I expect Gabe to laugh with the rest of us, but he doesn’t. His gaze is firmly fixed on the road ahead, but a muscle pops in his jaw. I reach out and poke my finger at it, and he frowns as he shoots his gaze from the road, to me, and back again. “Hey, what’s eating you, Gilbert Grape?”
“Gilbert Grape?” He says, tearing his eyes from the white line again.
I feign horror. “Do not tell me you’ve never seen What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?”
“What the fuck is that?”
“You either?” I turn and glare at Tommy. Then I look at Mace. “Tell me they don’t have everything backward Down Under and that you’ve seen only the best Johnny Depp movie in the history of ever?”
Mace shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“You guys! What the hell is wrong with you?” I gasp in horror. “Right, that’s it. When we get done with this trade show stuff, we’re all sitting down to watch Gilbert Grape.”
“It sounds like a shitty plan. I’d rather get laid,” Tommy says.
“I’m with Tommy boy,” Mace agrees.
“I gotta say, Freckles, it’s not filling me with the warm fuzzies.”
“Well, it’s happening. No one is getting laid until we’ve successfully Gilbert-ed.”
Mace chuckles. “Sounds dirty.”
“Now you’re speakin’ my language,” Tommy replies.
I shake my head and shift in my seat. “You guys seriously need help.”
The drive to South Lake Tahoe is a mini-marathon, and three hours from our destination we’re all antsy, needing to stretch our legs, and breathe some non-recycled air, so we pull up to the barbeque restaurant at Big Pine.
We sit at the outdoor seating, the four of us quiet as we wolf down brisket, mac and cheese, and kettle chips. Mace points to the celebrity wall with photos of the only two celebs who’ve graced the restaurant and says, “Now this is something I could do.”
“What?” Gabe asks.
“An Eastwood marathon.”
“I’d be down for that.” I sip my beer and lean against Gabe’s shoulder, breathing in his deep, woodsy scent. I could stay here all day, sipping beer and eating the world’s best tri-tip.
“You guys can watch whatever the hell you want once we’ve set up. But me? I’m gonna be sleeping.” Gabe laughs.
“Thank god Annie decided not to come, or we’d all need ear plugs.” Mace throws an accusatory glare at me as he says this.
I lift my head and straighten in my seat. The mention of Annie is like a bucket of ice water over my head. Gabe may be my best friend, but he has truly terrible taste in girlfriends.
“Uh-oh. You’ve hurt Freckles’ feelings,” Tommy says.
“Shut up you douche.” I throw a chip at him.
“She’s right,” Gabe says. “You’re being an asshole.”
Mace just shrugs. “I’m always an asshole.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” I mutter.
“Seriously though, when are you gonna dump Annie’s ass and just marry Lo?” Tommy asks.
I roll my eyes, but it’s not as if I haven’t wondered the same thing.