Victory Tour
Copyright© 2023 by Alured de Valer
Chapter 68: Friday, Oct. 19
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 68: Friday, Oct. 19 - The continuing adventures of Gary Robinson and the gang from Best Summer Ever. How will our hero handle juggling playing football, his growing number of girlfriends and his senior year of high school? Let's find out! I'll try to post every Saturday, but don't hold me to that.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft mt/Fa Teenagers Consensual Heterosexual Fiction School Sports Incest Brother Sister DomSub MaleDom Light Bond Spanking Interracial Black Female White Male White Female Oriental Female Hispanic Female Anal Sex First Massage Oral Sex Pregnancy Safe Sex Squirting
GAME DAY — THE BIG SHOWDOWN, COUGARS
Friday came way too early for me. I guess I wore myself out more than I thought yesterday. And I didn’t even get laid.
“Time to get up, Daddy,” a feminine voice seeped into my brain. “It’s almost 7. What would you like for breakfast?”
That was way too much to process as I tried to lift my head off the pillow, which was almost a perfect match for me. I didn’t want it to feel unappreciated. It deserved to hold my noggin for a little longer. It was doing such a good job.
“Daddy, get up!” Marie repeated, this time giving my left shoulder a shake.
That woke me up as a jolt of pain lanced through the joint. Just enough to make me realize swinging golf clubs all afternoon probably hadn’t been the best thing to do. Maybe I should have worn my harness.
“OK, I’m gettin’ up, baby,” I said, grabbing my shoulder with the other hand as I tried to sit up.
“Are you all right, Daddy?” Marie asked with concern.
“Shoulder’s kinda sore,” I said, trying to work my left arm in little circles. “Think I overdid it yesterday.”
“Let me work on it,” she said, pushing me to lie back and crawling atop me.
My submissive bitch was dressed for the apartment, clad only in her housedress, choker and granny panties. Just because she was in the middle of her period didn’t mean my dick didn’t appreciate her proximity.
“We don’t have time for that,” she giggled as she felt me swelling under her while she began giving me a massage.
“I can’t help it,” I groaned as she kneaded my flesh. “It’s a natural response. Besides, we’re both supposed to be on the shelf right now.”
After a few minutes, Marie hopped off me and ordered me to roll over so she could get the back. It took a second or two to adjust things so I could lie face-down without too much discomfort.
“Are you going to be able to do what you did yesterday?” she asked as she worked.
“I should,” I said. “It already feels better. You take such good care of me, baby.”
“Of course,” she giggled. “You’re my Daddy. And in a couple of weeks, we can take another shot at making me a mommy.”
“I noticed my mother never brought the subject up last night,” I mumbled into the pillow. “Did she give you much trouble about it?”
“Not after I told her I’d started pretty much on schedule,” Marie said. “She does seem to understand it will eventually happen, though. She just doesn’t like the idea very much.”
No, she doesn’t, I thought. I wondered if my newfound financial independence might make my mother more accepting, if not exactly happy, should Marie catch before I graduated. And if I pursued emancipation, Mom wouldn’t have much say in the matter.
“When it does happen, we need to have some type of formal arrangement in place to provide for a child,” I said. “Jan said Meredith has people who might can help. Or we can do what my grandmother expects and get married.”
“Married!?!?!?” Marie cried in shock, stopping the massage.
“Grandma said she expects me to do the right thing by the mother of her first great-grandchild,” I said, wondering what I would do if both Marie and Jan conceived within a matter of weeks.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Daddy,” Marie stammered, “but I don’t think I’m the one you should marry.”
“Oh?” I asked as I managed to roll onto my back so I could look her in the face. “You were willing to marry Julia.”
“A lot’s changed since then,” she said softly. “I’m very happy with the way things are now. I wish it could be this way forever.”
The way things were now, my dick was once again pressing between her legs, only two thin layers of cloth preventing our pubes from mingling. But I don’t think that’s what she meant.
“You need to marry someone like Morgan, Bethany or Staci,” she continued. “You may not have even met the girl you’ll marry yet.”
“And what would you do if I knock you up and then marry someone else?” I asked.
“Try to get you to hire me as your housekeeper,” the little waif said with a rather dreamy expression. “I could be something more than just your mistress, sort of an assistant wife or something. You would still be my Daddy and punish me when I need it.”
