"He wouldn't dare step on these shoes. They're Manolos," Jessica says, and while Myer knows the name--and the price tag--he doubts Adam does, or cares. He knows only because he's learned that girls are much more appreciative when one pays attention to and comments on what they wear and the significance of certain names. Jessica's not a bubblehead whose only interest is fashion--he wouldn't be dating her if she wasn't smart and sharp enough to keep his attention--but she does like it when he notices how she looks, what she wears. It's a small enough investment of time that pays off quite well for him in other areas.
"Now I feel compelled to do it out of sheer spite," Myer says, and slips his arm around her slim waist, preparatory to leading her out onto the dance floor. He'll talk with Jessica, see what she knows about Delilah, if anything. If he thinks it's something that should be looked after, he'll slip away and make a discreet phone call or two after suggesting that Jessica have a dance with Adam to keep him occupied and away from the swill in the punch bowl. It isn't as if she'd mind; she likes him.
Would he do this for anyone outside the group? No--he has a vested interest in the people in his group, so he's willing to expend a bit of effort on their behalf--whether they're aware of it or not. He prefers not--if people begin to expect things, they'll continue to do so, and there's no need to set a precedence.
"I don't know why I put up with you," Jessica says, but it's more flirty than complaining.
A slow smile stretches Myer's mouth. "Oh yes, you do," he replies, and is gratified to see color chase across her cheeks before she tugs him out onto the dance floor, to something that begins slow and bluesy, unlike the tripe of before.