Page 28 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

The guard with the gun aimed at the raccoon pauses and looks over his shoulder at us. It’s a huge mistake, because that’s when the raccoon strikes.

He leaps at the guard and clamps down on his wrist with little raccoon teeth. Little raccoon hands grab the guard’s sleeve and hang on for dear life—literally, since he’s hanging off the guard’s arm fifty stories above the city.

The guard screams and shakes his arm, trying to knock the raccoon off. “Fuck, it’s rabid!”

My heart nearly stops; or it would, if I had a heart. Fear races up every electric nerve ending, and the urge to run into the fray and save the raccoon is almost overwhelming. The only thing that saves me from getting shot—or tossed off the fiftieth floor—is the fact that I’m an espresso machine, so I can’t move.

“Go, little guy!” Neph calls, cheering the raccoon on. “You can do it!”

“You got this!” I add my voice to the cheer.

The raccoon gnaws on the man’s arm like I did the first time I gave a blowjob—what? My date called it a boner. I thought I was supposed to treat it like a bone. That’s why it’s important to be more specific.

A second guard rushes forward and grabs the would-be raccoon killer. He yanks him—and the raccoon—into the office, and I feel a wave of relief. Until he raises his gun.

I scream even louder than I did when I met my favorite boy band on a cruise to see the shark sanctuary in the Bahamas. Then, I aim my coffee beans at the guard. I try to hit him in the eye, but his head is turned to the side and they bounce against his temple instead.

Nephrite screams, too. She grabs the wireless keyboard off Barb’s desk and throws it at the guard. It thunks against his head, and he lets out a curse. Why didn’t my beans have that effect? I shot them as hard as I could!

The keyboard is enough of a distraction for the raccoon to leap off the man’s arm and back out through the open window.

I let out another scream.

To my relief, he lands on the ledge and runs along it and around the corner of the building.

“He made it!” He’s safe!

“Raccoon is on the move, I repeat, raccoon is on the move,” Barb says into her earpiece. “Heading north along the west side of the building.”

Half the guards race down the hall Donovan took. A guard grabs Neph’s wrists while two more haul me off the desk.

“Let us go!” I demand. “Or my lawyers will hear of this.” Okay, I don’t have lawyers anymore, but that line always worked before.

Neph struggles against the man pinning her arms. When that doesn’t work, she shifts into a pony and kicks her hind legs.

Her hooves collide with his nuts, and he screams in pain as he falls to the floor. Yes, go Neph!

Two guards rush at her.

“Watch out!” I shout, but it’s too late.

They grab her mane and yank hard. She lets out a pained neigh. My heart clenches at the sound of my bestie’s suffering, but all I’ve got that’s of any use are coffee beans.

I push down hard so I can shoot some at the guard, but nothing happens. Fuck! I’m all out. “You will be charged with assault,” I shout instead.

“Get these raccoon lovers out of here,” Barb says, her once-friendly tone now as cold as a chair in an ice hotel. I sat on one naked when I dated a nudist, and that shit hurt. The worst part was when my vag stuck to it because I was already wet—long story about a long man.

The guards pull on Neph’s mane again, forcing her to hobble backward toward the elevator. Two others carry me while I shout, “You will lose your jobs over this. Don’t you know who I am? I’ll sue you into oblivion, you pieces of shit!”

I wish I hadn’t used up all my water on Molly. She wasn’t even worth it. How was I supposed to know security would be so tight up here? I guess when you steal someone’s fortune, you hire lots of guards. Lesson learned.

As Neph and I are hauled into the elevator, a man surrounded by armed guards marches into the reception area.

Boiling rage takes flight in my circuits.

I recognize him from the cover of Forbes’ Top 30 Under 30 list. He’s wearing a ring on every finger, each with a gem as big as an eyeball. I wouldn’t be surprised if he stole them off the cups at Jewels Cafe like he stole everything else. His skin is so perfectly tanned I bet it was spray painted on—and he probably skipped out on the bill. He’s wearing an Armani suit—assuming it’s not a counterfeit.

A hissing growl escapes all my nozzles.