Page 6 of The Sebastian Guarantee
“Oh, come on, it’s funny. And aren’t you proud of me for flexing my tech skills? Aria Paige-Grant, singer, songwriter, tech genius.”
“I think you’re more of a . . . ” Phoebe shot back. She stopped walking, angled the camera toward her foot, and tapped twice, one tap for each syllable of her insult of choice since she was in first grade.
Aria gasped. “Did you bust out our secret foot tap language and call me abutt-hole?” her bestie asked with mock indignation.
“You bet your piano-playing ass I did,” Phoebe replied, but she couldn’t stay angry.
“And I bet,” Aria countered, “that you’ve got a hot dog under that beret.”
Dammit!There were many pros to having lifelong friends. This, unfortunately, was one of the cons.
Lifelong friends had all the dirt and knew every secret.
In third grade, she and Aria had been assigned to write a report on France. That was when she’d discovered the delightful beret and learned she could hide a considerable amount of junk food—even a hot dog—atop her noggin while wearing the stylish head covering.
Phoebe cleared her throat and continued down the street. “I don’t have a hot dog hidden beneath my beret,” she lied.
“Prove it, bitch,” Aria demanded playfully. “And remember who you’re talking to.”
Oh, Phoebe knew who she was talking to. She and Aria were thick as thieves, and the reason their uncles had wisps of silver and gray threaded in their hair. To say they’d been a sassy handful as kids might be the understatement of the century.
But it was time to change the subject. As much as she loved reflecting on the past, today was a day to look forward. Except, when she looked forward at her friend on the screen, something was off. With a mess of makeup spackled onto Aria’s face, the singer looked more like a fabulously done-up drag queen than an edgy rock star.
“What’s happening with your beauty product situation? I’m for women embracing whatever makes them feel powerful, but you look ready to deliver the five o’clock news with enough rouge to put a clown to shame.”
Aria pinched the bridge of her nose, then cringed when she peered at her fingertips caked in tan-colored goop. “My record label suggested I freshen up my look. They flew in a new stylist and a new makeup artist. Plus, I’ve got a possible new sponsor. Some makeup company wants me as their spokesperson.”
Phoebe could hear the exhaustion in her friend’s voice. “Are you okay with the changes?” she asked, softening her tone. “And where are you? What are you doing at this exact moment?”
Aria glanced off camera, then massaged the back of her neck. “Tour stuff.” She angled her cell to show a stretch of piano keys. “We’re doing the sound check before the concert. Then I’ve got a meet and greet with the local press.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Honestly, Pheebs, I don’t know what city I’m in, and it doesn’t even matter. It’s the same script every time. Smile, play the piano, belt out the songs, then smile some more before I haul my exhausted ass onto the tour bus and drive to the next place to do it again. I’m the rock star version of the directions on the back of a shampoo bottle, except my regimen is: perform, deflate, repeat,” she finished, then knocked out a cascade of notes on the piano. “But I’m so proud of you. Your news has made my day.” She cocked her head to the side as a curious expression bloomed on her face. “What else is going on? I’m getting a feeling the LETIS invite isn’t the only thing making you vibrate with excitement.”
“I’ve got news about Jeremy.” Phoebe took another bite of her hot dog.
“The drooler?” Aria shot back and proceeded to open her mouth and mimic what looked like a drooling zombie.
“His last name isDrew-ler,” Phoebe corrected.
The spark of mischief returned to Aria’s eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I said.Droo-ler, like, ‘Oops, look at thatdroolon the pillow. I’m adrooler.’” Aria dropped the zombie drooling act and pursed her lips. “I don’t like him.”
“You’ve never met him.”
“True,” her friend replied with a little shrug, “but you’ve told me that he never texts you first and most of your dates consist of him stopping over at your place after the bars close.”
Aria wasn’t wrong, but he had texted her first this time.
Phoebe swished her braid over her shoulder as she continued down the sidewalk. “I’m meeting Jeremy for drinks now. He invited me,” she added with a tinge of harrumph to her tone.
Her phone pinged as Oscar Elliott joined the video call.
Oscar brushed his dark locks out of his eyes. “Hey, Pheebs! Hey, Aria! What’s up?”
“Phoebe got invited to that LETIS thing,” Aria crooned.
A wide grin split Oscar’s perma-brooding expression. “That’s great news, Pheebs. We should celebrate. I’m just outside the city, and Seb’s supposed to be in town—or maybe he already is. I’m not sure.”
“You’ve talked to Seb recently?” Phoebe nearly tripped over her own two feet.
Aria and Oscar nodded.
