“Stop here.”

The driver slows our limousine to a crawl, finally stopping near the front doors of what must be the only diner around. No one objects vocally, but their disinterested looks make it clear they are less than pleased. I glance through my window, assess my options, and make a hasty decision for our group.

“We’re having breakfast,” I tell Victor, my younger brother by two years, and our friends, Prentice and Chauncey.

“Here?” Victor asks, clearly skeptical. As usual, his way too long blond hair falls into his eyes when he snaps his head toward me.

“It’s the only place around.”

“Fuck.”

“Next time, make sure you schedule the help to arrive a day or two before we do,” says Prentice, who glares over at us both with his piercing green eyes. He has his usual expression on his face, like he’s accusing us of something. “Same deal for the entertainment too.”

“Wait. We have no entertainment tonight?” Chauncey asks from beside Prentice.

“What the fuck were you doing while we talked about this on the plane?” I ask defensively.

He points his index and middle fingers to his temples, and pulls back his thumb in a mock trigger move. “There goes the post-Christmas break.”

Victor runs a hand through his hair. “Stop overreacting. The caterers will be here by tonight, and our bevy of Italian beauties are already on a flight here. They get in sometime before midnight.”

The limousine driver gets out and opens the door beside Victor to let us out.

“I bet we can find some tight, sweet country tail right here in this crap diner,” Victor announces, stepping out first. Always the optimist, that brother of mine. He straightens out his black suede, knee-length winter jacket, and waits to lead the way inside.

“Eight hot women in this tiny place?” Prentice asks. He stuffs his hands into his navy bomber jacket pockets the second he gets outside, trying to keep them warm. “Not a chance.”

“Just four will do fine for now,” Victor corrects him. “Ted and the others are on their own.”

Chauncey steps out next, and zips up his dark grey parka. He’s the only one with enough foresight to put winter gloves in his pocket before we flew out from JFK airport. “Good thing Markus, Ted and Jeff are in the limo behind us. So, who wants to make this interesting?”

I jump out of the back seat. “Hell no. We had a deal. No bets this weekend.” I put on my sunglasses to look at the three of them in the brilliant mid-morning sunlight, made that much brighter by the glare of fresh snow covering the frozen Lake Tahoe ground. I’m getting tired of this endless string of wagers we all end up making with one another. Unless I’m the winner, which has been happening less often lately.

Prentice shakes his head. “You’re partly to blame for this lack of entertainment fiasco, Carter. Since when do we let the kid organize these trips?”

“Kid?” I repeat, because he’s talking about my younger brother, who’s not that much younger. “He’s twenty-five. That’s at least five years older than we were when we started coming up here.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Prentice grins. “What are we betting, Chauncey?”

Chauncey starts heading toward the front door of the diner. “More pussy. What else?”

“There’s still enough time to fly to Vegas and get there before happy hour ends,” Prentice suggests.

I turn as the second limo approaches and comes to a stop. It’s carrying Ted, Markus and Jeff. Malcolm is supposed to be with us, but he’s indisposed with his new tree-hugger girlfriend, Riley. He’s promised to bring her up for a day or two, but I won’t hold my breath. Angelo and his brothers, Dominic and Franko aren’t coming this time, on account of their big Italian homecoming in Chicago this year.

Perfect. Everyone is here. We can eat at this little shithole, and head up to the cabin to kick off the start of our annual five-night winter retreat. We start in Lake Tahoe, fly over to Vegas for a couple of days, and if there’s time, we take a day trip to Los Angeles before heading back to New York in time to watch the New Year’s Eve festivities at Times Square.

I just didn’t count on meeting someone like Missy George inside.