“Two Labatts,” Adam growls, tossing a twenty-dollar bill on the bar.
He drags me into a corner of the room, guides me to a seat on a couch, then sits beside me and tucks me against his side. He’s huge and solid and real, and his arm is curled around me, and now everything is crashing down around me, in me, on me. Everything Rose told me, how out of place I felt, how out of place I am.
A cold bottle is pressed into my hand, and I take a long gulp, breathe, and then take another. Finally, I look at Adam. “Why am I here, Adam? What were you thinking? I don’t belong here. Everyone can tell what a fish out of water I am.”
“Fucking Rose. She doesn’t mean to be mean, she just doesn’t have a filter. She says whatever she’s thinking, regardless of whether it’s a good idea or not.”
“She was right though. I look as out of place as I feel: cheap. Cheap dress, cheap shoes, cheap makeup. I’m…” I swallow hard and start over. “And she said reporters would come looking for me. What am I supposed to do, Adam? God. And the whole thing with you and Emma Hayes?”
“We’re not talking about her.” He says this with a cold note of finality, and then sighs wearily. “The media’s going to speculate regardless. They always have and always will. I don’t care what they say. Just don’t answer them. Don’t look at them. Pretend they don’t exist.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re used to it.”
“You never get used to it,” he says. “Maybe I didn’t think through what this might mean for you, I guess. I’m sorry.”
“Can I go home, now?” I say, only half-joking.
“I’ll take you back if you want, but…I’m hoping maybe you’ll stay for at least one dance.”
“Dance?” I glance at him over the mouth of my beer, which is somehow almost gone already.
“Yeah. After dessert, which I think they’re serving after Gareth quits running his mouth.”
“Maybe one dance. Can’t get all dressed up and not dance, right?”
He grins at me, and drains his bottle in two long pulls. “Right.”
I finish mine as well, and he leads me back into the dining room. I feel the eyes on me, and I try to keep my back straight and my head high. There’s a plate of delicate-looking chocolate mousse waiting for me, and thank god for that. I force myself to take small, demure, lady-like nibbles of it, even though I want to gulp it down greedily.
Couples and groups are filtering out of the dining room, and Adam leads me with them, his huge warm hand engulfing mine. We make our way to a ballroom, a small, intimate room with a parquet dance floor and a stage surrounded by round tables.
There’s a string quartet on the stage, all middle-aged men in tuxedos. They’re already playing, and a few couples are dancing. Adam pulls me onto the dance floor, wraps one large hand across the small of my back and tangles the fingers of his other hand through mine, and we’re slow dancing. His body is huge and his pale green eyes are hot and intense and focused entirely on me. Everything falls away, then, except Adam and the music.
We spin slowly, our bodies pressed close together. I can feel his chest swelling with each breath, the faint tum-tum—tum-tum of his heart beating, and his shoulder is a broad slab under my left hand. I don’t really know how to dance, but this is slow dancing, just easy circles, step, step, step. Around us, a few people are doing more elaborate waltz steps, dips and twirls and things, but Adam seems content to just step-pivot-step with me. Which is fine. It gives me a chance to catch my breath, to push away the swirling doubts and fears.
And then I feel Adam stiffen.
“Can I cut in?” The voice is smooth, boyish.
A pair of amused, roguish blue eyes meet mine. Dylan Vale wants to dance with me? Gah. Ruthie is going to lose her shit when I tell her this.
“Piss off, Dylan,” Adam growls.
Dylan just laughs. “Aw, c’mon Trenton. You can’t keep a gorgeous girl like this to yourself all night, you know.”
Adams looks down at me. “Go dance with Rose.”
“I have been.” He winks, making it a lewd insinuation. “It’s just one dance, dude. I’ll give her right back.”
Once again, I’m trapped by circumstance, forced to brave when I don’t feel very courageous. “It’s okay, Adam. It would be my pleasure to dance with Dylan.”
Adam’s eyes narrow. “Just one.”
Dylan slaps Adam on the back companionably. “Loosen up, man.”
And then Dylan’s hand is in mine, another on my waist. He’s maybe an inch taller than me, although with my heels on I have a slight edge on him. His blue eyes are speculative, intelligent. He moves gracefully, leading me in faster circles than Adam did. There are a few inches between us, and nothing about his posture or demeanor makes me think this is anything other than a friendly gesture.
“So. Your name is Des, right?”
I nod. “Yep.” I’m not sure where to go with that, conversationally. “And you’re Dylan.”
He grins. “That’s me. Seen the show?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not really my thing. My roommate raves about it though.” I let a small smile touch my lips. “Well, more about you than the show, if I’m being honest.”
“Not really your thing, huh?” He doesn’t seem insulted, and doesn’t acknowledge my compliment.
I shrug. “Vampires or whatever, zombies, that kind of thing, no.”
He claps a hand to his chest dramatically. “I’m wounded. It’s not vampires or whatever, Des. It’s shapeshifters. Big difference.”
I laugh. “Okay, fine. Shapeshifters, then. Still not my thing. Mythical creatures do not interest me. No offense.”
“Well, I can’t take too much offense, I suppose. I mean, I’m just a co-creator and lead writer. No big deal.”
“I didn’t know that. I thought you just acted in it.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I was a writer before I was an actor.”
I can’t help but feel amused. He’s so unlike Adam it’s shocking. Adam seems reticent to talk about work, eager to downplay his success and fame. Dylan, on the other hand, spends the entire dance talking about the show, about how he and Ed Monighan wrote it together and pitched it, and how the studio demanded to see him audition for the lead, over his protests that he wasn’t an actor, of course. It’s not exactly arrogance exuding from Dylan, just…eagerness. Excitement. And it’s a little nerdy. Cute, endearing, and slightly annoying.