Tales of a New York Waitress (The Sibby Chronicles Book 1)

by Samantha Garman

  “That’s a little much, don’t you think? I have a direction. Sort of.”

  He grinned. “It’s okay, Sibby.”

  “What is?” I demanded. “What is okay? The fact that my life is a complete and utter mess? The fact that I walked in on my boyfriend of two years having sex with a man?”

  I jumped up from the couch and began to pace across the living room carpet. “And on the day I caught my ex cheating on me, I was also laid off from the boringest job in the history of jobs.”

  “I doubt it was the boringest,” Aidan interjected. “What about accounting? That seems way worse. Is boringest even a word?”

  “I was a theater major,” I ranted. “A playwright. And what did I do with it? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Fuck! My life is a joke! I’ve been avoiding my parents’ phone calls because I don’t have the heart to tell them that I’m single, got laid off, and now work in a restaurant.”

  “What’s wrong with being single?”

  “My mom will bring up the idea of freezing my eggs.”

  “She will not.” Pause. “Really?”

  I nodded.

  “Oooookay. I’m just going to sail right past that. The laid off thing. That happens. And there’s nothing wrong with working in a restaurant,” Aidan pointed out while pointing to himself.

  “Dad always said, ‘Use your mind, not your body to make your living.’”

  “Was he talking about prostitution?”

  “Stop joking.”

  “No,” he said. “You take yourself way too seriously.”

  “Look at my pajamas! Do I look like I take myself too seriously?” I glared at Aidan, who attempted not to smile. He gave in and laughed, and eventually, so did I.

  “Come here,” he said softly.

  I glanced at him, completely wary. I had very little willpower left and Aidan was hot. Not to mention sweet, and a good listener. “I feel like I should blog.”

  “Blog?”

  “Yeah, you know, take to the internet, share my humiliation with the world. Maybe I can get people to lose a few calories over their morning breakfast.”

  “Sibby, come here,” he said again. I clutched the hem of my pajama shirt and blew out a puff of air. I went to him and then collapsed onto the couch. Curling into him, I let him put his arm around me. It was nice, comfortable, yet made my heart pound and my stomach do some sort of weird romance novel flippy thing.

  “You don’t have to have life all figured out. In fact, I plan to never have it figured out. It’s what keeps it fun.”

  He settled back against the couch, keeping his arm around me. “Wanna watch TV?” I asked. “I could really go for a thirty minute sitcom where everything gets resolved by the end.”

  “Ah, then you want to watch Leave it to Beaver.”

  “I’m starting to think you really get me.”

  “Any chance pearls and 1950’s family dynamics get you all hot and bothered?” Aidan asked hopefully.

  I woke up not being spooned. You can’t really be spooned when you’re sleeping half on top of the other person. Aidan didn’t seem to mind.

  And I didn’t mind either.

  I disentangled myself from him and went to brush my teeth. Though I believed in the power of the cute matching pajamas, I had no illusions about my morning breath.

  After I brushed my teeth and put on the coffee, I checked my phone. One voicemail from my mother. I’d been avoiding my parents like the plague. The dramatic Jewish plague that was overly invasive in my life. I was gutless.

  Knowing they at least needed to hear my voice so they didn’t do something crazy like fly up to New York to check on me, I called her back.

  “Hi, Mob,” I answered, feigning a stuffy nose.

  “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  “Yeah. Head cold.”

  “Aw, poor thing.”

  “I feel pretty terrible. My head feels like a bowling ball. I was just getting ready to curl up on the couch and take a nap.”

  “Is Matt taking care of you?”

  “He’s at work, Mob. Wish you were here. Your chicken noodle soup always makes me feel better. Lobe you.”

  “You sound terrible. Go to bed, I’ll talk to you later. Love you, feel better.”

  I hung up, set my phone on the coffee table, and ran a hand though my hair.

  “Wouldn’t it just be easier to tell her the truth?” Aidan asked.

