The Babysitting Contract | j.jk

21 • date

"Something like that. Are you cool if I take the car?"

"Yeah, sure." He scratches the nape of his neck. "Just be back by seven. We need to do the rounds and pick up the twins from their grandma's and Iseul from his playdate."

"Roger that," I call, making my way towards the door.

"Do you need backup or anything? Football practice was cancelled so I have nothing to do."

I whirl around, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You have studying to do."

"Geez, mom, I'll study tonight." He stands, stalking towards me. "Come on. Let me help."

"No. Absolutely not."

"I'll put the boys to bed by myself for three nights."

I pause at his offer.

Out of all of the rescue missions I've pulled, never once have I had an accomplice. Nayeon says my acting is great and that I'm a natural at pretending to be foreign diplomats or runaway brides, but having someone else to play the part alongside me would be fun. It would even help round out my portfolio at being the best goddamn friend in the history of friends.

A plan slowly starts brewing in my head.

"Fine. Offer accepted." I cross my arms, examining him from head to toe. "How do you feel about being a mafia boss?"

◦ ◦ ◦

"This is so stupid."

"Shut up and put on your sunglasses."

Jeongguk snorts as I exit the Lexus. The full getup of leather I done causes me to start sweating the moment the stifling air greets me. I push up my own obnoxiously large sunglasses, squinting despite the relief they provide me from the sun. The bluetooth in-ear I'd stolen from Iseul's room starts to slip out of my ear because of how hot it is.

I watch as he exits the driver's side and steps out into the parking lot of the mall. It turns out Mrs. Jeon had a phase when she was younger and her closet was stacked with leather. The tight jacket hugs his shoulders and accentuates his tiny waist. His hair is slicked back with gel, much like my own, and the black sunglasses he dons hides his expression, betrayed only by the quirk of his lips.

He looks hot.

"You look like your number should be written on the bathroom wall at a biker bar," he says, giving me an appreciative once-over.

My mouth sours. "Shut your face, oh great mafia lord. It's go time. You remember the plan?"

"Yes." He sobers immediately, pretending to listen to something someone said in the disconnected in-ear he also dons. "I was just reminded of it from the crew as well. In your words exactly: there is no plan."

People stare as we make our way through the mall. We pass the theatre and I nearly snort at the Ratatouille poster displayed out front. Jeongguk stays dutifully beside me as we make our way through the shoppers and towards the restaurant where my best friend is currently facing her undoing.

The small, dark bistro is sandwiched between an electronics store and a bookstore. A sense of giddiness and anticipation douses me as we step up to the hostess stand. The host has his back to us but turns as Jeongguk clears his throat.