At least the three she’d mentioned were aware of the nature of my relationship with my submissive bitch and seemed to accept it. I didn’t want to think about explaining the situation to some other girl who might consider me husband material.
“What about your job here with Arlene?” I asked. “She’s going to need a lot of help when she has her baby.”
“She wants to stay with you, too,” Marie said, surprising the shit out of me. “She mentioned buying a ranch out in Utah so we could all be together. It sounds really nice, 64,000 acres located in a secluded valley with lots of grass, trees and water. There’s a little town not too far away to provide services and supplies.”
“She hasn’t really bought property, has she?” I asked, stunned that the redheaded goddess would consider such a purchase before her burgeoning business empire was up and running.
“Not unless she did it while she’s been in Los Angeles,” Marie said. “But I know she contacted a realtor to get some information.”
My mind boggled at the idea. We were talking about 100 square miles of land here! Just so multiple women could live with me. I guess Arlene had been serious about finding one of those outlaw Mormon communities.
I just hoped she didn’t expect me to run a cattle operation. I think my odds of making a living would be better in the NFL or on the PGA Tour.
“We’d better get moving,” I finally said. “Thank you for the massage. My shoulder feels much better, baby.”
“You’re very welcome, Daddy,” Marie said, leaning in for a smooch. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“Fruit if there’s any left, bacon on cheese toast,” I replied as she got off of me. “That ought to be easy enough to put together. I’m going to grab a shower.”
“I’ll have it ready by the time you get washed,” she said.
As it turned out, my pet probably could have run to the grocery store and bought the items I requested by the time I made it to the table. In addition to showering and shampooing, I took time to shave my face and legs — I didn’t want to have leg hair sticking to athletic tape again if I could help it — and run a comb through my hair before going to dress.
“It’s on the table,” Marie called out as I exited the bathroom.
“Thank you, baby,” I said. “Be there in a sec.”
I pulled on a fresh pair of boxers, grabbed a pair of khakis off a hanger and my blue team polo, even though I doubted I’d wear it for more than an hour or so until after the game. The clothes bar was packed with items the girls had picked out for me, including a broad selection of fleeces and windbreakers. There was a windbreaker almost the exact shade of blue as my shirt. Someone had put more than a little effort into my wardrobe upgrade.
All of the new clothes had been laundered and neatly folded or hung. I was going to have to do something very nice for my ladies to show my appreciation for their efforts.
A pair of blue socks since it was a game day and my loafers completed my ensemble. With Marie still busy in the kitchen, I took the opportunity to open the bundle of cash I’d kept and pulled five bills out of a strap, which would more than cover however many steaks I was supposed to buy tonight. They all bore pictures of Mr. Franklin, making me think I really had received $5 million in cash.
I made sure the wallet was safely in a hip pocket, which I buttoned for the first time in my life, grabbed my phone, keys and shades and stepped to the table. Marie had served me four strips of bacon on the cheese toast, which made for a nice little sandwich, and enough fruit to make sure I wouldn’t contract scurvy along with the obligatory glass of pineapple juice.
It was pushing 8 o’clock by the time I wolfed it all down, gave Marie one more kiss and prepared to head out.
“What do you have planned today?” I asked as I grabbed my backpack, more out of habit than from any intent to do more studying.
“I’m just going to relax and have a quiet day,” she said. “I’ve been cramping, but nothing too awful bad. I think if I just sit down and put my feet up for a while, I’ll be feeling good enough to go to the game and the cookout.”
“We’ll, don’t push yourself,” I said. “You’ve done a lot for me this week. You deserve a break.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she said, grabbing one last smooch. “You’d better go. Have a good day. Love you.”
“Love you, too, baby,” I said on my way to the door.
I stepped out into a gloomy morning. The sun had been up nearly 30 minutes by now, but it hardly looked like it. The clouds were thick and hung low, making me wonder how much rain we were going to get and how that would impact the shoot.
The black SUV was parked on the street this morning, making me think I was allowed to drive the Beemer. I realized I hadn’t even cranked it up this week except for Wednesday night after my visit from Howard Tankersley. The security detail was on my bumper as soon as I reached the street and followed me all the way to the club, but I didn’t notice anyone trying to follow us. Not that I knew what to look for.
