Page 27 of Playing with Forever (Players Club Sinners #1)

Andrea

I ordered my lunch from Grubhub, instead of leaving work to go out and get something to eat.

I knew that was a bit paranoid of me after all that I’d lectured Chase, but I knew in my heart that even if he was being overly protective, he was right.

Something was wrong. I wasn’t going to take the chance that walking down the street to grab a sandwich was what doomed me.

When I received the text that my order had arrived I went downstairs to retrieve it. The security guy at the lobby desk smiled tentatively. He must’ve heard about the dressing down Chase had given his co-worker yesterday.

“Got your things right here, Andrea,” he said.

I frowned. “Things?”

“Your food and the flowers.”

Flowers? I turned and there in a lovely crystal vase was a bouquet of lilies.

There was a florist card tucked in the foliage that only said for Andrea .

No name of who’d sent them, no other note.

Chase didn’t strike me as a hearts and flowers type of guy, and even so he would have signed the card had he sent them to me.

A chill slithered down my spine. It could be a total fluke, but…I had one single tattoo, on my shoulder, that I had gotten in memory of my mother. It was three lilies tied together by a ribbon, representing my mom, Madison, and me. Lilies had been my mom’s favorite flower.

It could be a coincidence but…I couldn’t help but feel the choice had been deliberate.

Which meant that whoever had sent me these flowers knew me well enough to have noticed my tattoo, and knew about it.

That didn’t narrow down the list too much since it could be seen whenever I wore a dress or a top that revealed my shoulders …

but it was still narrowing it down enough that it made my stomach churn.

Of course, my first thought went to Heath, who’d seen the tattoo up close and personal many times.

“Thank you,” I said to the guard, gathering up my delivery bag and the vase.

I took the flowers up to my desk and hid them underneath, near my feet, so nobody could see them and question me about my “admirer. I was glad it was lunch time so almost everyone else was in the break room or had run out to get their own meal.

It was a struggle to eat my lunch, but I made myself. I knew if I didn’t I’d just be sick with nerves and sick with hunger later.

When Chase arrived to pick me up after work, I told him to come up to my office and get me.

“Everything okay?” he asked, concern etching his features as he walked up to my desk.

He looked so handsome, but more than that, he looked steady. Alert. Prepared. Someone who would never let me get hurt. I clung to that. “I got these today.”

I showed him the flowers and unsigned card, and mentioned the correlation to my lily tattoo.

Chase’s jaw clenched. “I agree, this is most likely someone who knows you pretty well, rather than a random stalker, and is probably from the person who slashed your tire.”

“It could be someone who heard about the tire and wanted to make me feel better,” I said, clearly grasping at straws so I didn’t have to think about the worst case scenario.

He arched a dubious brow. “If it was, they would’ve said so in the note.”

I knew he was right. I just didn’t want to entertain the idea that this person was escalating.

The difference between the slashed tire and the flowers disconcerted me, too.

It was like hot and cold. The type of person who would give you a ton of affection one moment, love bomb you, and then whip around and hurt you in some way.

“Let me take the flowers, and I’ll check out the florist, see what I can find,” Chase said, picking up the vase so I didn’t have to carry it to the car. “I’ll drop you back at my place on the way, so you don’t have to deal with it.”

I nodded, relieved and grateful. “Thank you.” It felt like there was a net closing in around me but I couldn’t see where it was, or who was pulling it tight to trap me.

The drive to Chase’s condo was quiet. He made sure I was settled before he left to do his investigating, and I realized I was more anxious than I cared to admit. I needed something to take my mind off things while he was gone.

I changed out of my work attire and into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top, and since I had this big place with a glorious kitchen all to myself, I came up with an idea.

Chase seemed to enjoy the breakfast I made for him this morning, so why not make us dinner?

When I went to throw some stuff away in his kitchen trash, I’d seen nothing but takeout boxes, and his fridge and freezer had only a few ready-made meals.

I scoured his pantry, surprised to find an unopened box of penne pasta, canned chicken breast, and cream of chicken soup, along with frozen vegetables in his freezer, and shredded cheese in the fridge. Enough to make a chicken noodle casserole.

