We’re on the ninth hole at Sheffield, and as usual, I am just kicking Mitch’s ass. At this point I can’t tell if I’m a really good golfer, or if it’s just my powers. But really, who cares? Winning is the important thing, especially if you're beating one of your best friends.
“Hey, would you mind babysitting Hector on Thursday for us? Lisa’s got this thing she’s dragging me to.”
I stop before my five-yard putt and look up at Mitch.
“Me? Babysit?” I sound incredulous.
“What, do you have plans?” Mitch asks.
Well, yeah. Fighting crime, keeping the city safe, or catching up on all my Tivo’d Battlestar Galactica episodes. You know, important stuff. Non-baby stuff. Of course, I can’t say that, so I just kind of lamely go: “No…”
“So what’s the problem? It’s just for a few hours.”
“Does Lisa know you’re asking me?” I say.
“For real? But it’s me.” I say.
“Believe me, you’re not our first choice. I wanted to get that hottie in Lisa’s book club to babysit, but that was a no-go. We’re desperate.”
“Great, thanks,” I say, sourly. “I’m the last on your list.”
“I don’t know, Mitch. Hector’s like… he’s like a little baby and shit.”
“Connor, he’s not like a little baby, he is a little baby,” Mitch says.
“Come on, dude,” he says.
“But I’m totally irresponsible, the last guy you would want taking care of your child.” I don’t mention that I have super-strength and I’m scared to death that I’d accidentally hurt his baby. How do you work that into a conversation?
“No, Lisa’s uncle Nick is the last guy I would want taking care of my child. You’re not even close to the top of the list.”
“I don’t know…” I already know I’m going to do it. Mitch knows it, too.
“Great!” he says. “Thanks Connor. Can you be at our house by six-thirty on Thursday?”
I sigh, and set up for my putt again. “Okay.”
I miss my putt by a good ten feet. Shit.