Page 25 of Faking the Goal

I march toward the flowers.

This has to be the sixth bouquet by now. Maybe seventh. I've honestly stopped counting. Whoever keeps sending the damn things is getting increasingly committed to a prank that stopped being funny somewhere around bouquet number two.

It's always the same dark maroon dahlias. Always left somewhere I'll find them. Always a card with my name and absolutely no indication of who sent it.

Just increasingly weird little messages.

I miss you.

Can we meet?

Are you mad at me?

Why can't you see how much I like you?

And every single time, I've thrown the flowers away and ignored the note.

Apparently Creepy Florist hasn't taken the fucking hint.

I snatch the bouquet off the floor and yank the card from between the stems.

"Let's see what romantic masterpiece we've got tonight."

I flip it over, expecting another one of those stupid little messages, but the words staring back at me quickly wipe the sarcasm from my face.

How many times are you going to ignore me?

Did I really mean so little to you? I know you felt something between us too.

Stop pretending I meant nothing and talk to me.

I'm trying to be patient with you.

But you won't be able to ignore me much longer.

If you won't come to me, I'll come find you.

I read the note once.

Then again, slower this time, because what the actual fuck?

Did I really mean so little to you? I know you felt something between us too.

My brows pull together as I stare at the words.

Is this from someone I've slept with?

That's the only explanation that makes any sense. Maybe one of my old hookups got attached and I didn't notice. It wouldn't exactly be the first time a guy wanted something more after we'd fucked a few times, but I've always been upfront about what I want.

I try to think back through the guys I've hooked up with recently, searching for anyone who might've hinted at wanting more. There's Corey. Leo. Oliver. A few others whose names I can't even fucking remember right now. But the more faces I run through, the more confused I get. None of them strike me as the anonymous-flowers-and-creepy-love-notes type.

Then again, how well do I actually know any of them?

Fuck.

So who the hell is doing this?

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