I was interrupted while writing last night, but I was basically finished saying what I wanted about the motorcycle adventure. When I went into the living room, I met Bruce. He was nothing like I pictured him to be. I figured he would be clean cut and the type of guy who wore polo shirts (gag), but this guy had dyed black hair that fell over his face. He wore black eyeliner and had on lots of jewelry—necklace, bracelets, and rings on three fingers. He looked emo. Is that Rosanna’s type? I never thought about it, so I didn’t have any expectations. But now that I see this Bruce, I can no longer see Rosanna going for a guy in a polo shirt. When he saw me, he smiled and said hello.

  “Ashley, this is Bruce. Bruce, this is Ashley.”

  “Is she, uh, your daughter?”

  “No, silly. She’s my cousin.”

  “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Ashley.”

  “Likewise. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Good things, I hope.”

  “Mostly like how funny you are. You seem to make Rosanna laugh as if your life depended on it.”

  Rosanna flushed and cleared her throat.

  “Oh, yeah, I guess I do. Heh heh.”

  “What did you do tonight?” Rosanna asked.

  “Motorcycle ride.”

  “Fun.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, we were going to make some drinks. You should join us.”

  “Uh, isn’t she a little young for that?”

  “No, Ashley drinks all the time. Right, Ashley?”

  “You pour it, I’ll drink it.”

  So we went in the kitchen to see what we had and Bruce made us Moscow mules. I think he thought we should be impressed, but it’s a pretty simple drink. He’s lucky we had ginger beer in the refrigerator, but we didn’t have any copper cups, so he mixed them in highball glasses.

  I sat on a section of the sofa that was perpendicular to theirs, sipping my drink slowly to make it last because I didn’t want to have to ask him to make me another since he acted like they were something special to make and I thought I’d be showing him up if I just got up and mixed another all by myself. They sat together, his arm around Rosanna, pulling her close. She curled up into him like a cat, and he kissed her cheek and told her faraway places he wanted to take her, like Taiwan and New Zealand.

  I made sure not to stare, but I kept glancing over at them, realizing this is what I wish I had with someone. Someone who would hold me when I sat next to him and who wanted to daydream up plans with me and place kisses on my face just to make me smile.

  When he began whispering sexy talk in her ear, thinking I couldn’t hear and making her giggle, I got up and went to my bedroom but soon returned with a sketchpad and a black crayon. He pulled away from Rosanna’s ear and watched me as I sat back down, and I got the sense he had been hoping I wouldn’t return which made me realize he had begun whispering in the first place as a hint that I was in the way. But now that I was back, he began speaking in a normal voice again. Rosanna smiled at me and I put the crayon to paper. She of course knew what I was doing. Had she not smiled, would I have stopped? Would it have been disrespectful to continue had she not conveyed her approval? We’ve never discussed these boundaries. We will have to, and when we do, I hope she’ll be completely truthful about her feelings and not just defer to my wishes or give me carte blanche to do whatever I want because I’m imparateasa.

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  As he asked her about living in Amsterdam, mostly about smoking weed, I continued my glances, but this time, just at Bruce as I scribbled him. As his likeness developed it became clear quickly that he was really into Rosanna and I wondered if those feelings would change if he learned about her time in the Red Light District which, so far, there was no indication in his scribble that he had knowledge of. Not that she needed to tell him. It being an issue was about him and not her. Some of the other stuff I saw in his scribble was that Bruce grew up in Portland, Oregon, had a pretty typical childhood, graduated high school, earned an associates degree in web design, used to be the frontman to a screamo band, and got with a lot more groupies than I would’ve expected for being such a small act. He has a tattoo fetish which he hasn’t told Rosanna about because she doesn’t have any tattoos but more interestingly he’s sexually aroused by thunderstorms. He broke up with his last girlfriend, who was a tattoo model, after smelling unfamiliar cologne on her for which he accused her of cheating. At that moment, he was irritated a little kid was in the room coloring and wondered when my bedtime was. I didn’t scribble very long before putting the crayon down.

  “You haven’t said anything funny yet,” I said, addressing Bruce.

  “What’d you want me to say?”

  “Tell me something funny about being a parking valet.”

  “One time I got stabbed in the ass when I got into this woman’s Ferrari.”

  “Stabbed by who?”

  “It actually wasn’t a who. I hopped in without looking and didn’t realize she had left a voodoo doll on the seat. Pins that were stuck in the doll pushed all the way through when I sat on it and poked me in the ass. It bled and everything. I knew something was weird about her when she gave me her key because on her keychain was a pin cushion.”

  Rosanna laughed.

  “That’s mildly funny,” I said.

  Rosanna laughed even more.

  “Did the doll look scary?”

  “It looked like Donald Trump. It had an orange face with tan lines around the eyes and everything.”

  “That’s kinda funnier. You should’ve mentioned that.”

  “Okay, this is TMI, but when I first got poked in the ass, it scared the shit outta me and I farted.”

  “So you farted on Donald Trump?”

  “I farted on Voodoo Trump.”

  Rosanna started laughing again.

  “So had I laughed, you would’ve left that part out?”

  “Well Rosanna has never heard me fart. I didn’t want to give her the ick.”

  “That’s the funniest thing you’ve said.”

  “You still didn’t laugh.”

  “Sorry. I’m trying.”

  He looked defeated and Rosanna kissed him on the cheek.

  “Yeah, well I guess there’s more asshole customer stories than funny ones.”

  “Tell me a big asshole story then.”

  “One time, this rich prick got back out of his car and kicked me in the shin because I adjusted his mirrors.”

  “How much did he tip?”

  This time Bruce laughed.

  “Thank you for the stories.”

  “Satisfied?”

  “Yeah, you can fuck my cousin now.”

  That made things even more awkward between me and Bruce, but Rosanna still seemed happy. I didn’t get what she thought was so funny about this guy, yet I was still jealous of what they had. I guess I’m lucky that Vance is funnier, but even if he wasn’t funny, I think I’d still be quite content to have a man to cuddle with while he told me his lame stories. We sat around for a little while, even after everyone finished their drinks. But when it got quiet, Rosanna stood up and held out her hand, which he took and she led him out of the living room, both of them wishing me goodnight on their way out, and they went down the hall, his hands now all over her, into her bedroom and shut the door. Then I wanted what they had even more. Hands all over me. That kind of closeness.

  I remained sitting on the sofa wondering if he was spending the night and how that would work. Rosanna needs to sleep in her coffin if she’s not sleeping with me and I wasn’t about to sleep in a bed with the three of us. I looked over his scribble again. He was funnier when it was just the two of them.

  I got up and brought my empty glass into the kitchen and made another Moscow mule and stood at the counter drinking it, and I admit, I felt sorry for myself.

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