“My older brother played O-line for the ’Cats. He drilled it into me that the guys who have the most success are the ones who pay their dues.” He finished a glass of milk. “He said I earned my cockiness my senior year. But when the season was over, he told me to tuck that shit away because I’d be starting over.” With a shrug, he added, “Tristan always has my back, so when he tells me something, I listen.”
My initial reaction was to flip him some shit about being a good little brother, but the truth was I envied Grant’s closeness with his brother. What I wouldn’t give to have had a brother—someone to watch out for and who’d watch out for me. Though I’d hoped to build those kinds of relationships in the military, my deployment didn’t work out that way. But from what I was hearing from Grant, and from what Coach Ellis had implied on the phone when I contacted him about walking on to the team, I might find that brotherly camaraderie on the Wildcats. Grant inviting me to share a meal with him was definitely a good start.
When I returned to the dorm, I discovered my roommate for camp had arrived. In general, football players were big men, but Tamatoa Hall took up all the space. He stood 6’7” at least and clocked in somewhere north of three bills. If our offensive coordinator drew up jet sweeps for me, I hoped he’d set me up to run behind this guy. No doubt he could open up holes in the line big enough to drive a semi through.
“You Danny?” he boomed with a voice that could fill a stadium without a PA system.
I extended my hand, which disappeared in his meaty one. “Yeah. You must be Tamatoa.”
“All day every day.” The guy’s grin was infectious, and I grinned back at him. “Nice work there getting the pronunciation right the first time. Didja eat already?”
A laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “Sorry. Yeah. Just left the mess hall.”
“Huh. Well then, you can have a beer while I eat pizza. Let’s go.”
I blinked. “Hello, what?”
He held open the door to the room. “I’ve been texting a couple of the guys on the line. We’re meeting up at a place called Stromboli’s. You have anything better to do?”
I thought about texting Taryn again, maybe hanging out with her, but when I pulled out my phone to check my messages, she still hadn’t replied to my previous texts.
Damn.
“Nope. Lead the way.”
“Like you hope I do every game this season?” He laughed at his joke, and I nodded.
“Exactly that.”
The pizzeria was handily located between the dorm and the stadium, so we ambled to it. One thing about linemen that hadn’t changed since I’d played in high school: they didn’t expend unnecessary energy by moving faster than needed.
I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans and settled in for a stroll. “Tamatoa. That’s an interesting name.”
His chest puffed up. “It’s Samoan for ‘warrior child.’”
“Nothing ‘child’ about you.” I laughed. “Until I see you on the field, the jury’s still out about warrior.”
“Watch who you’re dissin’, boy,” he said in his booming voice. “You’re sharin’ a room with me for at least the next couple ’a weeks.”
A couple walking toward us on the wide sidewalk stopped to stare, and he grinned.
I tipped my chin up at them as we passed by. “Not too worried, warriorchild. You have no idea about my speed—yet.”
He clapped a massive hand on my shoulder, and I had to work not to stagger under the force and weight of his gesture. “I like you, Danny Chambers. You got guts.” Dropping his hand back to his side, he said, “Where did you play ball last?”
“Central Valley High School.”
Stopping in his tracks, he asked, “You’re a freshman?” Shaking his head, he added, “Day-um. From your size and the way you carry yourself, I pegged you as my age at least.”
“Probably older.”
His dark brows knitted together. “Come again?”
“I did four years in the Air Force, so technically, I’m a freshman, but I’m on the far side of twenty-two.”
“That explains why I didn’t intimidate you back at the room.”
I snorted. “You were trying to intimidate me?”
