The List

by Alice Ward

  A laugh burst out of me. “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I don’t believe you. You just said he was a player.”

  “And he likely is. Look, I know it doesn’t sound like me but don’t you think it’s time?”

  I played dumb and just stared back at her.

  “It’s been four weeks since I had sex, and I’m about to go crazy. I can only imagine what it’s like for you.”

  “It wouldn’t be worth it.” I delivered the words with a resoluteness, though deep down, I still wasn’t so sure.

  “I got ya. You’re right. Okay, then, let’s find you someone else.”

  I groaned. “No. Right now, I just want to go home, take a bath, and forget men even exist.”

  Except I couldn’t. Once home, Ann-Marie disappeared into her room and turned the radio up loud. She was probably slightly upset that we left the club, even though she promised we would go the second one of us wanted to. I swore to myself I’d make it up to her with a visit to the chocolate restaurant and went into the bathroom to draw a bath.

  It was too warm for a piping hot bath, but I took it anyway. Gripping the edge of the tub, I eased myself down into the water. The steam wrapped around me and purged me of my worries. Finally, I could relax. With a sigh, I leaned back and stretched out.

  But all I saw was Xavier. His gray eyes and grim mouth. We were at a club having fun, but there was still something so serious about him. It scared me. Thrilled me. Drew me to him.

  And ultimately pushed me away.

  He was probably on to the next girl five minutes after I’d left Enigma. I figured I should count myself lucky for dodging such a bullet. If I had gone home with him, the night might have been an amazing one, but it probably would have ended there. I was a shy, awkward geek who preferred a night spent baking cupcakes and watching reruns of nineties sitcoms to going out and flirting. Xavier, however? He had a body that looked like it was chiseled out of stone. With a face to match and more money than he could ever need, women probably threw themselves at him on a regular basis.

  Which is why he wouldn’t have a need to spend a second night with any of them.

  But maybe it would have been worth it. Maybe just that one night would have made me happy.

  I couldn’t keep the pestering thoughts at bay. I hit the drain and got out of the tub while the water was still warm. Ann-Marie was still in her bedroom, but the music was off. I crept to my bedroom, got dressed for bed and set my clothes out for my shift the next day. I set the alarm on my phone, and without really thinking about it, found myself opening Instagram.

  But it wasn’t my feed I ended up browsing. It was my own posts. I laid on my back in bed and found my uploads from over a year before. It was masochistic, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  Eighteen months before, ninety percent of my Instagram posts revolved around one topic: my relationship. It was all Jesse, Jesse, Jesse. Me and Jesse on the ferry. Me and Jesse getting frozen yogurt. Me and Jesse at his family’s cabin in the Poconos. In each photo, he grinned at the camera, gorgeous with his sandy blond hair and deep-set dimples. Looking back, I almost felt sorry for myself. Maybe I was obsessed with our relationship, enamored to an unhealthy degree with the best boyfriend I’d ever had.

  Because when he left, things were bad for me. Really bad. I fell into a month-long depression. Maybe if I had been a little more objective about our relationship, admitted that we might not be forever, I would have been able to deal with the fallout.

  But that wasn’t me. That had never been me.

  And that was how I knew I couldn’t do a one-night stand. Even the drunken hookup with my coworker messed me up, and I wasn’t into the guy. I just had this tendency to get attached. Hard.

  I plugged my phone in to charge and turned off all the lights but the salt lamp in the corner. Back in bed, I rolled onto my side and stared at the familiar glow as I fell asleep.

  I did the right thing, I reminded myself. I did the right thing.

  But no amount of assurances could rid my mind of those piercing gray eyes.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Xavier

  Despite it being almost two, the night was still in full swing as I made my way across the club. One more minute in the office with Seth, and I might have killed myself.

