Chapter 4

February 2, 2016

I flew out of Harrisburg to San Francisco and Super Bowl Week, with a stop-over in Chicago on the way west. The flight took the better part of the day. I grabbed a rental car at the airport and drove myself the mile south to my hotel. Kyle had reserved a block of rooms at the Holiday Inn Airport South. It wasn’t a great hotel, but choices were slim when Kyle found us the block of rooms. The good hotels in the Bay area were sold out months ago for people coming to the Super Bowl.

I texted Mike Johanson when I got settled at the hotel. He was flying in from Cincinnati that evening too. Both of us were attending the NFL awards dinner the next night. We were two of the ten finalists for rookie of the year. Jared Hunt, the rookie middle linebacker, on the Jacksonville Jaguars was the hands-down favorite to win the honors.

Mike answered my text immediately. He was at the airport waiting for his luggage. I texted him back and let him know I’d wait for him so we could go out to dinner together. Mike and I weren’t best buds, but we had been co-captains when we were seniors in high school and maintained a friendly relationship through high school, college and now the pros. Mike and I went over to the bar & grill beside our hotel after he checked in.

We enjoyed pulled pork quesadillas and a mountain of sweet potato fries for appetizers. Our steak and baked potato dinners were excellent. The place, called Max’s, featured live music. We hung out at the bar, nursing a couple beers for part of the evening. We compared stories of our experiences with our teams this past season. We played each other back in September and hadn’t had time to talk since then. I enjoyed catching up with Mike.

Mike and I went back to my room to kill time and watch a movie until bedtime. I had a knock at my door a little after nine o’clock.

“Come in,” I called out. Kyle popped his head in my door.

“Hey, bro. Welcome to Frisco,” he announced. He spotted Mike sprawled on the next bed and gave him a big smile. “Great to see you, Mike! What are you guys up to tonight?”

“We had dinner at the bar and grill out front,” I answered.

“We had a couple beers, talked and enjoyed the music,” Mike added. “They have live music. It’s pretty decent.”

“Cool,” Kyle said. “I wondered if the place was any good. I didn’t have time to check it out today. I was tied up with the NFLPA meeting most of the day. We went out for dinner after the meeting was over.”

“When is everyone else arriving?” I asked.

“Ed and Jeremy are due in tomorrow afternoon,” Kyle replied. “Hal and Jake are coming Thursday. When is your girlfriend coming, Mike?”

“Amanda is coming Saturday afternoon,” Mike replied. “She is being crushed at work this week. By the way, she’s my fiancée now. We’re getting married next month.”

“You are?” Kyle said. “You didn’t tell me that when we played you last October.”

“I hadn’t asked yet,” Mike answered. “I proposed the next weekend, on our bye week.”

“Congratulations, this is excellent news,” Kyle said. “How about Eric? When’s he arriving?”

“He’s swamped with programming,” I said. “He will leave Orlando after work on Friday and arrive here late that evening. The two of us plan to do some sightseeing Saturday.”

“Cool!” Kyle said. “Any plans for tomorrow?”

“Just a trip down to the stadium to get our Super Bowl tickets,” I said.

“Why do rookies have to show up at the stadium to get their tickets?” Mike asked. “It’s crazy. All the vets can buy the tickets back home.”

“It doesn’t make any sense, does it?” Kyle agreed, laughing. “I suppose the league wants rookies to experience the Super Bowl week hype firsthand. I don’t know. I’m just guessing.”

Kyle, Mike and I debated the league policy for a couple minutes, never really making sense of it. Every NFL player on a roster could purchase two tickets. Most players bought them and resold them at a tidy profit. That was my plan too, until Kyle organized this reunion.

Wednesday morning, Kyle enjoyed a rare morning to sleep in. Mike and I got up, grabbed breakfast at the hotel’s buffet and then headed over to Levi’s Stadium. Mike was impressed with the two-year-old stadium. He hadn’t seen it before. My team played the 49ers there last September, so it wasn’t new to me anymore. We purchased our Super Bowl tickets and headed back to the hotel to meet Kyle for lunch.

Kyle, Mike and I grabbed lunch at a pizza shop near the entrance to Presidio Park. We spent most of the afternoon exploring the old coastal defenses in the park. It was cool to have a trained historian like my brother along to help us interpret what we were seeing. We got good pictures of the Golden Gate Bridge from the Torpedo Wharf too.