The club parking lot was almost empty except for employees, giving me plenty of spots to choose from. I made sure everything was buttoned up, grabbed my bag and headed into the pro shop to find a very distraught photographer.
“Something wrong?” I asked. “Did the ad people not like the shots you got yesterday?”
“Oh, they loved the shots, especially the ones from the sand trap,” he said. “But we’ve got several more combinations to shoot and it’s supposed to start raining any minute now. I am not taking camera equipment out in the rain.”
He explained the forecast called for two brief windows in which he’d be willing to go outside, but it was supposed to start raining again before he could get everything set up and start shooting.
As we were debating heading into the agency to do what we could, Mr. Horton walked over to one of the clothing racks with a sheet of letter-sized paper, which he inserted into a little plastic frame. He stepped back to reveal the legend “CLEARANCE ITEMS 20% OFF.”
It got me to thinking.
“Do you just print those out yourself, Mr. Horton?” I asked.
“Sure do,” he said. “It’s easier than keeping track of regular signs that we’d only use for a week or two each year. I can customize the amount of the markdown. If 20 percent doesn’t work, next week I’ll try 25.”
“How many combinations do we have to shoot today?” I asked the photographer.
“About two dozen tops and six pairs of pants,” he said. “Not all the tops will match up with all the pants, so, maybe about 50 or 60 combos at the most.”
“Mr. Horton, could you print out one of your signs with the clothing line’s logo?” I asked. “Maybe say something like ‘Now Available.’”
“What’re you thinking, kid?” the photographer asked.
“We hang up all the shirts on an empty rack,” I said. “There has to be enough empty hangers around here for that.”
“More than enough,” Mr. Horton said, coming over to find out just where the hell I was going with this.
“We put the sign on the rack — can you print the logo in color, Mr. Horton? — I wear whichever combo you tell me to and you shoot me looking at the other tops and pants like I’m shopping to buy,” I explained. “I bet you can frame the shots to show almost everything on the rack. Make sure the logo on at least one of the shirts shows. Heck, we might even talk Mr. Horton into acting like he’s giving me a sales pitch if he’s not too busy.”
“That just might work,” the photographer said. “Show the clothes being sold in a real golf shop. Let me call Armand and run it past him. If we hurry, we could be done by lunch.”
“Where can I find this logo?” Mr. Horton asked.
“I’ve got dozens on my laptop,” the photographer said. “If you have wifi, I can email a few to you so we can figure out what size and color will work best.”
“I’ve got a thumb drive If you just want to load them on it,” Mr. Horton said. “I have Photoshop on my computer in the office. Makes it easier to design flyers and posters for tournaments and such.”
While they went off to take care of their business, I went to stash my backpack in Dad’s locker, having to remove the bag I’d used yesterday to make room. Since it didn’t appear I’d be swinging any clubs today, I went ahead and swapped out my clubs for the left-handed set we’d put in my little nylon bag. I made sure to grab the shopping bag full of balls we’d purchased, as well, since I was on the hook for paying for them.
When I returned, the hair and makeup lady directed me to the women’s locker room again. The threat of rain had kept all but the hardest of diehards from playing today. There weren’t even any women on the course this morning, so the odds of some lady coming in were pretty low.
To prevent getting anything on my team polo, I was told to change into a T-shirt that appeared to be about a 3X, big enough for one of our linemen. It was loose enough to take off without ruining the makeup job, but the way it kept slipping off my shoulder reminded me of Riley’s visit to the apartment last week. I don’t think I flashed anyone a nipple, though.
Mom showed up as I was sent off to change into my first outfit and was discussing matters with Mr. Horton and the agency people. I hung my clothes in Dad’s locker and pulled on the new duds, which were in colors I’d never choose on my own. But since I was being paid to wear them, I don’t think I had room to complain.
I emerged to find a flurry of activity. Photo assistants were setting up remote flashes and reflectors while the wardrobe lady, with assistance from the hair and makeup lady, was putting all the shirts on hangers. The rack we were given to use was sitting in an area that had been cleared to give us room to work in, a row of caps with the clothing logo sitting atop it.
Then my teammates started showing up.
“Dude, I don’t think we’re goin’ outside today,” Jed said from behind me. “Supposed to rain almost until game time tonight.”
“Which is why we’re setting up in here,” I said.
