The Never List Read online

  The Never List

  DL White

  Copyright © 2020 by DL White

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  This one’s for me.

  The Never List

  10. Ride a roller coaster/Ferris wheel

  9. Play an extreme sport

  8. Travel by plane

  7. Eat an “exotic” food

  6. Go sailing

  5. Swim in the ocean

  4. Pet a cow

  3. Be daring

  2. Have sex

  1. Fall in love

  Chapter One

  Content warnings: attempted robbery/assault and references to the attempt

  Esme

  * * *

  "Try online dating, they said. It'll be fun, they said."

  I rolled my wrist to glance at my watch for the fourth time in the last half hour, staring out of a fogged-over window with my arms folded over my chest.

  From my seat at a cozy table for two, my view was a parking lot. A light rain hadn't kept the residents of Vinings, Georgia, an Atlanta suburb, from frequenting neighborhood eateries and watering holes arm in arm, with peals of laughter rising over the piano music droning from the speakers above my table. I watched them hop over puddles to make their way to the strip mall filled with burger joints, a vape store, an Asian market, and Bistro, a wine shop serving small plates with accompanying wine flights. Steamed mussels, crab fondue and stuffed mushrooms served with white wines and garlic chicken lettuce wraps, stuffed pasta shells, and bruschetta served with red.

  I wished that I'd declined this date invitation. It was too late in the evening. I had TV shows to watch. I'd just met him on a dating site. Wasn't it too early to meet a man in person?

  But my cousin, O'Neal, talked me into agreeing to meet him. Now I was sitting in a dimly lit, romantic restaurant.

  Alone.

  "This was a bad idea," I muttered aloud. "I tried to tell O'Neal, but you can't tell him nothin'."

  "Excuse me, ma'am?"

  I nearly jumped out of my skin at the interruption of my low volume tirade. A man stood next to my table, bent slightly toward me. I took in his fresh cut, the lush curls of his beard, soft brown eyes and mahogany skin. I loved the scent of a man, and this one smelled delicious, like sandalwood, rich vanilla and laundry detergent. Coupled with his subtly expensive taste in fashion—wool slacks, crisp button-down dress shirt, and dark jacket, I could forgive him for being so very late if he was my date, but he looked nothing like the photos of the man I'd chatted with the evening before.

  "Do you mind if I take this chair?" He gripped the seat across from me, already beginning to cart it off with him as if I'd said it was fine. "We're at the table behind you."

  I squinted at him. It wasn't like I was using it; it was his audacity to assume that he could just take it.

  "Yes!" I said, louder than I'd planned. "I mind very much, actually."

  He straightened, his actual height taking my breath away. I stood 5' 9" and relished a bona fide big and tall man, not a man who bragged about his height but wouldn't make it over six feet unless he borrowed Prince's heels.

  "I only need one chair, and you're alone."

  "I'm not alone."

  He glanced around, dramatically searching one end of the restaurant, then the other. "You look alone to me, ma'am."

  I bristled. "Who are you calling ma'am? I'm obviously waiting for someone."

  "How would I know— whatever." He emitted a grunt that assured me he was not pleased. I could not manage to care. "You could have just said no. All that attitude was unnecessary."

  "Why wouldn't I have an attitude with a man who waltzed up to my table and started taking chairs? Where is my date supposed to sit?"

  "What date?" He snickered, then went back to his table.

  The waitress stopped to ask, again, if I wanted to order anything. I handed her my glass, asked for a refill and the check. I'd take my time, waiting to slip my credit card into the slot, then drawing out signing the slip. Maybe, in that amount of time, my date would show.

  Ten more minutes and I am out of here, I promised myself. I'm missing my shows, messing around with this fool.

  Usually a Thursday night — really any weeknight meant a swing through somebody's drive-thru or placing an order for delivery and hours of escapist books or TV. I rarely missed my shows. I was more of a homebody than most homebodies, but, as my mother phrased it during our most recent conversation-she from the Phoenix Omni Resort and Spa, me from the swing on the wraparound porch-the man of my dreams couldn't fall into my lap if I didn't take my lap somewhere.