We headed back to the hotel in the late afternoon. Kyle went to the airport to pick up Ed and Jeremy. Mike and I got ready for our awards dinner that evening. Mike offered to drive us over to the banquet hall. He split when he ran into a couple Bengals teammates after we arrived. That was fine. I hooked up with Dylan Harris and Marcus Waldron soon after he took off.

“How are you settling in on your winter break?” Dylan asked.

“I’m doing great,” I answered. “I’m turning into a regular dad. The whole routine – PTO, Cub Scouts, swim team ... all that.”

“All you need now is a wife to go with your comfortable family,” Dylan said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Still working on that.”

“You flying home tomorrow?” Marcus asked. “I assume you bought your Super Bowl tickets. Did you get a good price for them when you unloaded them?”

“I’m keeping them,” I answered. “My brother, Kyle, convinced me to stick around and watch the Super Bowl instead. We’re having a high school football team reunion ... of sorts.”

“Yeah, you got a bunch of guys from your school in the league, don’t you?” Marcus noted. I nodded in agreement.

“Five from one school is a lot,” Dylan added. “Who’s coming? You, Kyle, Jeremy and Fritz? How about Hayes?”

“Zack is tied up with recruiting, I expect,” I answered. “I doubt he will be here this week.”

“It blew my mind when he retired,” Dylan commented. “He came into the league a couple years ahead of me. I never expected him to give up football so quick.”

“The concussions were mounting up” I explained. “He got tired of playing behind bad offensive lines. He took the opportunity to coach when it became available.”

“I know how that is,” Dylan said. “I’m glad Coach has got our offensive line stabilized. I got beat up pretty good a couple of my years with the Bills.”

“By the way,” I added. “My high school didn’t send five guys to the NFL. We have sent eight, so far.”

“Eight?” both guys stammered. “Who?”

“Me, Kyle, Jeremy, Ed Fritz,” I explained, “ ... Hal Long, the Broncos kicker this season, Zack and Sam Hayes, Jake Kring and...”

“Kring?” Dylan asked. “Never heard of him.”

“Jake is QB3 for the Chiefs,” I answered. “He played college ball for Syracuse. The eighth guy is the guy I came in with tonight.”

“The Bengals cornerback?” Marcus said. “I thought he was from Texas.”

“Mike is,” I agreed. “He played high school football in Paradise for three seasons. His dad works for the New Holland farm equipment manufacturer. The family moved up north when Mike was in tenth grade. He and I served as team co-captains together.”

“That’s a lot of talent for one team,” Dylan said. “I bet you won a bunch of state championship with that kind of lineup.”

“Two championships while I was varsity,” I answered. “They won another after I graduated.”

“Amazing,” Marcus said. “My high school is proud of putting three guys in the NFL.”

“My school managed well over the years – twenty-four total,” Dylan said, chuckling. “We have four of us currently active – me, Rodney McLeod, the safety picked up last season by the Titans, Cameron Wake, the linebacker in Miami and Josh Wilson, the defensive back who played for half a dozen teams over the past seven years. The most famous player from DeMatha Catholic High is Brian Westbrook.” Dylan didn’t need to tell me about Brian Westbrook. I grew up an Eagles fan and loved watching Westbrook play.

Dylan, Marcus and I debated what it took for a high school to place as many players in the NFL. Our consensus was it required top notch coaching, a school tradition of excellence, the willingness of the kids to bust their butts preparing and a good dose of luck.

A few other Notre Dame players joined Dylan, Marcus and me at our table. One of Marcus’ South Carolina teammates joined us too. No one from poor little Delaware joined our table. To the best of my knowledge, my school had only six players in the NFL – four defensive players considerably older than me who I didn’t know, Joe Flacco and me. Joe did stop by to say hello later that night. He and his wife were sitting with other Baltimore teammates across the room.

The food at the banquet wasn’t anything special – chicken in a cream sauce over rice with a steamed vegetable medley. The speakers droned on after dinner. The NFL had way too many awards to give out. Finally, they reached the Rookie of the Year Awards.

Andre Jones, the cornerback taken by the Titans in the first round won the Defensive Rookie of the Year Award. Mike wasn’t too upset to lose. Next came the Offensive Rookie of the Year.

No, I didn’t get it. I knew I wouldn’t. Jamar Mitchell, the Oregon running back picked up by Washington in the second round, won the offensive award. He had 1671 yards rushing and 688 yards receiving in the regular season. He’d rushed for over two hundred yards when Washington knocked off the 49ers ten days ago. He was a big part of why Washington were in the Super Bowl – him and of course, their tenacious defense.