  The guy and I had never really gotten along. The only reason he was part of this whole operation — the list and Enigma — was because he was Davis’ cousin. I kept things civil between us simply because starting shit would make me look bad. But, Jesus, the things that guy said sometimes… he sounded just like the spoiled, billionaire brat, frat boy that he was. Seth had never worked a day in his life, and that fact was written all over him.

  I did another once-over of the club, just in case Riley had returned during the short amount of time it took me to leave the security camera feed and walk to the main floor. She was nowhere to be found.

  Irritation climbed through my chest like a thorn-covered vine. I leaned against the end of the counter and caught Mikey’s eye. The young bartender hustled over to me.

  “Everyone happy tonight?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir,” he smiled. “It’s a great night.”

  “Good,” I murmured. My eyes slid past him and settled on a young woman halfway down the bar. She was hot, but that wasn’t the reason she caught my attention. It was the tight smile she wore. The way she turned in her seat, trying to avoid the man standing next to her.

  I took an empty stool a couple seats down from the two and turned my ear to them. The music made it hard to hear their whole conversation, but snippets made their way to me.

  “...I bought you a drink,” the guy said.

  “...didn’t ask...” the girl responded, leaning even farther away from him.

  My fingers curled up and dug into my palms. It was a conversation I’d heard a hundred times. There were different versions of it, but they were all the same at the core. A douche walks into a bar, takes a look around, and decides he can have any woman he wants. When girls don’t comply, he takes it upon himself to pressure them into spending time with him.

  I was an avid participant in the chase. And I’d never win Boyfriend of the Year, on account of never having been someone’s boyfriend. But I didn’t pressure women. I didn’t push them to do something they didn’t want to.

  Ever.

  If a girl said no, I fucking listened. And I couldn’t stand men who didn’t do the same. They were scum, not worthy of sharing oxygen with the rest of us.

  I slid my eyeline sideways and caught sight of the girl’s face. She pushed hair behind her ear and reached for her purse. Her jaw was tight, but her eyes betrayed her fear and pain.

  Quick as a whip, a memory from long ago took me over. I saw my mother’s eyes, so like the girl’s in front of me. She cowered on the floor under my father, waiting for him to hit her again. And I stood there, watching the whole thing, powerless to do anything about it.

  It was a flashback that was as clear and real as the present moment. I took a deep breath and pushed it away. I wasn’t seven anymore. I was a grown man. I was thirty years old. And I didn’t put up with shit.

  The girl started to walk away from the bar, but the skeevy dude stepped in front of her and blocked her way. He folded his arms and gave her a satisfied grin, like he’d won the game and there was nothing she could do about it.

  I pushed away from the bar and walked over to them.

  “Good evening,” I said, stepping up close to the woman. “I’m sorry to bother you folks, but there have been reports of stolen purses at the club tonight. Have either of you seen any suspicious characters around?”

  The man looked at me in annoyance. In contrast, the girl seemed relieved. “No,” she said. “I don’t think so.”

  “Ah, I see.” I smiled at her. “Well, sorry to bother you. May I offer you a drink on the house?”

  Her eyes darted to the asshole next to me. “No thanks. I, uh, I need to be leaving. M
y friends are waiting for me.”

  I nodded. “Have a good night.”

  She rushed away. The guy took a step to go after her, but I grabbed his arm. “What about you? A bottle on the house?”

  This stopped him in his tracks. He only needed a second to consider. “All right, man. Yeah.”

  I directed him to a table and gestured for Mikey to send a bottle over. The free alcohol was only a ruse, of course. I had another, more fulfilling, plan up my sleeve. Just thinking about it made adrenaline shoot through my veins.

  I found one of the guards and pointed Mr. Douche out. “Kick him out in five,” I instructed. “Into the alley. Just be discreet about it. We don’t need anyone asking questions like last time.”

  “Yes, Mr. Fields,” John answered.