  I jumped at the sound of his voice. “Jeez. Make a noise, would you?” He was in his shirt and boxers and he looked pretty delectable, even to a fake sick person. “I can’t tell her the truth.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I know how the conversation would go. I’ll give you a clue: it ends with me on anti-anxiety meds.”

  “Would you tell them about me?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You should go.”

  He grinned. “Oooooh, am I one of your dirty little secrets?”

  “Nothing dirty about our relationship.”

  “And whose fault is that?” he demanded. “I’ve been trying to make it dirty and you won’t let me.”

  “Don’t you have things to do today?”

  “You’re so harsh,” he said, feigning hurt. “Fine, I’ll go. See ya at work tonight?”

  I nodded. “Unless I call out due to severe emotional sickness.” I felt guilty for kicking him out, so I filled a to-go thermos of coffee and gave it to him.

  “Thanks,” he said in surprise. “You’d make a good girlfriend.”

  “You’re giving me hives.” I herded him towards the door and opened it. “I want that cup back!” I called after him.

  Chapter 9

  Taleggio [tah-leh-jee-oh]:

  1. A sweet creamy cow’s milk cheese, pungent in odor.

  2. Smells like feet, but tastes delicious.

  Jess walked into the dining room and took a seat on an empty bar stool. She set her clipboard of manager duties on the bar and passed out our special sheets. Our special sheet had about fifteen items listed, and they were always the same. Daily specials were supposed to change, but this was Antonio’s, the place where logic went to die, or so Zeb liked to remind me on a daily basis.

  “The owner wants to change some things up.”

  “Mutiny!” Zeb yelled. “No change!”

  Jess rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know what the change is.”

  “Let me guess. We’re becoming a sports bar.”

  “No.”

  “We’re going to start doing happy hour.”

  “No.”

  “We’re—”

  “New uniforms,” Jess interrupted.

  “But why? We’ve had six uniform changes in the past year. Should I go over them?”

  “No need,” Jess said, but Zeb acted like he hadn’t heard.

  “First, it was all black. Anything all black. Then it was jeans and gray shirts, but everyone wore different shades of gray, so it switched to jeans and black polos. Then jeans and the Antonio’s t-shirt. Then black pants and gray buttons downs. Then black pants and black button downs. I’m not spending any more money on new uniforms! Stop the madness!” Zeb yelled.

  “You done?” Jess asked.

  Zeb took a deep breath. “For now.”

  “Black pants, white button downs. The owner is paying for the shirts since he wants everyone to look the same.”

  “No black bowties?” Zeb demanded.

  Jess grinned. “Not yet.”

  “I’m going to have to buy a white undershirt. Otherwise, customers will see my nipples.” He stage whispered to me, “They’re pierced.”

  “Might help tips,” I said with a shrug. “Can I see?”

  He went to unbutton his shirt when Jess yelled, “For the love of God! Not at work!”

  “Whatever, Jess, you’re just jealous of my amazing nipples.”

  First night in my white button down uniform and already it was covered in marinara sauce. Braveheart extra, part two.

  “How do you do it?” Aidan as
ked, trying not to laugh.

  “Just my usual MO.”

  “Nice to have things you can count on.”

  “Well, you can always count on me for a laugh,” I said with a hokey grin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are customers waiting to make me feel bad about myself.”

  “Do I want the duck?” the man at my table asked, taking in my appearance but generously not saying anything.

  “Yes.”

  “How do I want it cooked?”

  “Medium rare.”

  “You know what, you’ve got kind eyes. I trust you.”

  I pointed to my shirt. “You feel bad for me, don’t you?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Please show it on the tip line,” I said with a playful wink, causing him to laugh. I gathered the menus up and handed them off to a hostess as I headed to the computer station.

  “Going strong with that no filter thing, huh?” Nat asked.

  “Yeah, I’m a little too proud of myself.”

  “You’re on a good streak.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad someone appreciates it.”

