The Waiter Bradleigh Collins (autobiographies to read TXT) 📖

“I just got home a few minutes before you. Why don’t you take off all your clothes and come tell me all about it?”

I laughed. “Do I need to be naked in order to tell you about my day?”

“No, but I’d be a lot more interested if you were.”

I took my new iBook out of my Scoop bag. As I did, I shoved the CD from The Waiter down to the bottom so Dalton wouldn’t see it. Then I walked back into the living room.

“Look what I got today.” I modeled my laptop as if it were a new handbag.

“Typical startup. Apple-obsessed. I guarantee you the programmers aren’t using Macs.”

“Everybody’s got iMacs and iBooks. And they’re all color coordinated.”

“Of course they are.” He opened my iBook. “This is a piece of junk designed by a punk.”

“Oh god, do I really have to listen to another lecture about how Bill Gates could kick Steve Jobs’ ass?”

“He could.”

“Yeah, but nobody wants to have sex with Bill Gates. I’d totally do Steve Jobs.”

“Well,” he said, setting my iBook aside and pulling me down on top of him. “Steve Jobs isn’t here.”

What I really wanted to do was grab my Walkman and headphones, lock myself in the bathroom, and listen to the CD. But I’d never turned down sex with Dalton, and if I did now, he’d know something was up. He’d automatically assume it had something to do with The Waiter, which of course, it would.

“Take off your dress,” Dalton ordered. “But those boots stay on.”

“You’re such a perv.”

“I am. And you fucking love it.”

I stood up and pulled the dress over my head. He pulled me back down on top of him. The whole time I was having sex with Dalton, I was thinking about The Waiter. I felt bad, but I couldn’t help it. Right there in the room next to us, in the bottom of my Scoop bag, was a message from him. A message I had yet to receive. Maybe it was an apology. Maybe it was, “hey, can’t we just be friends?” Maybe it was something in between. Whatever it was, I would have to wait a little longer to find out.

An hour later, I had the perfect excuse to make my escape.

“Well, now that you’ve worn me out, I’m going to go take a nice, long bubble bath. I’m exhausted.”

“Okay.” He reached for the remote and began flipping the channels, still lying there naked on the couch. Then he turned up the volume.

“Oh, and two things,” I yelled over the sound of the television. “One, you have to wear a costume to the Halloween party and two, I told my mom we’re staying in New York for Thanksgiving so we can go to the parade.”

“What’d she say?”

“She was fine as long I’m home for Christmas. I told her Josh wants to initiate us into the Upper West Side night-before-Thanksgiving festivities. You know, balloon inflation followed by a pub crawl followed by the inevitable karaoke marathon at The Parlour.”

“And you think that after all that you’ll actually get up super-early to go to the parade?”

“Maybe we’ll just pull an all-nighter.” I went into the bedroom and put on my bathrobe. I grabbed a towel from the laundry basket and used it to hide my Walkman and the CD.

“I’m gonna be in the tub for a while,” I said to Dalton as I passed back through the living room. “Do you need to get in here before I run my bath water?”

“No babe, I’m good.”

I walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Then I locked it. I figured if he tried to come in and asked why the door was locked, I could always say “oh, I don’t know, habit.”

I turned on the water. Then I sat down on the side of the tub and took the CD out of the plastic case. I put it in my Walkman and placed the headphones over my ears. Then I took a deep breath and pressed play.

Terrence Trent D’arby began to sing. It was his cover of “Who’s Loving You” from the Introducing the Hardline According to Terrence Trent D’Arby album. I immediately started to cry. It was that horrible ugly cry where your face contorts and you wanna scream but nothing comes out because you’re not actually breathing. I had to cry silently because I didn’t want Dalton to hear me. And the more the song played, the harder I cried. It was guttural. Uncontrollable. Part of me wanted to run out of the apartment and across Central Park just to knock on The Waiter’s door so I could see his face. Another part of me felt incredibly guilty because Dalton was in the next room.

I thought about logging on to ICQ after Dalton went to sleep and messaging The Waiter. But how on earth would I ever be able to explain that not only had I gotten back with Dalton, but that I was, in fact, living with him? In New York. And what would happen if Dalton caught me? I couldn’t do it.

When the song was over, I just sat there, still sobbing silently. I realized that I was in love with both of them, but in two very different ways. What always has been. And what could be.

I took off the headphones, took off my bathrobe, and climbed into the tub. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do about Dalton or The Waiter, if anything. All I knew was that my heart was absolutely aching. For both of them.

CHAPTER 20

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It had been over two weeks since the CD incident and I still hadn’t responded to The Waiter. I couldn’t. I was living with Dalton and it wouldn’t be fair to either of them.

I called Dana this morning on my way to work to let her know that she and Simon would need to bring a Halloween costume when they came to visit. Then I admitted