“Let me try.”

“I grabbed the sides of the machine and tried to shake it. No dice. Then I kicked it. Still nothing.I glared at the machine. “Let them out.” I punctuated my statement with a few more useless kicks.“You have an anger-management problem.”I whipped around at the sound of the warm, lilting British accent behind me.”

“Let me guess. A certain unkempt bastard with a panty-dropping smile?”

“Noah shifted on the bed, and the oddest crunching sound came underneath him. I looked, really looked, at the bed for the first time."What," I asked slowly, as I eyed the animal crackers strewn all over it, "the hell?""You were convinced they were your pets," Noah said, not even trying to suppress his laughter. "You wouldn't let me touch them.”

“Yes!” He wrapped both arms around me, but when I tried to do the same he jumped away. “Watch the suit,” he said, glaring. Oh, boy.”

“You like me,” he finally said. “You like me, like me.” He was trying not to smile.“No. I hate you,” I said, hoping that saying it would make it so.“And yet, you draw me.” Noah was still smug, completely undeterred by my declaration.This was torture; worse somehow than what just happened, even though it was only the two of us. Or because it was only the two of us.“Why?” he asked.“Why what?” What could I say? Noah, despite you being an asshole, or maybe because of it, I’d like to rip off your clothes and have your babies. Don’t tell.”

“You're the girl who called me an asshole the first time we spoke. The girl who tried to pay for lunch even after you learned I have more money than God. You're the girl who risked her ass to save a dying dog, who makes my chest ache whether you're wearing green silk or ripped jeans. You're the girl that I--" Noah stopped, then took a step closer to me. "You are my girl.”