  “We all appreciate it. I’m really glad you came to work here.”

  “Oh,” I said, pretending to get all verklempt. “If I had a heart, I would be moved to tears.”

  “I don’t see linguine with clam sauce on the menu,” the guy said.

  “That’s because we don’t serve it,” I stated.

  “Why not?”

  “Because the chef doesn’t make it.”

  “But you’re an Italian restaurant.”

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “And we have a lot of other fine Italian dishes.”

  “Like fettuccine chicken Alfredo?” he asked hopefully.

  Dear God.

  “No, no fettuccini chicken Alfredo.” Clearly the only Italian restaurant this guy had ever been to was The Olive Garden.

  “I don’t know what to get,” the guy complained. “You have nothing I want to eat!”

  “Sir, our menu is huge. There must be something you want that we have. We have spaghetti and meatballs, or chicken parm…” My voice trailed off as he shook his head.

  “No, no, no! I don’t want any of those things!”

  “You should try our spaghetti Carbonara. It’s fantastic; we’re known for it.”

  “Really?” he asked, appearing intrigued. “Tell me about it.”

  “Three types of bacon with spaghetti, topped off with a poached egg. You mix the egg as the sauce,” I explained. “And then there’s Parmesan at the end.”

  “Hmmm…sounds interesting… Can I get it without the pork and add tomato sauce?”

  I gave up.

  Monday night Annie and I sat on two bar stools in a wine bar on the Upper East Side. We were sharing a cheese plate and a bottle of wine. I was trying not to glance at the door every five minutes while I waited for Aidan and Caleb to show up. Our plan to get Annie and Caleb together was in motion.

  “I can’t believe you chose this place,” Annie said. “And I can’t believe you suggested we wear our little black dresses and heels.”

  “Just wanted to do something different.”

  “I like this,” she said.

  We toasted and I took another sip before I said, “Okay. I think I’m buzzed enough to admit something to you.”

  “Ready. Go!”

  “I haven’t had sex in eight months.”

  Annie blinked. “Come again?”

  “I’m trying! Believe me!”

  “Eight months? What the hell? You should’ve dumped Matt long ago.”

  “That’s not completely true. We did get drunk a couple of months ago and have mediocre sex, but I don’t think it really counts.”

  “It was probably his last foray in Straightsville before he bought a one way ticket to Gaytown.”

  “Probably,” I agreed. “I’m going crazy. I can’t think straight. I kind of want to jump Aidan.”

  “Do it.”

  “We work together.”

  “So? It’s a flimsy excuse.”

  It was—not to mention the fact I just didn’t care anymore. And I was hornier than a horny toad.

  The man I wanted to have an animal kingdom wildlife moment with walked in with his best friend. Caleb was attractive, too. They both were handsome and tall, but Caleb had light hair and Aidan had dark.

  “Sibby!” Aidan exclaimed, widening his eyes in pretend shock. Annie’s head whipped around, her gaze landing on Caleb.

  “Aidan! This is so random!” I winced as I heard the insincerity of my tone.

  I was a terrible actress.

  “Hi,” Caleb greeted, unable to take his eyes off of Annie. Man, she must’ve done some crazy acrobatics in the bedroom. He looked like he was ready to get on his knees and worship her.

  “Caleb,” she said. She sounded breathless and though the lighting was low, I thought I could detect a faint blush over her cheeks. No one made Annie blush. No one.

  Interesting.

  “Buy you a drink?” Caleb asked.

  She leaned over and whispered something in his ear that had him swallowing like a man dying of thirst. He nodded eagerly. Annie took her purse and looked at me. “Breakfast tomorrow.”

  “You got it.”

  Annie glanced at Caleb and then amended the offer. “Better make it lunch.” She hopped off her stool and she and Caleb nearly ran from the bar.

  Aidan took the available spot and grinned at me. “That worked out better than I could have hoped for.”

