Page 18 of The Sebastian Guarantee
Score a point for passing out fully clothed.
He scanned his room, spied his oversized pack, and slung it over his shoulder. He hadn’t even opened it since he’d gotten home, but his notes were somewhere inside, and he should have them, just in case. More likely than not, he’d have to wing it. But he could do that. He believed in helping people. The dream that had rocked his world and plucked him from the brink made that clear to him. This was what he was supposed to do. Now, he had to articulate his passion and prove he had the drive to make it happen.
And not waste another second.
He raced into the bathroom, squirted a bit of toothpaste on his finger, and rubbed it around his mouth. He wouldn’t be earning high marks on hygiene, but he couldn’t go into a meeting with his breath smelling like a cantina.
With his appearance and scent passable, he bolted downstairs and headed for the garage. But he came to a screeching halt when he reached the door and found a light blue note taped to it.
Hello, my sweet Sebastian,
When you read this note, I hope the color blue brings you peace and tranquility. Also, I wanted to let you know your car is in the shop.
Namaste,
Mibby
He’d have to take another car. Mibby’s SUV should be in the garage. There was a good chance his family had driven to Rickety Rock in his dad’s car. He glanced at the rack that held their car keys and frowned. There wasn’t a set of keys in sight.
Oh no!
He swung open the door and found it like the rack. Empty.
Shit!Mibby and his dad must have driven separately.
He pressed the button to open the garage door, praying he could manifest a car to materialize in the driveway.
Yeah, that didn’t work.
He didn’t have time for this. Even if he called for a car, it could take twenty minutes before it arrived. He paced around the cavernous space when a splash of hot pink caught his eye. He turned to find Tula’s electric kick scooter.
“Dammit,” he whispered, knowing what had to be done.
He whipped the matching pink helmet from where it hung on the glittery handlebars, smashed the damned thing onto his head like he was stuffing a watermelon into a thimble, then eyed the completely ridiculous and totally inappropriate form of transportation for a grown-ass man.
“This meeting better be worth it.” He positioned his big foot on the slim board, turned on the power, then zipped off into the sunset, looking like a goddamned lunatic.
* * *
“Dude,you’re too big for that kiddie scooter.”
No shit, Sherlock.
Sebastian struggled to remain upright as he clutched the electric kick scooter’s sparkly handlebars and ignored what had to be the tenth person to call out to him. And it wasn’t like he could make a speedy getaway either. He’d be surprised if he were going twenty miles per hour. He tightened his core muscles. His toned abs were the only thing that kept him from wiping out. He glanced at his feet. Tula’s nickname for him had never been more spot-on than it was at this very second. He could barely fit one of his size fourteen feet on the kickboard. That left the other foot cocked in the air the way actresses kicked up their heels when being kissed by their Prince or Princess Charming in the movies.
Forget about big feet and focus.
He trained his gaze on the road and buzzed by a restaurant. And for the eleventh time in a little under twenty minutes, he ignored another round of “Dude, that scooter is too small for you” bullshit.
“Hang on. You’re almost there,” he murmured, opening his pie hole, which was a mistake. His body heaved as something small and crittery entered his mouth. He spat out a gnat or fly. Hell if he knew what creepy winged insect had temporarily resided in his mouth. “Damned bugs,” he eked out, only to suck in another.Ugh!He stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry to disperse the unwanted flying visitor just as his stomach grumbled.
Christ, he was hungry, but he wasn’t about to start eating insects. The last thing he needed was to present to a group of investors with a moth or a mosquito stuck between his teeth.Double ugh!The thought of that vomit-inducing image had his belly doing somersaults.
He pressed his lips into a hard line and thanked the universe when the building he was looking for came into view and his phone pinged his arrival. He cut the scooter’s power, and the ridiculous mode of transportation stopped. A few people passing by did a double take, but blessedly, they didn’t comment.
Forget about them and get your head in the game.
He propped the tiny scooter against the side of the structure and arched his back. His spine crackled and popped like a bowl of rice crisp cereal the second the milk hit. It would take a solid ninety-minute yoga session to get him back into alignment. He slipped his phone from his pocket and checked the time. He didn’t even have two minutes for a restorative stretch. His meeting was in sixty seconds.