“So, what’re we supposed to do?” Jed asked.
“I have no idea,” I said. “I don’t mind if you hang around, but I doubt I’ll need a gallery to watch me pretend to shop.”
“What was that?” the photographer asked as he came over to make sure the setup was to his liking.
“I said I doubt I need a gallery to watch me shop,” I said.
“I don’t know where you get these ideas, kid, but that’s a good one,” he said, making me wonder what he was talking about. “I need to have Armand assign you to all my shoots, even if you aren’t the model.”
He rushed off to discuss the matter with Mr. Horton, who got a big grin and hurried to his office, emerging with his panama and “QUIET” sign.
“Where’s the one who played caddie yesterday?” the photographer asked.
“Right here,” Wes said, stepping forward.
“Where’s the bag?” the photographer asked.
“In the men’s locker room,” I said.
“I’ll get it,” Wes said. “Gotta get into character.”
Mom and an assistant pro came over carrying the impromptu sign, already encased in its stand. This one was printed on 11X15 paper and placed vertically on the rack. In addition to the clothing line’s logo that dominated the page, “NOW AVAILABLE” was stripped across the top with “Prairie Star Country Club” bracketed by two club logos across the bottom.
Shoulda known Mom would figure out a way to get in a plug for the club.
It turned out there were actually several signs printed in different colors — blue, green, red, purple, orange, yellow — that could be swapped out depending on the color of my outfit. This went well beyond making sure my accessories matched. Again, I think people were getting way too into this.
Lookin’ at you, Mom.
“Everybody ready?” the photographer asked, ripping off a few test shots to make sure the flashes were working. “Mrs. Robinson, since we’ve given Mr. Horton other duties, why don’t you get in here and help Junior shop for new clothes. I’m sure you’ve done it before and know what to do.”
And with that, we were off. Mom would select a shirt and hold it up against me like she was checking if it was big enough. Wes stood by holding the golf bag so the logo was visible. Mr. Horton held up the “QUIET” sign as my “gallery” politely applauded and made snarky comments.
“That one really brings out his eyes,” I heard Marshawn say.
“I like the way it compliments his skin tone,” Jed added.
It took maybe five minutes to take a few shots with each shirt on the rack, then the wardrobe lady pulled one off a hanger, handed it to me and sent me to change. When I returned, I handed her the first shirt I wore, which was quickly placed on a hanger and added to the rack, and we repeated the process.
More teammates, girlfriends and cheerleaders trickled in as we worked our way through the combinations. The wardrobe lady marked off each shirt I wore with a particular pair of pants as we went, making sure we didn’t leave out any combinations. By my fourth shirt, the pro shop was getting crowded.
“Those of you who don’t want to just stand around are welcome to go to the teen lounge,” my mother said in an effort to alleviate the congestion. “We can rotate kids in if anybody wants to take a break. The deal for lunch at the 19th hole still stands. I already told the main kitchen to make enough for everyone. May as well honor the offer I made to you.”
I came back from changing pants to find one of the regular old-fogey foursomes crowding around. I think they got in as many holes as they could before the rain forced them inside. They were all wearing waterproof tops and pants, which were still dripping wet.
“What’s goin’ on here?” one rather rotund septuagenarian asked.
“We’re doing a fashion shoot inside since it’s raining too much to get on the course,” Mom explained.
“Lemme have a look,” the old fellow said pushing forward. “Sign says ‘Now Available.’ Might wanna by somethin.’”
“These clothes aren’t really available yet, Fred,” Mr. Horton said wearily, as if Fred was someone he didn’t enjoy dealing with. “That’s just for the ad. These things won’t be available until at least March.”
“Even the caps?” Fred asked.
“Especially the caps,” the photographer snapped.
“You gonna carry ‘em?” Fred asked.
“There’s a good chance,” Mr. Horton said. “They’re good quality garments, but the manufacturer hasn’t even started production. I need to get the pricing information before I make a final decision.”
“Put me down for one o’ them blue ones when ya get ‘em in,” Fred commanded, totally ignoring the fact that no order had been placed yet. “Ya know my size. What’re all these young ‘uns doin’ here?”
“They helped us out yesterday,” the photographer said. “I invited them back assuming we could work outside. Most of them are Gary’s football teammates.”
