I say with an eyebrow raised.
“My reception sucks in here. I hope it wasn’t anything important,” he says.
“Not really. My car just broke down on the way here, and I was stranded, which is why I’m late.”
“Ah, shit. I’m sorry. Is everything okay now?”
“Yeah, everything’s peachy,” I answer in a mocking tone.
“Hey, let me buy you a drink. I know it won’t make up for it, but it will at least calm the nerves,” he says, placing his hand on my arm.
I laugh, showing him the Sharpie X on my hand and shrug. “I’ve been branded.”
“Don’t tell me that’s really going to stop you.”
I flash him a mischievous smile. “Probably not, no.”
He grins. “Pumpkin ale? They have it on draft.”
“Sure, what the hell.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he responds, taking the sheriff’s jacket off my hands before he drifts into the crowd toward the bar.
When I hear the band queuing up for their next song, I wade through the sea of people in the direction of the stage. The closer I get to it, the more I notice that a lot of people are wearing those red reaper costumes. They all look like members of some creepy cult.
I laugh to myself when I notice Alex and her band mates wearing the same skeleton spandex outfits they did at Gunnar’s party. I bet Alex fought tooth and nail not to wear that out in public again. I’m relieved to see her having fun on stage and not in any danger. I try to yell out her name to get her attention, but the beginning of the song drowns out my voice.
Looking around at the crowd, I see I’ve been completely surrounded by people dressed in those hoodies. It’s like I’m being walled in by them and they’re closing in on me. I’m not usually claustrophobic, but the heat from all their bodies is beginning to have an effect on me. Not to mention their getup is giving a serious case of the wiggins.
I back up and a few people fill in the space I leave in front of me. I continue to move back, squirming my way through the mass of bodies that has corralled around the stage. Bumping into someone, I stop and begin to turn around to apologize, but the person grabs me by the waist and pulls me into their arms.
“Easy, Dani. It’s just me.” I hear the person’s muffled voice as I’m presented with a cup of beer. It sounds like Parker, but I can’t see his face because he has his mask pulled down. He begins to sway back and forth to the music, not quite matching the rhythm of the song.
“Why are you wearing that, Parker?” I ask, taking the drink from his hand.
“Don’t you like it?” he inquires, beginning to feel around my waist, leading down to my right leg. He’s definitely not being shy right now.
“Seriously, Parker?” I ask, moving his hand away when it gets dangerously close to my inner thigh. I feel him tense after my rejection, releasing a breathy groan close to my ear.
His hands come up and clasp gently around my shoulders. “You’re killing me in that outfit. You know that?”
“Quit being so dramatic. And I thought we were slowing things down.”
“I didn’t agree to that,” he says, sliding his gloved fingers gently up and down my neck.
I can’t lie and say I hate this feeling, because I don’t. I just dislike that we’re in public, causing me to feel quite exposed and a little dirty. The moment he starts maneuvering those digits down my shirt, I smack his hand.
“Parker, what’s gotten into you?” I start to turn my head, but he stops me, forcing me to keep looking forward. His grip is tight around my neck and chin as he grinds his pelvis hard into me. I release a small moan and want to pull away, but feel incapacitated.
“Parker, you’re hurting me,” I whine under the pressure of his hand. My breathing becomes labored as he puts more force into his grip, squeezing my windpipe. I start to feel lightheaded from the restricted airflow, and my drink slips from my fingers as they go numb. As it crashes onto the floor, I grab for Parker’s hand and try with all my might to tear it away from my throat.
“I’m not Parker,” he whispers. The music and crowd noise are muffled, but I hear his voice clearly right next to my ear. “Do you think this is how Mr.