Page 27 of The Sebastian Guarantee
Phoebe wiggled against him. “Night!” she chirped, her feet still dangling. She tugged on his shirt. “This place is perfect, Seb. Put me down.”
He glanced over his shoulder. Blessedly, there weren’t any irate twelve-year-olds clawing at the door. He breathed a sigh of relief and complied with Phoebe’s request.
She handed him her hot dog and the empty martini glass, then dusted herself off and adjusted her beret. She gifted the saleswoman with a sloppy grin, then gasped. “Mustard scarf,” she announced, pointing to the saleswoman’s accessory like she was caught in a solo drunken game ofI Spy.
The woman touched the fabric with a quizzical expression. “Are you in the market for a scarf?”
“I was at the bistro down the street. I saw you walk by. This must be a sign. You’re the person I need to help me pick out something super-duper sexy to go with my new hot-girl face,” Phoebe explained, then flashed the duck-lipped eye seizure expression.
“Oh my,” the saleswoman yelped, clearly taken aback—and rightly so. That face should come with a warning.
Thanks to being nice and liquored up, Phoebe didn’t seem to notice. She made a beeline toward a display of silky lingerie and plucked a pink negligee from the rack. Holding it against her body, she turned toward a mirror and assessed the garment. “What’s this called? It reminds me of a sexy minidress.”
The clerk came to her side. “That beauty arrived the other day. It’s what we call a baby doll. Billowy on the bottom and fitted on top to accentuate the breasts. It’s sweet and sexy, wrapped up into one sensual number. It’s an excellent choice for your frame. The bow will accentuate your bust, which is quite enviable.”
Phoebe lit up. “Did you hear that, Sebby? My new lingerie friend says I have an enviable bust.”
Oh, he heard it. He nodded. It was all he could do as he observed his friend shop for sexy lingerie.
Phoebe. Sexy. Lingerie.
He’d never put those three words together in his head. And why would he? He could never, ever think of her like that. Still, he couldn’t look away or stop the rush sweeping through him as the blood in his brain diverted to the south.No, no, no!Dammit, he couldn’t help himself. Unable to stop biology—or in this case, sex ed—he pictured her wearing the skimpy number. He could see her now, smooth silk clinging to her body. Lace tracing her curves and giving a teasing glimpse of her round, ripe, oh-so grabbable—
“Hey, Sebby?”
“Uh-huh?” he shrieked like a prepubescent schoolboy, almost dropping the hot dog and martini glass. So damned grateful he was wearing loose-fitting jeans, he shifted his stance. “I wasn’t thinking about what you’d look like in that,” he blathered like an idiot.
She dangled the negligee in front of him. “You don’t have to imagine, Seb. You’ll know soon enough.”
“I will?” he yipped, his voice rising like a choirboy.
Her lips curled into a naughty little grin. “Oh yeah, because . . .”
He took a step toward her. “Yes?”
“I’m going to try it on,” Phoebe cheered like she’d just won the lottery. She took a few wobbly steps, then stopped in front of a pair of pink glittery high heels. “With these,” she exclaimed, uprooting the alluring footwear from the display.
The saleswoman led Phoebe to the back of the shop, and the women disappeared behind a black velvet curtain.
Deflating like a punctured balloon, he sank onto a display cube next to a headless body sporting a chic tan trench coat. He exhaled a weary breath and set the glass and hot dog next to him.Jesus, what a day.Still, he needed to pull himself together and be there for Phoebe. A question percolated in his head. How would he coach a client in his situation? He drummed his fingertips on his thigh, then snapped his fingers. He knew what to do. To be at one’s best, he’d encourage the client to focus on the positives—only then could the person get out of their head and be able to focus on their goals.
And what were his positives? He had a potential investor. That was no small feat. Everything hinged on his ability to generate a case study in a matter of days, but he’d figure it out and manifest his destiny.
Other positives? He couldn’t stop a smile from blooming. He was back in Denver, and he was with Phoebe.He was home.Fizzy joy bubbled from within, but it came with sound effects. His stomach growled. Gnarly and frighteningly guttural, it sounded like a ravenous bear emerging from hibernation.
“Is that you, Seb?” Phoebe called.
“No, it must have been a motorcycle or something outside,” he white-lied, then eyed the wrapped hot dog.
His stomach emitted another rumble. If he didn’t get something inside it, he could look forward to a wicked bout of dry heaving. He glanced at the closed velvet curtains and then returned his attention to the portable meal. Was it the healthiest of choices? Not really, but Christ, it smelled damned delicious. With his belly on the verge of spasming, he kept one eye on Phoebe’s dressing area as he quietly peeled back the foil.
One little bite would do the trick. Just one. Phoebe wouldn’t mind. She’d probably forgotten about the wrapped delight in her current state.
He gazed at the food masterpiece. This wasn’t your run-of-the-mill frank in a bun. No, this was a gourmet hot dog, probably from an acclaimed Denver food truck. This city nailed it when it came to killer street food, and Phoebe’s app made it easier for his friend to find her beloved favorite.
Eat me, Sebastian.
He licked his lips. It appeared he’d hit the hallucination portion of his hangover-meet-hunger condition. His mouth watered. He was no drooler, but he’d be slobbering like a Saint Bernard if he didn’t get this beauty past his lips. With another quick check of the curtain, he peeled the foil back farther. His stomach was on the verge of launching into a series of somersaults. “Come to papa,” he murmured like a creepy weirdo. He opened his mouth and attacked that dog the way a great white shark tears into whatever the hell great white sharks ate—probably fish or seals. He was too damned hungry to care because, hello, he was in the midst of a food orgasm.
