"Well, I'm sorry that I'm 'acting weird,' but that's just not something I can help."
"Could you explain it to me, then?"
He scoffed. "That's a crappy idea."
"Why?"
"Because it just is," he said back. "Now, can I go? Or do you want to keep dragging this conversation out?"
Hurt, I just turned around and started walking towards the stairs that led to Dallas's loft, hearing the car door shut behind me.
And then I heard footsteps, and felt a hand on my arm.
"Look, I'm sorry," Noah said, turning me to face him. "It's just . . ." he sighed. "I don't know what's going on with me, okay? My head's all over the place."
"Why?"
He smiled softly. "I'm looking at the answer," he commented smoothly.
"Me?"
"Yeah, you. I just spent a whole day losing my mind at the idea of you going off with some guy, Claire, and I don't know what the hell that means."
I started to say something, but pressed my lips together. He noticed.
"What?" he asked. "What were you about to say?"
"Nothing," I answered.
He narrowed his eyes. "Come on, Champagne, I can take it. Just tell me."
I sighed, gathering up my courage. "I think you're jealous, and that you know exactly what it means to feel jealous, but you're too scared to confront your feelings for me so you keep pushing me away."
I held my breath, worried that all of my overanalyzing and obsessing over his every little move the past month had led me to the wrong conclusion.
He stared at me, assessing me with his arms crossed. I was just about to start praying that the ground would open up and swallow me whole when he started laughing.
"What?" I asked.
"Am I really that transparent?" he asked, sobering from his laughter.
"Wait, so I was right?" I was shocked.
He nodded, taking a step closer. "Yep. You were right."
"Oh, okay, um, so . . . what do we do now?" I asked awkwardly.
He breathed out another laugh. "All the things I wanna do are bad, so you're gonna have to answer that."
"'Bad?'"
He fixed me with a heated look, nodding. "Bad."
"Oh," I looked elsewhere, down at my feet. "Well, what can we do? It's, um, messy if we start anything, considering we work together and stuff," I told him. "But," I met his eyes again, my heart in my throat, "I'm okay with messy."
His eyes widened a fraction, a pleased smile finding its way to his lips. "Claire Champagne is 'okay with messy,'" he mused to himself. "Baby, I don't think you understand what kind of messy this is." He motioned in between us.
"I understand," I told him.
He shook his head. "Claire, you're not the type of girl a guy like me should be getting involved with."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not a boyfriend type, remember? I don't do that kind of crap, and you're the type of girl that would want that crap."
"I can do without it," I answered quickly.
"Don't kid yourself, Claire," he said lightheartedly. "We both know that's not what you really want."