  I took the back door into the alley, unbuttoning and rolling up my sleeves as I went. The air smelled like trash, but there was a faint freshness on the breeze coming over the buildings. Nearby, lower Manhattan traffic honked, and packs of partying twenty and thirtysomethings chattered. It all seemed so far away though. I was in another world, about to exact my revenge on a man who had no right to exist.

  The whole security team knew about my habit. They supported it, you might say. They helped me find the guys who needed to be taught lessons. They were all too happy to do it too. Each member of Enigma’s staff received a handsome paycheck. Some of them took home more than twice the industry standard.

  I waited in the alley, feeling the calmest I had since Riley rejected me. It may have been a shitty night, but I’d end it with a fine dose of justice. I was taking one wrong in the world and making it right.

  The side exit opened, and the douche stumbled out the door. “But I didn’t do anything,” he protested.

  John just slammed the door shut. Mr. Douche turned around, a sullen look on his face. He started walking toward the end of the alley but stopped when he saw me. His eyes lit up. “Hey. You’re the guy who got me the champagne, right?”

  I didn’t answer.

  He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Your dumbass security guard just threw me out! Can you believe it? What a fucking idiot! I need to get back in there, man. I just met this fine-ass girl...”

  “You’re not going back in there.”

  His face fell. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “How often do you go out and offend women? A few nights a week? Or do you make it a daily habit?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Turn out your pockets.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s see what you’ve got in there. Or were you planning on using brute-force tonight and foregoing the date rape drug?”

  He recoiled. “Fuck you.”

  It was what I’d been waiting for. I knew the guy might not have drugs on him, but several men I’d fought before had. Knowing I was putting such losers in their place made the confrontations doubly satisfying.

  He stepped to the side, about to go around me, but I blocked his path. He froze, his upper lip beginning a slow curl. “What? Are you going to fight me?” he demanded. “You’ll get your fancy shirt dirty. You sure you’re ready for that?”

  In response, I laid him one across the jaw. He went down, his right shoulder slamming into the pavement. Fury pumped through me and combined with the fresh rawness in my knuckles. He was quick, getting up after just a second and coming right back at me. His agility and speed didn’t scare me though. They excited me. I loved it when they fought back, loved it when their anger and darkness showed on their faces.

  I blocked his right hook and sent my fist into his gut. I’d found myself a formidable opponent, the kind who could keep me on my toes.

  Even though the fight was a challenging one, each movement I made still felt rehearsed. I’d done this a million times before — not just behind the club, but in other places as well. My first fight had happened in the middle of the trailer park when I was ten years old. A kid called my dad a drunk. He was right, but that didn’t mean he should have said it. I made him pay with two of his teeth.

  Since then, I’d made other men pay more for saying lesser things.

  The douche punched me in the neck, taking me off guard. It had been a long time since I’d been hit, and the shock of it made me see stars. I sucked in a head clearing breath as I ducked and tripped him. His back met the ground, his legs flying into the air. I started to jump on top of him, to give it to him hard, but there was no need. I’d made my point. If I pushed any further, I might not be able to rein my anger in.

  He sputtered and coughed. I stood a couple feet away and just watched him.

  “Bastard,” he grunted. “You think you can just attack me and get away with it?”

  “Who are you going to tell?” I countered. “You’re at my club, harassing my customers. That’s enough to make my security team not like you. And it’s their word against yours. I’d remember that before you think about going to the police.”

  Realization dawned on his face. He was in my terrain. There was no upper hand to be gained. I was king of this whole land, and no one could take me down.

  The guy climbed to his feet and backed away from me. There was a bit of blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away and shook his head. “You’re fucking insane.”

  If he only knew.

  “Don’t come back here ever again. And forget about hitting on girls in clubs. They’re not interested in you. Trust me.”

  He lifted his chin. “How are you going to stop me?”

  “I have eyes in more places than this club.”

  I didn’t have to expound on my contacts at many of Manhattan’s other upscale hangouts. The tone of my voice said everything. With wide eyes, he turned and scurried toward the street. Another rat running for cover.