“Which one’s Gary?” Fred asked, causing everyone to look at me.
There was no need for me to identify myself.
“Oh, that redhead’s rubber dolly,” Fred snorted. “My wife thinks he’s a little light in his loafers. We’ll, you boys better win tonight. I got a grand ridin’ on it. Let’s go, fellas. Maybe we can scare up a gin rummy game in the lounge.”
Mr. Horton waited until the foursome moved off before saying anything.
“Sorry, folks,” the head pro said. “Fred’s a founding member and thinks that gives him a say in how the club’s run. It’s a rare day he doesn’t complain about something around here.”
“At least he didn’t ask who let all the jigaboos in,” Dontrell Williams snarked. “Things mighta got ugly.”
“And once again, boys, Gary’s not gay,” Staci asserted smugly. “That old fart’s wife’s just a dried-up old prune who probably never enjoyed it, anyway. Just the price a woman had to pay to get a husband back then.”
We returned to work and made it through the rack again by 11, putting us about halfway there. Members of my “gallery” came and went as the offer to use the teen lounge (and grab some snackage in the process) proved too tempting to pass up. I went to change pants again and returned to see all my high school girlfriends gathered around Mom. It seems Kacie still hadn’t given up on finding out what we talked about last night.
Rather than give all the girls a kiss and risk the wrath of the makeup lady — who still had to touch me up every few shirt changes, much to the amusement of my teammates — I simply waved and got back to what I was doing.
The last two pairs of pants were a bit loud, to put it mildly. The canary yellow ones caused all my teammates who had them to don their shades. I might have done the same if I thought I could get away with it. Probably best that my shades were in the locker, removing that temptation. The lime green ones were almost as bad.
The good news was only a few of the shirts were paired with them, allowing us to wrap things up a little before noon.
“Good, I’m ready for lunch,” Chuck said when the photographer called it a wrap.
When was Chuck not? Maybe first thing in the morning when he was ready for breakfast, but he was probably already thinking about what he wanted for lunch.
“I’ve got to go clean up and make sure the agency folks have all the clothes,” I told Mom. “Where are we eating?”
“Why don’t you join your teammates?” she said. “You boys can have a pregame meal together. George Patterson and your father won’t be here until almost 1, anyway. I’ll call or come find you when we’re ready.”
I didn’t really need a shower, but figured that would be the easiest way to wash all the makeup off and get the goop out of my hair. I don’t know why the agency folks didn’t let me wear a cap today. I think the photographer just liked the way they’d been arranged and didn’t want to mess up the symmetry.
I dressed in my own clothes and carried the last outfit I wore out to the wardrobe lady, who’d already stripped everything else off the hangers we’d used. She just dumped everything into a pile since she wasn’t worried about wrinkles now.
I grabbed my backpack and stepped toward the exit when the skies really opened up. You could barely make out the trees lining the ninth fairway, it was raining so hard. Instead, I headed to the corridor into the main clubhouse, figuring I could cover most of the distance before taking another exit.
I sure hope it’s not going to be like that tonight. I’ve been rained on enough for one season.
I actually went beyond the 19th Hole when the rain suddenly let up, almost stopping completely. That allowed me to take the next door and double back without getting soaked. I walked into the place to find it even more of a madhouse than yesterday as something in the neighborhood of 100 teenagers vied for Tony’s attention.
The crowd finally subsided as orders were placed and seats were taken. Mom had apparently had Chef Maurice send Tony some help because a lady was filling drink cups with soda and placing them on the bar next to rows of tea and lemonade, while a guy came out of the kitchen carrying four plates at a time loaded with sandwiches and fries.
After placing my order, paying and collecting a glass of tea, I looked for a place to sit. Both Jed and Morgan waved at me from different booths. Jed was with Chuck and some other linemen. Morgan was seated with Kacie, Bethany and Staci with Sherry in her wheelchair at the end of the table. Ny’Quesha and Elise were at the next table with Riley and one of the other volleyball players.
“Sorry, dude,” I called to my buddy, “I’m gonna go sit with the pretty girls. All they steal is clothes I’ve outgrown.”
“Don’t come cryin’ to us if somebody on the defense takes your lunch, dude,” Jed snarked back.
And that would be different from somebody on the O-line taking it how?