“You were robbed,” Marcus commented before Jamar headed to the front for his award.

“You’re better than him,” Dylan agreed. “You made our season, no doubt about it.”

“I didn’t have his numbers,” I commented quietly. I had 1163 yards receiving on 77 catches. “Jamar is a good choice for the honor.”

“You beat him in all-purpose yards,” Marcus insisted. “You deserved this.” I had added 1125 yards returning kicks and 482 yard returning punts to my all-purpose yards total during the season. “It’s because you didn’t match your brother’s rookie record. You’d hold the league record for the most all-purpose yards in a season, if it weren’t for your brother’s rookie year.”

“I don’t bother to compare what I do to Kyle,” I answered. “My brother plays out of this world. I am satisfied to be good at my job.”

“You certainly do that, Andrew,” Dylan said. “Our team is damned lucky we got you.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, Dylan,” I responded. “I’m damned glad to be a Ram.” I meant it sincerely. I had a good coach, good teammates, and a good situation with our team. Dylan, Marcus and I discussed what we could expect when our team moved to LA. Rumor had it that would happen sometime in March. OTA and Training Camp would be on the West Coast. We guessed we would hear soon.

I wished Dylan and Marcus a good week when the night was over. Both were sticking around in San Francisco, but neither planned to attend the game on Sunday. Dylan and his agent were working an endorsement deal for him. Marcus and his agent were hoping to drum up something for him.

Mike and I commiserated with each other on the drive back to our hotel. Ed, Jeremy and Kyle were having a gab session in Kyle’s room when we got back. Everyone had a chance to catch up on each other’s lives over the past few months.

The five of us met Thursday morning for breakfast in the hotel lobby and then headed downtown for a day of touring and shopping. Mike and I went along for the ride. We visited Lombard Street, rode a trolley, visited Chinatown and Tolbertman’s Wharf. Kyle had to drag us onto the World War II Liberty ship and submarine in the harbor.

We were crossing the gangway back to the wharf when both my cell phone and Kyle’s chirped at the same time. My brother and I pulled our phones out to check the message. Mine said, “Call me, Max.”

“Max?” I asked. Kyle nodded. “Do you want to call or should I?”

“I got it,” Kyle answered. He pushed Max Solomon’s number in his phone. Both Kyle and I used Max as our agent. “What’s up, Max?” Kyle listened for a few moments. “Next week? I guess. Can I put you on speaker, Max? Andy is here with me.”

“Hello, Andrew,” Max announced when Kyle set his phone to speaker. “I have a very interesting endorsement offer to discuss with you, Kyle and your parents. Could we set up a meeting with everyone some evening next week?”

“Sure,” Kyle and I both agreed.

“How about in Paradise?” Max asked. “What are your schedules like?”

“I’ve got Cub Scouts on Wednesday and swim team on Friday,” I answered.

“My schedule is pretty open,” Kyle added.

“Could the two of you contact your parents to see if Tuesday night would suit them,” Max suggested. “I might be able to do Thursday evening if I rearrange my schedule, but Tuesday night would be better. Could we meet in Paradise at your house?”

“I can head up there ... yes,” Kyle said. “Penny would probably enjoy a visit with her parents. I know Jim and Marilyn would be delighted to see Davey.” Jim and Marilyn Edwards were Penny’s parents who lived three doors down from our house.

“Text me with which day suits your parents better,” Max said.

“Can I ask who is interested in us?” I asked.

“Campbell’s Soup,” Max said. “I’ll talk to you gentlemen later.”

“Campbell’s Soup?” Ed teased. “Mmm ... mmm ... good. Your mom is going to be the Campbell’s Soup mom.” I shrugged my shoulders.

“I figured some advertising agency would figure out an angle to put Andy and me together in a commercial,” Kyle said. “I hear Campbell’s Soup pays well.”

“I’ve heard that too,” Jeremy agreed.

We continued our tour/shopping trip around Tolbertman’s Wharf. We stopped off at In-N-Out Burger for lunch. Cold Stone Creamery supplied us with a tasty dessert. We window shopped a bit more before heading out to the courtyard. A large black man accompanied by an entourage of half a dozen came strolling out of the of the Hyatt hotel that was part of the mall. The big man was wearing a Broncos sweatshirt.

My brother got a big grin on his face, waved and shouted, “Antwaan!”

“Coach!” Antwaan Booker shouted back. “It’s great to see you.” I was amused to hear that my brother’s high school nickname, which made the jump to Penn State, had followed him out to Denver too. Our two groups merged as Antwaan and Kyle introduced everyone to each other.

