Trashed by Jasinda Wilder Page B

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.
    He’s beautiful, yes, and his eyes are vibrantly blue and he’s lean and toned and breezily confident in the way of a guy who’s always been popular and who’s always had everything come easily to him.  
    I find myself much preferring Adam’s enormous, masculine, animalistic intensity, his brawny bulk, and his quiet self-assurance.  
    The song ends, and Adam swiftly reclaims his place, and this time his body is hard against mine, almost inappropriately close, and his hand is dangerously low on my back, resting barely an inch above the swell of my buttocks.  
    “Fuckin’ pretty boy,” Adam growls. “He’s an ass.”
    I laugh. “Not really. He’s nice. Cute, and eager.”
    “Cute and eager, huh?” A smile quirks the corner of his mouth.
    “Did you know he’s the co-creator and lead writer for Shifters ?” I try to mimic Dylan’s excited tone.
    Adam laughs out loud. “Yeah. That’s him.” His eyes are suddenly leaf-green spears of heat. “You ready to get out of here?”
    I nod. “Absolutely.”  
    Something thrills through me at the way Adam ushers me out of the small ballroom, waving goodbye to Rose and Gareth and a few others. He’s eager to be gone, his hand on my back keeps me moving, his big body shielding me from the paparazzi as we board an elevator.

Chapter 6

    I just can’t handle it