“Yeah. Speaking of that, can you make me some coffee?” he asked. “I had duty last night, so I’m running on no sleep.”
“Aww, Roman, you shouldn’t drive when you’re tired.”
“I’ll be fine after I get some caffeine. I don’t know if I’ll be able to make another game, so I didn’t want to miss this chance.”
I led him into the kitchen. “I’m glad you’re here. Carson is going to be excited too.” Roman’s ship had been out for the last two football seasons, so he hadn’t been to a game since freshman year. “Do you want something to eat?”
“That would be great.”
Thirty minutes later, we were on our way to campus for some tailgating before the game. Evan’s parents and grandparents were alumni and had a parking space right next to the stadium, so we usually hung out there. Some people may have thought it was lame to tailgate with parents and grandparents, but I didn’t think of it like that. On game days, we were all just VVU fans. Besides that, the spread they put out was ridiculous. One year, they had an actual pig with an apple in its mouth. No joke. Evan’s family took tailgating to a whole new level.
Though Roman had almost nothing in common with our crowd, he managed to integrate himself just fine. He and Carson had that in common—they could both maneuver through any social situation with ease. It didn’t take long for Roman to have charmed Evan’s grandmother into laughing at all his jokes.
Evan nudged me. “Should I be concerned that your brother is hitting on my sixty-five-year-old grandmother?”
“I mean, maybe. I don’t know. How’s her relationship with your grandfather?”
His eyes widened for a split second before he rolled his eyes and laughed. Evan was fun to tease because he was so gullible.
“Seriously, I think she likes your brother better than she likes me. She never laughs at my jokes like that.”
I nudged him with my elbow. “Maybe because you aren’t funny.”
His face fell. “I’m plenty funny.”
“Okay. Tell me a joke.”
“Um…”
“Quick. Don’t overthink it. Quick!” I snapped my fingers.
“Why don’t they play poker in the jungle?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Too many cheetahs.” He grinned. “Get it?”
I burst out laughing. “Yeah, I get it.”
His smile turned smug. “See? You’re laughing. I’m funny.”
“That was seriously one of the cheesiest jokes I’ve ever heard. It was a total dad joke.” He blanched, which made me laugh harder. “You got it from your dad, didn’t you?”
“So?” he muttered. “It’s funny.”
“Oh, Evan,” I said. “I love you.”
Roman walked over just in time to hear those words. His eyebrows shot up, and he scowled, going into total guard-dog mode. Just what I needed—another alpha male defending my honor. Though he wasn’t as bad as Carson. Go figure.
“Knock it off, Fido,” I told him. “I don’t need to be protected.”
Roman’s mouth stretched into a grin. He’d just been messing with me because he knew Evan was one of my best friends.
“Especially from me,” Evan said.
“Hey.” Now it was my turn to scowl. Evan and I had only ever been friends, but his answer came too quickly for my liking. What was up with all of my guy friends seeing me as undateable?
“You know what I mean, Bec,” Evan said. “But even if we weren’t just friends, you’re way out of my league.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Have you seen yourself lately? Yeah, you are.” Looking away, he took a swig of beer. “It’s good to see you, Roman. Becca didn’t tell me you’d be here.”
“It was kind of last minute. Luckily, Carson was able to get tickets.”
Evan raised his beer bottle. “Here’s to him having a great game.” Roman clinked his bottle against Evan’s, and I added my water bottle to the mix, which made a squishing sound instead of the satisfying clinking sound like their bottles. Besides the fact that I was underage and wouldn’t want to put Evan’s family in the uncomfortable—and illegal—position of supplying alcohol to a minor, the sun was already blazing, and there was little breeze. It was going to be boiling in those stands. Staying hydrated on game days like this one was crucial.
I had wanted to wait for Nicole, but she was running late. I wouldn’t be sitting in my normal seat with her anyway since Roman was there, so we went into the stadium. Even though I’d told Roman we had plenty of time, he didn’t want to risk missing a single second of seeing Carson on the field.
I couldn’t blame him. Even though I should have been used to it by now, my chest swelled with pride every time I saw Carson run out onto the field. He was a confident guy, but being on the field took his swagger to another level. He was more than just confident—he was proud of himself. It was a good look for him and one I wished he would display more often.
“Holy shit, I’m nervous,” Roman said once we’d found our seats, which were way better than my normal ones up in the nosebleeds. Carson could usually get good seats, but only a couple. Though the view was better here, it was more fun sitting with a big group of friends.
“You watch the games on TV, right?” Not all of them were televised, but a fair number were.
Roman wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “Yeah, but it’s not the same as being here.”
He had that right. I had to watch the away games on TV, and it paled in comparison.
Two girls caught Roman’s eye as they passed on the way to their seats. They wore tiny shorts and sports bras, and their bodies were painted in school colors.
He grinned. “The view is definitely much better here.” Then suddenly he frowned and looked down at me in alarm. “You don’t dress like that for games, do you?”
Some things never changed.
CHAPTER 6
Carson
THE LOCKER ROOM chatter faded into the background as I slipped my earbuds in and hit play. The beat of hardcore rap filled my ears, calming me. I was normally a rock-and-roll guy, except on game days. Something about the intensity of the music simultaneously pumped me up and helped me focus. I continued to listen as I donned my pads and double-checked the fit of my mouth guard. Around me, the other guys were tense. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could see it in their faces.
Our former coach, Coach Gurgin, had been a legend in college football. Under his leadership, we’d won the national title last year. But he’d unexpectedly retired, and the university had replaced him with Coach Coyle. Other players had their doubts about him because he was a high school coach from Texas, but I liked the guy. I was one of the few people I knew who didn’t mind change. Sometimes it could be the best thing to happen to a person.
Coach Coyle walked in, followed by several members of the coaching staff. “Gentlemen.” He didn’t have to yell to get our attention. That was one thing he and Gurgin had in common—their commanding presence. “I’m not big on pregame speeches,” he drawled in his Texas accent. “Y’all know what you can do. I’ve seen what you can do. Now it’s time to show the world who you are, who we are. So who are you?”