  My cousin, best friend, and housemate, O'Neal piled on, encouraging me to try meeting new people through a website. "You don't do bars; you don't do clubs or sports. You can sift through men and meet somebody virtually before you have to meet them in person."

  After some arm twisting and internet searches, O'Neal created a profile for me on BlackSinglesMatch, the most reputable site with a robust personality assessment and what seemed the least number of shady profiles.

  Almost immediately upon pimping myself out to the world at large, I'd begun receiving messages.

  Hey, Sistah. U R cute. Call me.

  "Call him?" I'd asked O'Neal. "For what? Just straight from the internet? What are we supposed to talk about?"

  "Ignore him. He don't want nothin' but nasty chat and you—" He cut himself off before completing his thought. "Anyway, who's next?"

  I must know you, my Queen! I will like for you to be my wife. Please contact me immediately.

  "Next."

  Hey, sexy. Welcome to the site. I like what I see, and I know you'll like my nine inches of long, hard—

  "Damn!" O'Neal cringed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know it was this bad, Es."

  "What do you mean, you didn't know? You put me on this site, and you've never used it?"

  O'Neal's grin was as wide as it was salacious. "I get plenty of women the natural way."

  "I'm calling it! I'm done." I deleted each message that had popped into the inbox, but for every note I deleted, two more arrived. "It's like feeding time in the shark tank! I'm fresh meat."

  "Wait, wait!" O'Neal stabbed the monitor with the tip of a finger. "That dude in the suit. Third one down. Click on him!"

  I cleared the screen until only one chat request existed.

  What's up, beautiful? I'm Chris. How are you this evening?

  "Full sentences and no innuendo. I'm in love."

  "Hold up, Es. Check his profile," urged O'Neal, pointing to the link. I did so and was rewarded with a photo of a broad-shouldered bona fide cutie in a designer tuxedo. His smile was wide and pearly white, his skin a perfect toasted almond, his hair a thick mane of locs that went past his shoulders, and his eyes were a soulful deep brown.

  I skipped down the list of attributes: 6' 3", works in finance, lives in Atlanta metro, single, no children. The caption read My cousin's wedding. I clean up nice.

  "Aight. He's not an uglass mofo. See what this Chris is about." O'Neal picked up a bowl of roasted edamame and balanced it on his taut belly as he slumped in the chair next to me.

  "Hello, Chris," I typed, after accepting his chat request. "I'm Esme."

  "Hello," came the response seconds later. "How's your Wednesday coming along?"

  An hour later, O'Neal was making appreciative noises at Instagram models. And I was still chatting with Chris.

  Like me, he worked with numbers, so he was analytical, but he was also funny, gett
ing in a quip or two during our spirited back and forth. I was comfortable enough to share details about life, work, family. Chris was warm but less forthcoming. I didn't want to push, though. I would learn about him as we got to know each other.

  "I hope I don't seem too forward," he wrote, "but I wondered if I could buy you a drink tomorrow?"

  The message came through after a longer than usual pause on his side. My stomach dropped, and I clutched O'Neal's arm, making sure he read the message. "He wants to meet!" I squeaked. "Tomorrow!"

  "Ok," he said. "Pick a place. Tell him to meet you." Then went back to his phone.

  My jaw dropped. "Seriously? Would you meet a woman that you just—never mind. I know the answer already."

  "It's a public place, Es. Meet him. Let him buy you a drink. Plus, you won't be sitting at home. Win-win." He pointed at the screen, then waved at the keyboard, gesturing for me to type. "You'll be fine. Do it, Es."

  "Hey, no pressure," Chris had typed after I didn't answer right away. "I'd like to talk face to face, you know. See if there's chemistry."

  Chemistry. Tuh.

  I checked my watch again, glaring out of the window as if I could summon my date to show up, then at the open app on my phone. My inbox was a desert. I was sure I saw a tumbleweed blow through. No messages. No 'hey, running late, I'll be there in ten minutes.' In fact, Chris hadn't been online all day.