“What’cha up to tonight?” Antwaan asked when intros were done. We said we had no special plans, just heading to dinner and a local pub for a couple drinks.

“No, no, no, that won’t do,” Antwaan insisted. “I rented me a boat tonight. We’re doing a harbor cruise – lot’sa food, booze and girls. Y’all need to come. It’s gonna be a blast.”

Ed’s eyes lit up. I knew he was in. Jeremy and Kyle seemed less enthused. Mike didn’t betray any emotion. Me? I hadn’t been laid since November. Food and girls? Sounds good. It took Antwaan and Ed, with a little assist from me, to bring Kyle and Jeremy around. They agreed to be sociable and join Antwaan’s party. Mike volunteered to pick up Jake and Hal at the airport that evening.

We toured the wharf a little longer before heading back to the hotel to cleanup and prepare for Antwaan’s party. Our group took a couple taxis to the yacht club in Sausalito, where the boat was docked. The view from the Gold Gate Bridge at dusk was cool as we drove over. The taxi dropped us off at the dock beside the largest yacht I had ever seen.

The yacht, named the Sausalito Empress, had to be at least ninety feet long. Three young ladies, decked out in their finest, were waved aboard by the gangway attendant without IDs. We didn’t get aboard as easily. The attendant blocked the gangway when we started to board. He demanded IDs and wouldn’t have let us on if he hadn’t found “Kyle Martin and a party of five” on his guest list.

I smiled to myself as I climbed the gangplank. Pretty young ladies are welcome aboard without question. Guys are carefully screened and had limited access to the party. My odds of getting laid were looking up. Why shouldn’t I? I’m single, young and horny. What my parents and kids don’t know won’t hurt them. I had three condoms in my pocket and most of a box back at my hotel room.

The boat, if I could call something that looked to be almost 100 feet long a boat, was three decks high. I followed Kyle, Ed and Jeremy up the gang plank onto the main deck. The compartment on this deck was open from near the bow the whole way to the stern. A large bar graced the forward section. I spotted Drew Brees and Max Rosen chatting with some girls almost immediately as I came aboard. Pretty young girls were everywhere. The room was filled with the cream of the NFL too.

Ed made a beeline to chat with his former teammate and mentor, Elijah Carter, now the QB for the Raiders. Elijah was talking with Eric Peters, the stand-out wide receiver of the Ravens, and former teammate of Ed and Elijah. Kyle found half a dozen Broncos teammates to chat with. Jeremy hooked up with Dylan Harris, my QB. Jeremy and Dylan were teammates and roommates at Notre Dame. They had been best man at each other’s weddings last winter.

I spotted Todd Landry (Seattle), Ndamukon Suh, Matt Stafford (both Detroit), K. J. Kirkpatrick (Kansas City), Jared Allen (Chicago), Karol Ziska (Minnesota), Sean Lee (Dallas), Jake Washington (San Diego), Phil DiStefano (Chicago), Glenn Tucker (Tennessee), Tyler Madden and Dan Conner (both Giants).

There were plenty of pretty girls here to go with all the football players. I decided to grab a beer before I mingled. A tall, very pretty, red head walked up to the bar as I was grabbing my first bottle of beer. The lady was well dressed and appeared to be a year or two younger than me.

“Would you like a beer?” I asked as I proffered the bottle I had already picked up.

“I would love a beer,” she answered. “It’s very gentlemanly of you to offer.”

“Andrew Martin, at your service,” I said as I bowed slightly and handed the beer to her.

“Martin?” she asked. “ ... like the famous receiver from Denver?”

“Exactly like him,” I said. “Kyle is my older brother.”

“Oh ... wow!” she gushed. “Is he here tonight? I’ve always thought he was a hottie.” The lady blushed as soon as she blurted that out. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s fine,” I answered. “My brother does attract plenty of female attention. More than his wife would probably like.”

“Wife?” the lady asked. She visibly deflated at the mention of Penny, Kyle’s wife.

“They have a two-year-old son and a daughter due next month,” I explained. “Very happily married. On the other hand, I happen to be quite unattached.”

The lady took a pull on her beer. I did the same. She carefully appraised me for a moment. “I’m Trinity Stanton. Did I read somewhere that you play football too?”

“Nice to meet you, Trinity,” I confirmed. “I do play football. I’m a receiver for the Rams.”

“Not the Golden Rams?” she asked.

“No, the soon-to-be Los Angeles Rams,” I responded.