  I waited until I was sure he was gone, then I rapped on the side door. John met me with a bag of ice. Pressing it against my sore knuckles, I made my way back towards the innards of the club. This time I kept to the walls, not in the mood to talk to anyone.

  The office was empty, Julian and Seth both gone. They knew about my part-time hobby, and like the staff, entertained it. I was a name in the real estate world, which meant that if a scandal were to get out about me, it would hurt my reputation. And one club owner’s reputation going down the drain would affect us all. Julian, Seth, Davis, and I didn’t always keep things clean, but we always remembered to act like we did.

  I splashed my face with water in the office bathroom, wrapped a clean bandage around my bruised knuckles, and called my driver. He was in front of the club by the time I got there.

  The drive to my penthouse seemed to take forever. The streets were starting to clear out, even most of the late-night owls and hardcore party kids calling it a night. I nodded to the doorman and took the elevator up to the top floor. The penthouse greeted me, cold and quiet. Just the way I liked it.

  I didn’t spend much time at home, but when I did, it was welcome. My luxury apartment was a silent oasis in the middle of one of the craziest cities in the world. But now it felt different. Something wasn’t right.

  Frantic energy still pulsed through me. The fight hadn’t calmed me one bit. Instead, I felt more amped up. I hovered by the living room’s bar but didn’t pour a drink. I already knew it wouldn’t do me any good. Instead, I took a long shower, hoping it would relax my tense muscles and put me to sleep.

  But when I climbed into bed my mind still spun. The whole night had been bathed in an odd tone, and it wasn’t because of the guy I fought. I did that kind of thing all the time, sometimes as much as twice a week.

  It was because of her. I knew it. The first girl I could ever remember to reject me. Even in high school, when I was an introvert who only cared about studying and getting the fuck out of Nowhere, South Carolina, girls were still interested in me.

  But something changed. I met the first female to challenge me. Riley’s rejection did something to me tha
t I didn’t understand. It turned me inside out and taunted me, compelled me not to give up.

  And I wouldn’t. I knew that without a doubt.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Riley

  My alarm clock was more like a jackhammer going off right next to my head. Eager to quell it, I quickly reached over and grabbed my phone. The snooze button taunted me, daring me to hit it and enjoy fifteen more minutes of heaven. I resisted the urge, killed the alarm, and clambered out of bed. My feet got tangled up in a pair of pants I left on the floor, and I almost bit the dust but managed to right myself and keep persevering.

  The shower did a decent job of waking me up, and by the time I had half a cup of coffee, I could at least remember what it felt like to be alive. Ann-Marie still slept in, the lucky bitch. Unlike me, she had a schedule that somewhat resembled normalcy. She worked Monday through Friday as a receptionist at a nonprofit in Manhattan. Like me, she was living a life that slightly enraged her parents. She was working on the next great American novel. Or at least that was what I called it. She was more humble about it, always saying, “No young adult book will ever put Steinbeck out of style.”

  I dressed in my Crumbs uniform of black pants and a dark blue button up and forced myself out of the apartment and down the stairs. Last night was still with me, except now in the form of a headache. It wouldn’t be an easy day. After my shift at Crumbs, I had to be at my cocktail waitressing job at three. The bar didn’t open till four that day, but since I opened, I needed to get there early.

  At least that meant I’d be home before midnight. Some days, it really was the little things.

  To keep myself awake, I jammed out to Beyoncé on the train ride. The bakery was already hopping by the time I got there, the line stretching all the way to the door. I clocked in and joined the rest of the front counter staff. Orders flew at me as I bagged rolls and croissants and tried to remember to keep my eyes open. As the hours passed, an aching in my feet joined the one in my head. I watched the clock, eager for my lunch break. At eleven forty-five, I darted into the back room and grabbed my purse. There was just enough time to run to the deli across the street and wolf down a sandwich. After that, it was back to the counter with a bad case of heartburn.