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.