  I finished my glass of wine in three long swallows before I said, “I’d like to discuss something with you.”

  “Discuss away.”

  “Sex. You and me.”

  Aidan raised an eyebrow. “My, you are quite the romantic.”

  “I haven’t had sex in eight months,” I blurted out.

  Long pause.

  “Grab your purse,” he said.

  “Sibby,” Aidan said.

  “Hmm?”

  “Sibby, remove your arm from your eyes.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “This is not good.”

  “On the contrary, I thought it was very good. Great in fact.”

  I finally lifted my arm from my eyes and glared at him. He was grinning like an idiot. A cute idiot with messed-up hair. A sheet covered him. In my bed.

  Hot.

  “You’re supposed to be tall, dark, and brooding,” I said. “Not tall, dark, and witty.”

  “Okay, time for you to admit it. You like me. And not just for the sex, which would be enough in its own right. I’m a god.”

  “It had been eight months,” I reminded him. “I’m thinking a high school virgin could have gotten the job done.”

  “Good thing I have a healthy ego. That could’ve crushed a lesser man.”

  “I knew this was going to be a mistake,” I said, finally getting up out of bed and looking for my discarded dress, until I remembered I’d lost it somewhere in the living room. The moment we’d gotten back to the privacy of my apartment, I’d climbed Aidan like a koala climbs a tree.

  I was a naked koala.

  I hastily opened my dresser and pulled on a t-shirt. “I’ve been led astray by my loins. Loins and your pretty face.”

  “You have quite a way with words.” He laughed, reaching for his boxers. “But you said I was pretty. Thanks, for that.”

  “Aidan,” I began, “I’m sorry. I think I’m deflecting with jokes and trying to push you away.”

  “You learned that from editing psychology textbooks, huh?”

  “Maybe. This can’t happen again.”

  “Okay.” He grinned.

  “I mean it.”

  “I hear ya, loud and clear.”

  “Why don’t I believe that you believe me?”

  “Wow.”

  “What?”

  “People need espresso to keep up with you. Luckily, I comprehend Sibby without it.”

  “Aren’t you talented.�
��

  He grinned in a way that made me believe he was thinking of his other talents. Talents I would not be sampling again. It would be a bad idea.

  Wouldn’t it?

  And then Aidan pulled me back down onto the bed of iniquity.

  Who was I kidding? I wasn’t a slave to my own loins—I was a slave to Aidan’s.

  “That was the last time,” I panted the next morning, trying to recover my breath.

  “Liar,” Aidan said. “That last time was your idea.”

  “You complaining?”

  “Do you hear me complaining? Do I get coffee before you kick me out this time?”

  “You make me sound so heartless. You can have coffee and maybe even a muffin.”

  “Muffin? Is that a euphemism for something?”

  “Shut up. I baked yesterday. Have a muffin and some coffee and we’ll talk about stuff. Get it all ironed out before I see Annie for lunch. Oh, crap!”

  “What now?”

  “I’ve seen you naked! When we’re at work, how am I supposed to pretend we haven’t done the horizontal hora?”

  “No idea. Good luck with that.”

  “No flirting at work. No leaving together, no showing up together, no drinking after work together.”

  “You said ‘together’ a lot.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m just saying, there’s a good chance we’re gonna hook up again because, apparently, my loins have no willpower.”

  He laughed. “I really like your loins and their lack of willpower.”

  “Anyway. If we do something stupid again, which I think we inevitably will, then it can only happen here, in the confines of this apartment.”

  “I accept those stipulations.”

  “No dates.”

  “But—”

  “No, Aidan. New York is small. Someone we work with will see us. And dating implies relationship. No relationship.”

  “I want two muffins,” he muttered.

  “Only if you eat them on the go.”

  “It’s true what they say,” Aidan said. “Crazy girls are the best in bed.”

  “Get. Out.”

  “He’s the best dirty sex I’ve ever had,” Annie admitted.