  I had to tell myself what I hadn't wanted to tell myself. I'd been stood up.

  I slipped my card back into my wallet, anger roiling anew that I'd spent $23.99 on a little Beef Crostini appetizer and a drink that I didn't even like. I could have bought a bottle of wine at Publix and had a dollar menu dinner on my couch and enjoyed it more. I stalked out of the restaurant, already mentally delivering the scathing speech I would give him when he inevitably contacted me. They always came back.

  I crossed the parking lot, hearing only the staccato rhythm of my heels. The sound of sneakers scuffing the pavement caught my ear too late to adjust for the impact of a body crushing blow. Someone was all over me, grabbing for my bag, attempting to yank it away. I screamed, holding onto the straps with both hands.

  He pulled; I pulled harder.

  He yanked; I yanked harder.

  Items flung from inside the bag and scattered across the parking lot. He gave a hard pull and grunted, "Let go, bitch!"

  "No, motherf—"

  A fist came into contact with the side of my head. My vision dimmed; the parking lot spun. I felt my grip loosen.

  Through the ringing in my ears, I heard the restaurant door swing open, footsteps, and a cacophony of garbled voices. Then a scuffle, forceful grunts, and a meaty crunch that could only be a fist meeting a mouth. I felt the thud across the pavement as a body hit the ground, mere inches away.

  I pushed myself up to get a good look at the man that laid on the pavement, arms and legs splayed. He wore dark jeans and sneakers, and someone had pulled his hoodie back. I didn't recognize him, but I knew who he was. I'd have laughed if my head wasn't pounding.

  I hadn't been on a date in years, had never arranged a date on the Internet, and got mugged.

  "Ma'am?! You ok?"

  A figure hulked over me and a hand entered my field of vision, offering help. I smacked the hand away and maneuvered to my feet. On shaky legs that grew stronger by the moment, I collected the items that had flown from my bag.

  "I'm… fine," I stammered. "If I just… can get… I want to go home."

  I stuffed my things into the bag and pulled out my keys. I wanted to be where I should have been all night long, on my couch eating popcorn and watching my usual Thursday night lineup.

  "Ma'am?" The voice called after me. "The police are on the way."

  I limped toward my car, parked a few spaces away. My ankle stabbed with every step and the right side of my face throbbed. Once I reached it, I unlocked the door and fell into the driver's seat. I was still dizzy, but the fuzzy edges were becoming more defined.

  All I knew was that I needed to get out of there. I reached to start the car but was startled again by a knock at the window. I looked up and winced. It was the guy that had tried to take my chair. I started the car and rolled the window down.

  "Yes?"

  "Hey, girl," he said, grinning down at me. He leaned against the car, his arm resting on the hood, rather easy-going for having just knocked a man unconscious. "You did a lil bob and weave on the way to your car. Are you ok?"

  "I'm fine. I think. Thanks for your help. That was you, right?"

  “Ah, it was no big thing," he replied. "But I'm not sure you should drive, ma'am. He got you good. Maybe you–"

  "Stop calling me ma'am," I snapped. "I said I was fine. I want to go home."

  "Ah, ok. You just always have an attitude." He pushed out a couple of sarcastic chuckles. "Anyway, the police are on the way. You should stick around."

  "I'll stop by the precinct tomorrow. I think I know who that guy is. Now move before I run you over."

  He made a sucking noise with his teeth but stepped back. I pulled out of the space and directed the car away from the lump of man still lying in the middle of the parking lot, and the crowd that had gathered around him. The sky was already glowing with the red and blue flashing orbs of police cars approaching.

  Chapter Two

  Esme

  * * *

  By the time I eased the car into the garage, I was lucid. And livid.

  I had almost been mugged. I knew my mugger. Sort of.

  I should have stuck around to inform the officers at the scene, but I was embarrassed. I'd been stood up, wasted an entire evening and was attacked. I was in no mood to tell Cobb County's finest about how someone pegged me right away as the perfect mark.