Growing up as poor as we’d been, my sister and I had learned to take the most basic of ingredients and make them into something savory and edible.

In fact, it had become a game between us…

who could create the cheapest, best tasting meal with the least ingredients.

This casserole had been one of our favorites.

It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was the equivalent of comfort food, which I suspected both Chase and I could use right now.

Pleased with my plan, I boiled the pasta, then mixed everything else together and layered it into a metal pan I’d found in one of the lower cupboards, then popped it into the oven, timed for forty-five minutes.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t expected that Chase’s fancy kitchen with all the weird buttons on the appliances would have some surprises in store for me.

Everything was so sleek in black and chrome, all the buttons activated by touch rather than being physical buttons and dials like I was used to.

I didn’t suspect anything was wrong, though, not until I smelled something burning way, way too soon and realized I’d turned on the broiler instead of the oven.

“Shit!” I yelled, grabbing a magazine about muscle cars from the coffee table in the living room and waving it back and forth in the kitchen to disperse the smoke so that the ceiling alarm wouldn’t go off.

I heard the front door open, then Chase call out, “Uh, Andrea?”

“Don’t worry, nobody’s dead!” I assured him, trying to make light of the situation.

Grabbing two mitts, I yanked open the oven and retrieved the casserole, now blackened and burnt to a crisp on top—completely unsalvageable. A lump formed in my throat and I realized with horror I was in danger of crying.

“It’s just the chicken noodle casserole I was making for dinner.”

I thought Chase would be annoyed with me—I did just burn something in his oven and his place now reeked of smoke—but instead he laughed and went to open the windows to help clear out the awful smell.

“Sorry, the damn contraption’s more complicated than it should be, I know,” he said, seemingly unconcerned. “I barely use the oven. I probably would burn something too.”

“I turned on the broiler rather than the oven,” I said, unable to keep the distress out of my voice. “I’m so sorry, I hope the pan isn’t ruined.” The edges were singed with sauce and cheese.

“If it is then I can buy another pan, not that I can recall when or if I’d ever even used that one.

” Chase leaned against the counter as I put the pan in the sink.

“I’m sorry to tell you this but the florist was a dead end.

The order was placed online with their website and paid for by a gift card. ”

I nodded, prying the casserole—which was charred through a couple of layers—out of the pan and throwing it into the trash. My stomach twisted at the thought of wasting so much food. My vision blurred and I did my best to swallow back my dismay.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Chase continued, completely unaware of how upset I was.

“It’s concerning that it was done this way.

It means this person is smart enough to know that someone might try and track them through their credit cards, or check to see if the florist has video surveillance in their shop.

And it also means the person has probably done this, or something like it, before.

Enough to be aware of some of the pitfalls. ”

I nodded again, because my throat was too tight to speak. I knew I should care about what he’d discovered, and I did, but I was too busy caring about this stupid casserole. I could probably salvage the metal pan if I left it to soak…but, fuck, all that food wasted…

Chase laid a hand on my arm. “Hey, Andrea. Look at me?”

Shit. I couldn’t. I knew if I did I would do something embarrassing like cry.

Chase’s other hand came up to grasp my chin and gently lift my face up to his. I couldn’t help it, my vision swam with more tears. The stress and fear of everything going on right now in my life, now compounded by this…

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay. I’ll keep you safe,” Chase promised, misinterpreting my reaction. “Nobody will hurt you. I promise.”

I shook my head. “I’m—it’s—” I gestured uselessly at the inedible casserole in the trash.

Chase frowned. “The food?” He sounded completely confused.

“I’m sorry.” I wiped at my cheeks as tears fell and tried to explain. “I know it’s probably ridiculous to you, but we never had enough money growing up. Madison had to work her ass off for us to afford groceries and the idea of wasting food, because I was so careless, is just—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Chase tugged me against his chest and held me tight.

I sank against him and felt how solid he was. His warm, strong arms around me was grounding, like a weighted blanket.

His hand gently stroked over my hair. “You don’t need to apologize.”

I gave a harsh, wobbly laugh and pulled back just enough to look up at his face. “You’ve been in literal war and I’m traumatized over a burnt casserole.”