Page 2 of Last Slice of Pie

“I don’t know. Maybe they wrote it into his contract. If I were Tampa, I would be pushing him out everywhere. He’s the real deal, and it only brings in more money for all of them.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right, but to be on Paul Miller’s show—it just blows my mind. This guy only interviews the best of the best, and yes, before you say anything, I know Bryan is the best, but I can still see him standing in the backyard, lanky, needing a haircut, and throwing the ball around with James.”

“I can still see him too, which is part of the problem. It was such a long time ago, and I know he’s changed. He’s not that guy anymore.”

No, at six-foot-four and two hundred twenty-five pounds, he is definitely not that guy anymore.

“But then again, haven’t we all changed?” I ask.

Marie just looks at me and doesn’t say anything.

Yes, I still live in the same house I grew up in, but that is circumstantial. And yes, I still dream about the boy who got away, but I’ve grown up over the years, too. I had to. I graduated from culinary school, took care of GiGi by myself until the end, started my own business, and now manage and run this house. I have responsibilities and commitments.

Hearing the commercials end, I focus as the interviewer’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. My gaze zeros in on the television, and my heart rate picks up with adrenaline and a tiny dose of anxiety. Internally, I’m scolding myself. It’s ridiculous that I’m having this reaction, but I can’t help it. I feel like I’m being given a peek into a tiny bit of his life, a life I once knew the ins and outs of but now know nothing about.

“Good evening, I’m Paul Miller, and this is my show.” The setting lights over Paul dim from bright to a more intimate tint. “I am very excited about our guest this evening. I’m sure most of you know who it is based on the promos leading up to tonight, but since this is his first-ever sit-down televised interview, it only seems fitting that I give him the opening he’s due.

“This individual is a three-time college national champion, a Heisman trophy winner, and a two-time Pro Bowl quarterback. Last year he threw more than forty-six hundred yards, resulting in thirty-two touchdowns, more than any other quarterback in the league. He’s fierce and determined on the field and known to be quiet and mysterious off of it.”

Paul Miller keeps talking, but at some point I just don’t hear him anymore. All I see is Bryan as he walks out onto the set. The camera changes angles to include him in the frame with the host, giving us a straight-on shot, and my breath leaves my lungs as I take in the sight of him. He’s wearing a navy blue three-piece suit with a light blue dress shirt and a navy tie. He’s devastatingly handsome, more so than I think he ever has been, and then he smiles. It’s my favorite smile in the world, one side rising higher than the other and a dimple popping out on that cheek. It’s a smile I dream about being directed at me.

Rarely are there images of him smiling. Sure, James has a few on his social media pages, but those are few and far between since he joined the Navy. Mostly, the only images of Bryan floating around are the ones his PR team posts when he’s in uniform and working, and that Bryan is focused, not carefree.

“Whoa, he sure does clean up nicely,” Marie says quietly. I nod in agreement, because my tongue feels stuck in my throat and I have no words.

They shake hands, Paul claps him on the back, and they both take a seat. Bryan loosens the button on his coat, and I take notice of how his pants perfectly wrap around the muscles in his thighs. He leans back in his oversized plush seat and crosses one ankle over his knee. From underneath his pant leg, light pink socks with strawberries on them peek out.

“Bryan Brennen, tell me, how have you been?” Paul asks him.

“Good, thanks for asking.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m excited about the new season, how our team is performing, and I’ve never felt better,” he answers candidly.

“That’s good to hear.” Paul pauses and peruses Bryan as his dangling foot bounces and his fingers drum the armrest of the chair. “You hate this, don’t you?” He grins.

A small, embarrassed smile tilts Bryan’s perfect lips. “I wouldn’t say I hate it. Interviews have just never been my thing.”

“This I know, my friend, as we’ve been trying to get you to come on for years.” Paul chuckles. “Well, let’s change things up a bit from how we normally get this started. How about an icebreaker? Let’s play a game.”

“Okay, I like games.” Bryan smirks as if to say, You should know I’m always down for a game. I play games for a living.

Paul smiles back and nods knowingly. He flips some cards in his hands, presumably to adjust the order of the interview content, or maybe to switch to plan B based on how Bryan is responding.

“This game is super easy, no stress, just a little fun. Plus, it’ll help the viewers get to know you a little more. Two-word rapid fire: I fire two words at you, and you answer with the one that best fits you. Five pairs total. Are you down for this?” Paul picks up a glass from the little table between them and takes a sip of water.

“I’m down,” Bryan replies. The lights in the studio brighten a bit as he rubs his hands together, cracks his knuckles in an exaggerated way, and resituates himself in his seat, leaning forward just a bit.

I lean forward too, mimicking his posture, so eager to hear what he has to say. Basically, it’s a this or that or a would you rather game. My hand grips my glass tightly; I’m starved for any type of personal information about him.

“All right, here we go. Question number one: country or rap?”

“Country,” he answers without hesitation. “Don’t get me wrong, I like them both. I like most all genres of music, but if I’m in my truck, I’m listening to country. A little Kenny, Eric, or Zac and I’m all set.”

He drives a truck. I’ve often wondered. When we were in high school, he purchased a really old Ford F-150 so he could get to practices, but now, so many players run off and buy something high-end, and I’m happy to hear that he didn’t. Maybe the truck is a super fancy one, I don’t know, but him having a truck somehow makes him still feel like the same guy he was back then, like he could someday be attainable to me. In my eyes, it keeps him down to earth, and I’m about as down to earth as it gets.

“I can see that in you. You are a homegrown type of guy.”

“Maybe.” Bryan smirks. Visions of him running through the field behind the house with James flash behind my eyes.

“Question number two: flip-flops or dress shoes?”