“Well ... duh! I should have known that,” Trinity said. “This is a party for professional football players. Forgive me. My brain is a little fried from two midterms this week.”

“I understand,” I said. “I had to deal with a nasty one in business leadership last week.”

“But you’re a professional...”

“Who is doing grad school during the off season,” I explained. “You commented about the Golden Bears. Do you go to Cal-Berkeley?”

“I do,” Trinity confirmed. “I’m a junior. Going to Cal-Berkeley is how I got invited to this party. One of my girlfriends dated a guy from our football team. He graduated last spring and managed to make the Broncos team.”

“Who?” I asked. “I may know him.”

“Michael J. Smith,” Trinity answered.

“I know Mike,” I responded. “Kyle and I had lunch with him last summer at the rookie symposium.”

We talked for a couple minutes about our mutual acquaintance before exhausting the topic. I commented, “Trinity ... you have a pretty name.”

“Pretty?” she answered. “Pretty? Pretty weird. My parents have a strange sense of names. Do you have any idea what it is like to go to a Catholic school and be named for the Holy Trinity?” I shook my head no. I’m a Presbyterian who went to public school. I had no idea.

“My parents named my older sister Devon,” Trinity continued. “That’s a county in England, not a person. My poor little brother had it worst. He’s named Robin.”

“Ouch,” I commented. “I can see where he would get some teasing about that name.”

“Robbie took up karate when he was eight to help him deal with the assholes at school,” Trinity explained. “It’s not as bad now since he turned into jock when he went into high school. He’s simply Rob Stanton, star quarterback for St. Bonaventure’s now.”

“St. Bonaventure’s?” I asked. “That name sounds familiar. I’ve heard of that high school somewhere.”

“They just won the California state championship,” Trinity offered.

“Maybe.”

“Or maybe you ran into one of the alums who made it into the NFL,” Trinity suggested. “We have had half a dozen alums who made it into the NFL.”

“That could be it,” I agreed. I chuckled. “I know how that is. A bunch of us from our high school who made it to the NFL are having a reunion here this week.”

Trinity and I mingled with the other guests. We spent a fair amount of time talking with Drew Brees, Max Rosen, Sean Lee and Phil DiStefano. Max, Sean and Phil were Penn Staters. There was a spread in the guys’ ages. Sean and Phil had been teammates. Max and Phil had been teammates. Max had been one of my brother Kyle’s teammates too. I knew Max a little from my recruiting visits before I started college.

The boat lurched a little as we stood talking. I wobbled before catching my balance.

“You’re not a sailor, are you, Andrew?” Trinity teased. “We’re pulling away from the dock to start our cruise.”

“No, I’m not a sailor, not really,” I admitted. “There aren’t many boats in Amish farm country, where I’m from.”

“No, I guess not,” Trinity laughed. “I practically grew up on my dad’s boat. We keep it in a Ventura Harbor, about half a dozen miles from my home.”

The boat shuddered again as the captain powered up the yacht we were on. I managed to steady myself as the boat pulled away from the docks. It wasn’t worse than standing on a bucking hay wagon when I helped a local farmer “make hay” in the summers when I was younger.

[Note: “Making hay” is a farmer’s term for mowing, raking, baling and moving the hay from the field into the barn for the animals to eat in the winter.]

“You’ll do fine, Andrew,” Trinity remarked. “This is a cruise around the bay. It should be nice and smooth.” She laughed. “Nothing like a port tack heading for Catalina on my dad’s boat.”

“Port tack?” I asked.

“Heading almost into the wind on a sailboat,” Trinity explained. “You can’t sail straight into the wind with a sailboat, but you can get within about 50 degrees or so of the wind. That is a tack. A port tack means the wind is blowing over the port, or left side, of the boat. The boat can buck a lot when it slams through the waves. It can be quite a ride and a lot of fun.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You said Amish farm country,” Trinity asked. “Are they the guys with the funny straw hats and the horses and carriages? Where is Amish country?”

“For me it’s Lancaster County, Pennsylvania,” I replied. “At least for the Amish that live near me. They do wear straw hats in the summer. They drive horses and buggies, not carriages.”

“I didn’t know,” Trinity responded. “Are you ... like ... related to them?”

“Distantly – at least theologically,” I explained. “My ancestors were Mennonites, which is a branch off the Anabaptist faith. The Amish are another branch of Anabaptists.”

“Did your ancestors drive a horse and ... uh ... buggy?”

