Finally at 9:25, I dash across the street and ring the intercom. He buzzes me in right away, which I take as a good sign. Gus must not be acting up if Brian can get right to the buzzer. Unless it means that Gus is being a monster and Brian flew across the room to the intercom because he needs the extra help.

Fuck.

I love Gus, but I’ve never watched a baby in my life. What have I gotten myself into?

The metal door is hanging half way open, so I let myself in and drop my bag by the counter. I wasn’t really sure what I should bring, so I stuffed my backpack with a change of clothes and my work stuff for the morning’s diner shift. Brian hasn’t technically asked me to stay over when he gets back from Babylon, but I totally think I should get some kind of reward for babysitting. And the one I’ll get from Brian will be better than cash, any day.

“What the fuck were you doing out there?”

I glance up to see Brian walking down the steps from the bedroom. Gus is nowhere in sight. “Huh?”

“Out there? For twenty minutes?”

Busted. Shit. “Uhhh...”

“Never mind.” Brian crosses to the counter, and for the first time I take in what he’s wearing. Or rather, my mind finally snaps out of Instant Lust mode and I can actually process rational thought. And I guess I knew it was the Leather Ball and everything, but I just never put it together.

Brian. And leather.

I am instantly hard.

And Brian notices.

This is sooo not a good thing. I am supposed to be level-headed babysitting Justin here. Conscientious, reliable and focused only on the health and well-being of a small, innocent child... not on how tightly the leather pants hug his father’s ass.

I close my eyes and count to ten. When I open them, Brian is smirking at me over the top of his beer bottle, and I can feel the blush rising on my cheeks. Fuck.

I decide to just pretend I don’t know what he’s sneering at. Yeah, that’ll work. I clear my throat and ask, in my best nonchalant, I-am-totally-a-responsible-adult, you’re-acting-childish voice, “Where’s Gus?”

“I sold him to a band of roving gypsies.”

I snort. Sometimes Brian is so lame. “I don’t think gypsies rove anymore. And anyway, they’re called Romany now.”

Brian just rolls his eyes and gestures toward the living room with his beer bottle. And sure enough, there’s Gus in his little sleeper thing on the coffee table, sound asleep with his pacifier.

“He looks so cute,” I say. ‘Cause he really does, and when he’s all snuggly like that I can forget about how he threw a fit earlier at Deb’s and cried for thirty minutes straight. Of course, that’s not going to happen tonight. No way. If I keep repeating the litany in my head, it’ll come true.

“Yeah, he’s fabulous,” Brian says dryly from behind me. “When he’s not screaming, or crying, or puking on your favourite Hugo Boss. Or Armani.”

I glance over my shoulder at him, and wince at the pained expression on Brian’s face. “Not the Armani, too?”

Brian nods grimly. “I’ll be firing a certain cleaning lady on Monday.” Then he thunks his beer bottle down on the counter and starts to shrug into his jacket. “I’m off.”

What? What the fuck?

“He eats again at about midnight,” Brian is saying as he checks himself out in the full length mirror. “He should sleep until then but if he wakes up, change him. If he gets fussy, play with him. Lindsay brought a shitload of toys. He likes shiny things.”

I nod rapidly as Brian continues, “There’s pre-made bottles in the fridge. Lindsay also brought a shitload of those. 46 seconds in the microwave and they’re done. Then you burp him. Oh, and change him shortly after the bottle, too, or he’ll let you know about it. Believe me, it won’t be pretty.”

By now my head is bopping so quickly I feel like a bobble-head doll. Sleep, feed, burp, change. And shiny things. Check. But I really feel like I should be writing all this stuff down.

Brian turns from his reflection and snatches up his own shiny things -- his keys. He looks over at me and grins. “I’ll be out late. So don’t wait up, dear.”

And before I know it, he’s out the door.

Holy shit.

I glance between the closed metal and the innocently sleeping baby, and realize that I am scared shitless. For the next few hours, I am responsible for that tiny, helpless human being.

My feet feel like they’re nailed to the floor.

And then the loft door opens again, and Brian steps inside. He looks at me and… I don’t know what he sees. I think I’m stuck somewhere between panic and desperation. But he crosses the floor and lays his palm across my cheek and tells me, “You’ll be fine.” And I close my eyes and lean against the warmth of his hand and just… feel better. Then he moves away and he pinches my ass -- because this IS Brian we’re talking about -- and he’s gone again. But this time I can actually breathe.

He’s trusting me with the most valuable commodity in his life. And there is no way I’m going to fuck it up.