotional roller coaster of the past few hours.
“What’s your flight?” he asked, his voice soft and gentle.
Did people really memorize their flight numbers? I pulled away from him to rummage through my tote for my phone. He kept one hand pressed into my back, centering and steadying me.
With a swipe of my thumb, I pulled up my boarding pass. A notice that my flight was delayed by another two hours flashed in bright red at the top of the app. Dammit. I exhaled with an aggrieved puff of my cheeks.
He took my hand in his, angling it until he could see the screen. “Hm.”
I sniffed and tried to step away from him, but he stopped me, firmly wrapping his arm around my waist.
“Thanks for letting me cry on your shirt. I’m going to go hide in a corner where I don’t have to face anyone until my flight.”
“Sit,” he said, pulling out a chair.
I raised an eyebrow. “Does that usually work for you?”
He raised an eyebrow right back at me, looking at me the same way my father did when I was being disrespectful as a kid. “I said, sit.”
To my complete and utter surprise, I did.
Talk, dark, and handsome called the waitress back over. “Any dietary restrictions?” he asked from where he stood behind me, a hand on my shoulder, as if he was worried I might flee at any moment.
I shook my head in the negative.
“She’ll have a BLT and a sparkling water,” he ordered for me, before spinning his chair around and sitting backward in it, leaning his arms on the back. The waitress flicked her eyes to me, and I shrugged. Why the hell not?
“I’m Piper,” I introduced myself, attempting to regain some control over the situation.
Tall, blond, and handsome leaned in from across the table and took my hands in his. “I’m James.” His hands were warm, more calloused than I expected, and covered in scars. My eyes flicked to where his wrists disappeared into his shirt cuffs, at the tattoos peaking out. When I licked my lips, James’ gaze focused on my mouth. Heat shot through me. It wasn’t the humiliating heat of misery and embarrassment from the past few hours, but pure unadulterated need. When he met my gaze again, his eyes were hooded and dark with desire.
No, that wasn’t what I needed right now. I turned to my left and cocked an eyebrow at the man sprawled there. He, too, was beautiful. What were these men doing here, sitting with me, watching me cry my freaking eyes out over my asshole fiancé—my asshole ex-fiancé?
The third man leaned forward, his deep brown skin a sharp contrast to his crisp white shirt. A woman could drown in those liquid brown eyes. They were almost hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses that reflected the harsh fluorescent lights of the airport.
“My name is Ibrahim,” he said, his voice low and languid. We stared at each other, the intensity of his gaze taking my breath away. “He’s right, you know.”
I tilted my head to the side, not sure what he meant.
Ibrahim took my left hand in his. He rubbed his thumb back and forth across my knuckles, both comforting me and ratcheting up the tension between us. “It’s going to be okay, whatever it is.”
I snatched my hand back so I could press it against my eyes to stop the tears once again threatening to spill over. Not that it mattered. No doubt my tears had already smeared my make-up down my face, my eyes were red, and my cheeks were blotchy after I’d cried my heart out on tall, dark, and handsome’s designer suit. Ugh.
Tall, dark, and handsome shushed me, once again rubbing his hand in circles over my lower back. “I’m Benedict. We’re on our way to DC.”
I sniffled. “I’m from DC, coming from Atlanta, heading to LA.”
“What’s in LA?” he asked.
“My parents.”
“And Atlanta?”
