Page 13 of GDL

It's the reason why I've been working so hard lately, trying to get ahead to free up some time, ideally by the holidays. Doesn't help matters that I've been having to duck away without arousing Sawyer's suspicions. I'm pretty sure he hasn't noticed anything unusual, and he hasn't brought up that close call about my car being broken—lame excuse, I know, but I was totally caught off guard when I opened the door and saw the baby seat and all of Ashton's toys everywhere—so I think I'm in the clear.

Mischa gets up. "I'll give you guys some alone time. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

"Okay. Great. Oh, and the BBA guys are coming over in a few hours."

Her eyes light up, but then she shakes her head. "If onlyoneof them were straight. Apart from you, that is, but you're off-limits because we work together." She closes the door behind her as she leaves.

Mischa calling me straight feels funny, a bit like trying on a jacket you haven't worn in ages that doesn't fit anymore.

Both of my brothers are gay, so I've always been comfortable around gay dudes. And working in the industry in LA, I've been exposed to people on every single notch of both the sexuality and gender spectrums.

I've always considered myself straight since, up until very recently, I've only been sexually interested in women. But now that I'm interested in Sawyer, does that mean the label I use has to change?

I kick off my shoes then place Ashton on his stomach on the soft play mat. I don't get to spend anywhere as much time with him as I'd like to, so I push all the swirling thoughts about my sexuality and Sawyer out of my head so I can be one hundred percent present for this precious time with my son.

I lie on my front a few feet away from him, positioning myself at eye level. "You can do it, buddy," I encourage him as he lifts his head and kicks his little legs with determination.

Tummy time, as Mischa has taught me, is crucial for developing strength and motor skills. Ashton grunts softly, his tiny hands pressing into the mat as he wiggles forward. I'm completely captivated by him, at the wonder of getting to witness this tiny human—my freaking son—start to crawl.

Once we've done tummy exercises, I grab the box of building blocks and demonstrate how to stack them into a pile. I hand Ashton a block. He grabs it eagerly, his chubby little fingers exploring its texture…and then he brings it to his mouth. Oh, well. We're not at the building stage yet.

The minutes fly by, and I feel more at peace and settled than I have in a long time. I've always had low-level anxiety. It's never been diagnosed, but it's something that's always been there in the background. I overcompensate by channeling that energy into being busy. Laundry, as weird as it sounds, has always been the perfect, calming antidote. Even as a child. Dad thought it was strange, but Mom loved it because it was one less chore for her to do.

But being with Ashton is a thousand times better. It was a huge shock to discover I'm a father, but now that he's in my life, I'm determined to be the best dad I can be. For the first timeever, I have another person's needs to place above my own. He's entirely reliant on me, and I won't let him down.

Ashton's eyes grow heavy, so I place him into his cot and turn on some gentle lullabies. He's so small, so perfect, so beautiful. I watch as he falls asleep, and once he does, I retreat to the armchair a few feet away and take out my phone, doing my customary scan of my socials.

A video comes up in my TikTok feed of a certain shirtless someone doing something called a planche, a crazy advanced gym move. I watch in awe as Sawyer balances parallel to the ground, his arms straight and shoulder muscles taut, his core muscles engaged as he stabilizes his midsection, his legs extended straight back, toes pointed. This one is going straight into the spank bank, that's for sure.

Another stab of guilt shoots through me, and I drop my phone onto my lap. It's bad enough I don't spend enough time with my son, now is the absolute worst time in my life to be interested in someone. But true to his word, Sawyer and I have been keeping things professional since the restroom incident.

On the one hand, it's good. He has a job to do, and I respect that. On the other hand, watching his videos on social media is a special kind of torture. I don't know where it's coming from, but I amdeeplyattracted to him. I don't care that he's a man. Or even that he's much older than me. There's something about Sawyer that feels so right. I can't explain it.

The doorbell rings.

That'll be the BBA crew, so I push my thoughts about Sawyer to the side and get ready to tell them about my latest addition.

I invited them over after our bookstore photoshoot to introduce them to Ashton. His presence is likely to have a major impact on me and my image, and by association, on them, too. It could damage everything all six of us have worked our asses off for.

My audience is an eclectic mix of conservative suburban moms and gays. Each group could potentially be put off by the news. The moms might have an issue with me being unmarried, and a kid could be a boner-killer for the gays.

I'm going to need advice and a ton of support on how to navigate this publicly. Luckily for me, the guys aren't just colleagues, they're more like brothers, and I know they'll have my back.

"There's something I need to tell you," I say to the guys who are sprawled around my living room, beers and sodas in hand.

"You've got a thing for the reporter dude who's following you around?" Silas suggests.

Ugh. I forget how observant these bozos can be sometimes. "Here's my answer to that." I give him the finger then take a deep breath. "No. It's something else."

"What is it?" Rocky asks, picking up on my tone, dropping his feet off my coffee table and folding his massive arms across his massive chest. The guys stop goofing around.

I scan their faces then come right out with it. "I have a son."

"Whoa."

"Fuck."

"Shit."

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