  I grabbed my bag, inspecting the straps where he had pulled it. It was Louis Vuitton. Authentic, not a knockoff. I had just decided it was worth every penny that my mother had spent on it.

  I entered the house through the kitchen door and hung my keys on my designated hook. Every light on the first floor burned bright, the TV blared at two notches above an acceptable decibel, and the kitchen was a mess: all signs that O'Neal, a flight attendant for Delta, was home.

  As if on cue, O'Neal rounded the corner from the living room in his usual at-home wardrobe: a sleeveless tank that showed off his chiseled biceps and loose basketball shorts. When I wore loungewear, I looked like a scrub. O'Neal's effortlessly casual look was goals.

  "Aight, gimme the rundown. How'd it go?"

  He slid onto one of the bar stools that lined the counter while I stood in front of the freezer, letting the cool air soothe my face. The skin around my eye was already puffy, and I considered calling in sick to work the next day. I plucked a handful of ice cubes from the bin and stepped back to let the door close, careful not to turn too far toward O'Neal.

  I made a noncommittal noise as I pulled open a drawer, rooting around for the box of Ziploc bags and dumping the ice into one as soon as I pulled a bag from the box.

  "I don't like that sound. Was he ugly? Bad breath? Did he even look like his picture?" He clicked his tongue. "You got catfished, huh?"

  "I didn't get catfished. I mean, I don't think this was technically a catfish."

  "Say more. And why are you putting ice in a bag, Es?"

  Knowing I wouldn't be able to hide it forever, I turned so my cousin could see the swelling and redness down the right side of my face.

  "Oh, shit!" O'Neal leaped off the stool, reaching me in seconds. He cradled my face in one hand, poking at the growing lump on my temple with the other. "What happened?"

  I winced. "Ouch, O'Neal. It feels like it looks."

  "Ooh, sorry." He grabbed the baggie of ice and applied it to the angry red lump. "So, what went down? Did he do this? And if so, tell me he's in jail, because if he isn't, I'm about to fuck him up."

  "I don't need you to fuck anyone up." I stepped around him, taking a seat on one stool. O'Neal sat next to me. "I got stood up. Kind of."
r />   He cocked his head to the side. "Nah. Do men do that shit? He ain't say nothin'?"

  I recounted my evening for him, from arriving at Bistro to find that my date wasn't waiting to meet me, to the testy conversation with the man that wanted to take my chair.

  "I sat there for an hour, O'Neal. No messages, no apologies, nothing. When I got sick of waiting, I left. That's when I got jumped. He went for my bag, and when I wouldn't let go, he hit me. I went down and…"

  I shook my head, switching the hand holding the makeshift ice pack. "That guy who wanted my chair came out of the restaurant and knocked him out with a single punch."

  O'Neal's eyes were wide and getting wider. "What did the police say? You pressed charges, right?"

  "I don't know what they said. I left."

  "You left the scene? And… didn't call the police."

  "They showed up as I was leaving."

  "One more time... you left before you could file charges?"

  "And tell them what?" I switched hands again, wincing as I applied pressure to the wound. "I set myself up to get robbed by some guy I met on the internet. So they can write that down in their little spiral notebook and make shitty jokes about the dumb ass chick that got played by an internet con man? That you encouraged me to meet, I might add."

  "Ay, don't start. You asked for my help."

  "You helped me right into a concussion."

  "It's not like I introduced you to one of my friends, Es. So, you're going to let him get away with it?"

  "No." I exhaled, resigned. "I'll call the police station tomorrow. I can give them what I have on him, even though what he told me was probably made up. Maybe they can get something from the website. And there's the guy that beat him down. I'm sure they got his statement."

  I stifled a yawn, then another. Adrenaline had worn off, and I was delirious with exhaustion. "I'm going to call it a night. I've had enough of today."

  I picked up my bag, headed through the living room and up the stairs. Since I bought the house from my parents while they traveled the country in a decked-out RV, I got the first choice of bedrooms. I took the master because I was home more but also because it had an ensuite bathroom with a garden tub and Jacuzzi jets.