“Hello, ladies,” I said as Morgan and Kacie scooted over far enough to allow me to get a butt cheek on the bench seat meant for two people while I set my backpack on the floor.
“Are you done for today?” Bethany asked.
“With modeling,” I said as I tried to force my seatmates over another inch or two. “I’ve got to meet with some folks here in a little bit.”
“What about?” Kacie asked from the other side of Morgan.
“The same thing I wouldn’t tell you about last night,” I said. “If I think you need to know, I’ll tell all of you just as soon as we can get everyone together.”
“So, tonight at the cookout,” Staci suggested hopefully.
“If we get all the details worked out this afternoon,” I said. “If it takes more than one meeting, then maybe at a later date.”
“I say we tie him down and force it out of him,” Bethany smirked.
“If you think you’re man enough to do it,” I smirked right back. “And you should probably wait until after the game tonight. I’ll let Coach Tucker deal with you if I’m unable to hold for kicks.”
“We’ll just wait,” Sherry grinned. “So, where are you taking me tomorrow night?”
That was the first indication I’d received that I’d be going out with the JV cheerleader instead of Bethany.
“Where would you like to go?” I smiled. “We can eat here at the club, somewhere else in town like Familia Benavidez or even go into the city if you want.”
“I think here at the club,” Sherry said. “We can dress up a little, but we don’t have to get fancy. Will 6 o’clock be OK?”
“That’s fine,” I said. “Anything you’d like to do after dinner? A movie? The teen lounge?”
“I’ve got some ideas,” Sherry smirked as the other girls tried — and failed — to stifle giggles. “Let’s just see how I’m feeling and play it by ear.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “How many of y’all plan to come to the cookout tonight?”
Every girl at both tables, including the third volleyball player, raised a hand. I couldn’t decide if Elise was trying to recruit more girlfriends for me or if she just wanted people from her own circle around as she integrated into mine.
“So, that’s 10 of you,” I said. “Marie said she’d be there, but she wanted to have a quiet day so she could rest up.”
“Is she having a rough week?” asked Kacie, who was also dealing with the curse. “You need to hurry up and knock that girl up. I’ve heard Grandpa talk more than once about how difficult heifers became easier to handle after they had a calf.”
“Tell Mom that,” I said. “She seems to be doing everything she can to make sure I don’t get anyone pregnant.”
“Not everything,” Morgan smirked. “You still have your balls, don’t you?”
“Last time I checked,” I said, earning a round of titters from all the girls. “And I’d like to keep it that way. Besides, my grandmother said she expects me to ‘do the right thing’ if I do get Marie pregnant, but Marie told me I should marry someone else, maybe even a girl I haven’t met yet. She’d rather be my housekeeper and ‘sort of an assistant wife.’”
“I could go for that,” Bethany grinned.
“It’s just one more issue that needs to be resolved,” I said. “I also need to get together with your grandmother to see about formulating an agreement to provide for any child I may father.”
The guy from the kitchen brought my plate. Sherry and Staci snagged fries for themselves before I could even take a bite out of my sandwich. Neither looked the least bit ashamed. Maybe I should have sat with the O-line.
“Stop that,” I commanded. “This is all I’ll get to eat until after the game.”
Marshawn came over to see if Ny’Quesha was ready to go. He also stole a fry. I almost stabbed his hand with my fork, but he was too quick.
“Which one o’ these ladies you goin’ out with tomorrow?” he asked, prompting Sherry to raise her hand with a grin.
“We’re going to eat here at the club,” she said. “He’s picking me up at 6, so about 6:30.”
“Guess I better hustle up another date,” Marshawn grinned. “I want my dessert.”
“Ya need to start gettin’ your mind on tonight first,” I said, taking another bite of my sandwich. “You play the way we’ll need you to, you can have whatever dessert you want.”
“How many tackles I gotta get?” he asked.
“I’m lookin’ for quality, not quantity,” I said. “One will be enough if it swings the game our way. Force a turnover that sets up the clinching score, somethin’ like that.”
“I can do that,” the linebacker grinned. “C’mon, ‘Quesha, we better get on home. I gotta go get my mind right to make a game-changin’ play.”
Ny’Quesha permitted me to chew and swallow my food before sneaking in a kiss, much to her brother’s consternation.
“See ya at the cookout,” she said, dragging Marshawn away before he could rebuke me.