“Well, yes – they did,” I agreed. “That was back a few generations, before cars were invented. The Mennonite church my family belonged to wasn’t as conservative or strict as the Amish. We drove cars, once they were invented.”

“I can’t imagine how the Amish can live the way they do,” Trinity said. “No electricity, no bathrooms or phones – I couldn’t do it.”

Trinity and I talked about the Amish and Mennonites for a bit as the yacht got under way. The ride wasn’t too bad. I got used to the gentle rock of the deck. Trinity was fascinated by the Amish and the way they lived. I told what I had learned after a lifetime of living next door to them.

We grabbed some the food from the buffet. “Do you want to check out the sights on deck?” Trinity asked as we finished our appetizers.

“We could,” I allowed.

“Put on your jacket,” Trinity said. “It will be cold on deck.” I followed her recommendation. It was in the mid-fifties, not too cold to me. But of course, I was used the below freezing temperatures back home. The sight of the Golden Gate Bridge, all lit up, was fantastic. We enjoyed the sights on deck for a few minutes. Trinity, with her thin California blood, got chilled faster than me.

We headed back inside, grabbing a couple more beers before joining Kyle and Jeremy. Trinity enjoyed hearing stories from my brother and our friend. We chowed on some of the munchies Antwaan’s caterers provided. Antwaan must have paid a small fortune for the spread of food.

The Broncos rewarded my brother with a ten year, $100 million plus deal last fall, but it did not make him the highest paid player on their team. Antwaan was the highest paid player in football, he could well afford this amazing spread.

I introduced Trinity to many of the NFL’s headlining players as we made our way around the ship. Trinity and I danced a bit as the evening wore on. I was encouraged that she hung with me despite the many NFL headliners I introduced her to. Maybe my luck with getting laid was about to change for the better.

One advantage I had compared to looking for fun in St. Louis was that I was on the west coast. I had talked to my boys during dinner, around 5:30 PM, before they went to bed. I wouldn’t face that difficulty decision of whether to mention my boys or not. There would be no need to ever discuss them with Trinity. There was no long-range future in me dating a girl who lived in in the Bay area.

Antwaan hired a DJ to provide music for the party. Trinity and I decided to try our hands at dancing. I’m not great shakes at it, but Trinity made it easy for follow along with her. The slow songs later that evening became especially fun. Trinity molded herself to me as we danced away. We stopped to grab some more of the excellent munchies.

“Why don’t we check out the deck below?” Trinity asked as we finished our food. “Maybe we can find more privacy and get to know each other a little better.” I knew she wasn’t interested in my favorite food or what kind of car I drove. Trinity was interested in knowing me more intimately. I was more than fine with that.

The lighting on the deck below the main party was dimmer. There were quite a few chairs and couches spread around the room. Some were occupied by couples making out, while others were available. I won’t go into the list of famous players I found there. What happens at a Super Bowl party stays at a Super Bowl party. It was no business of mine if a married player tried to get a little on the side.

Trinity directed me to a large, empty chair to one side of the space. “Have a seat, Andrew,” Trinity directed. She plopped down on my lap. “This is comfortable, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I agreed. Trinity wrapped her arms around my neck and planted a kiss on me – a seriously hot kiss. I returned the kiss, with plenty of tongue. Making out with Trinity was sweet. It had been too many months since I had enjoyed this. We engaged in our foreplay for fifteen or twenty blissful minutes – kissing, caressing and cuddling together.

“Do you think our host would mind if we borrowed one of the cabins onboard?” Trinity panted between kisses.

“I can ask,” I agreed. “We need to find Antwaan Booker.” Trinity hopped off my lap and giggled when she saw the obscene tent my cock was causing in my pants. “Maybe you better lead the way.” I adjusted my hard-on so it wasn’t quite as obvious and followed closely behind Trinity, my hands on her hips. It took us a couple minutes to find our host upstairs.

“Andrew, are you enjoying the party?” Antwaan asked expansively.

“You throw quite a bash,” I replied. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Booker,” Trinity added. Antwaan laughed heartily.

“I don’t know who Mr. Booker is,” he replied. “Call me Antwaan, sweetie. What can Antwaan help the two of you with?”

“We were wondering if you would mind if we borrowed one of the cabins down below for a while,” I responded. “You know to uh...”

“Hop in bed and get physical?” Antwaan stated plainly. I blushed while Trinity smiled and nodded her agreement. “You are welcome to use them, but I think you’ll find there is a line. Half a dozen other guys already asked me the same question and I bet more just moved in and helped themselves to the rooms.”