Page 34 of Beyond the Fame

“This is Texas Hold’em. You want to win?” Bruno chuckles. “Play better. Jetzt geht’s um die Wurst.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“Now it’s about the sausage, boys,” Bruno answers.

“Try again, buddy.” Mylan shakes his head.

I’ve missed hearing these Brunoisms. Words or phrases that Bruno doesn’t quite get right after translating them to English. Bruno moved to the U.S. from Germany a decade ago. I’m pretty sure he knows exactly the right words to say by now, but he likes to mess with everyone just to be funny.

“It’s all or nothing. You will not win if you half dick it with these bets.”

“I think you mean half ass it,” I offer.

“I said what I said.”

“It’s not about the bets,” Mylan says, exasperated. “I’m just not getting good cards.”

“Excuses do not pay the rent.”

Mylan groans. “The Brunoisms are killing me tonight.”

“Sorry, boss. I’m just really nervous about tomorrow.”

I laugh at Bruno, not only being self-aware of his confusing phrases but also calling Mylan boss, despite not being his bodyguard for four years now.

“I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve Ginger.”

My stomach tightens at his words. How could he say that? Bruno is literally the nicest guy. Even Mylan, despite his dark days of addiction, is the most caring man I've ever met. Me, however, I’m a cold-hearted asshole who can’t seem to drop this indestructible wall I've built around my emotions.

Though Rebecca sure has been chipping away at that wall lately.

“Who you thinking about?” Mylan asks, next to my ear.

I must have missed Bruno’s entire conversation about being nervous about his wedding because the next hand has been dealt. I tilt back the corners of my two cards just enough to see what I got, hiding them from Mylan’s prying eyes.

Pocket Rockets. Nice.

“Who says I’m thinking about someone?”

“Is it Rebecca?”

“Absolutely not,” I lie and shove my sad stack of chips into the center of the table. “All in.”

“She’d be perfect for you, you know?”

I watch as everyone around the table folds, except Bruno and Mylan.

“She’s insufferable.”

“So are you.”

I give him the side eye and sip on my vodka tonic. It’s my first and only drink of the night.

The dealer lays out the flop: ace of diamonds, king and jack of spades. Nice. I have triple aces now. Bruno adds a stack of chips to the pot and Mylan calls.

“We’re not compatible,” I finally say to stop Mylan’s searing stare on the side of my face.

“How do you know? Have you two actually sat down to have a civilized conversation?”

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