Thatwas the question that made me stumble.
My boyfriend. Elijah.
I remember Ana’s arm slipping around my waist, Emilee taking the other side, both girls anchoring me. Directing my steps when I couldn’t even think.
And then Ana… Jesus, she took over. Handling the paparazzi like a pro—like her father. Like Elijah. Strong. Unshaken. She fucking owned the crowd.
“Ana, are you cool with having three gay men in your life?”
Nooooo… “Do not answer that,”I told her.
She’s only fifteen. How can you expect a teenager to field a question like that?
But, then again…
“I’m totally cool with it. Who would have thought I’d end up with not two, butthree, gay dads? I mean, can our family get any gayer?”
And there you have it—Ana Garcia. Daughter of Elijah and Gabriel Garcia. Flamboyant, full of fire—just like her dads. Right down to the smart-ass smirk she flashed right before turning toward me with that megawatt smile.
Of course, I knew what was coming next.
I waited for it.
Braced myself.
Call it a father’s intuition, call it whatever you want, but there was no doubt in my mind what was coming next.
And sure enough…
She winked.
“Oomph.”
I’m snapped right back to the present, jostled from side to side like I got dropped into the center of a mosh pit at a rock concert. The three of us stumble over each other, making a desperate push toward the curb, where I’m fairly certain my driver has gotten the fuck out of crazy town.
Can’t say I blame him. I would have done the same.
I let go of Ana’s hand and reach for my cell when, out of nowhere,thunderous roarsonce again erupt from the sea of paparazzi. Blinding white lights explode across the skyline like Tinseltown.
Ugh. What now?
A large hand reaches out from the crowd and yanks Ana tightly against their body. A moment of panic floods my brain before I’m hit with a familiar voice. “Alex, get Emilee between us!” Gabriel shouts, looping a protective arm around his daughter. I jump to attention and grab Emilee, maneuvering her between Ana and me. Once in place, we bulldoze our way through the overzealous crowd and are finally met by what I assume are hired bodyguards, who form a protected pathway for us to safely make our way over to a shiny black limousine. A chauffeur opens the door, and Ana climbs in first, with Emilee right behind. I follow suit, and Gabriel slides in last.
“Where’s Dad?” Ana casually inquires, unaffected by the storm of reporters fighting to get in that final shot. It’s almost humorous how cool and collected she is after a hard dose of reality from the paparazzi. “Papi, can you grab me and Em a soda, please?”
“Sure, sweetheart. Would you like a drink, Alex?” Gabriel grabs two sodas from a slim-style stainless steel fridge and hands them off to Ana. He turns back to me. “I have beer, or I can mix you a drink,” he politely offers, sliding open a cabinet door stocked with top-shelf liquors.
“A beer sounds great.”
He pops the tops off two beers and hands one over.
“Dad’s waiting for us at home, honey,” he finally answers Ana.
Of course he is.
I take a swig of the beer and almost choke on the fizz, as he so casually refers to him and Elijah as an “us.” It takes everything in me, but I shove down the jealousy and aim for neutral.
“So does this limo belong to you?”
