Page 41 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

Maybe I should make the best of a bad situation, like the time I got kidnapped by a pair of professional mermaids—that is, humans who pose as mermaids, not actual mermaids. I didn’t know mermaids were real back then.

Though that time, I managed to break out of the handcuffs despite being underwater—a handy trick I learned during those two weeks I dated a cop who was into BDSM. But this time, I don’t even have arms or legs.

Now I’m an espresso machine, and I have no way of getting out of here on my own. No way of finding Neph, or checking in on that poor skunk, or seeing Fletcher again—even if I did tell him to leave.

And I still need to get my fortune back from Milan. I can’t spend the rest of my life as a poor, kidnapped espresso machine.

“Help!” I scream. “Somebody help.”

Chapter 19

Diva

I’m still screaming for help when the minivan squeals to a stop next to a parking meter. The kidnappers open their doors, and a few people glance our way, but they just shrug and keep walking.

“I’ll carry her,” the clown says. “You distract the people from Movin’ On.”

The what on what and where? The clown isn’t making any sense—or even speaking proper English. Did he hit his head on the steering wheel when he braked? Or maybe getting skunk sprayed messed with his head.

“Look at your body,” Steroids Man says. “You can’t lift… wait… seriously? You want us to swap? Fuck, man, you know I hate clowns.” That doesn’t make much sense either—except for that last part.

I definitely get not liking clowns. Or I did—before I met this one and his voice started doing funny things to my circuits. But I also don’t like the effect he has on me, so, “Hell yeah, I hate clowns, too!”

“Fucking hell,” the clown says.

Steroids Man gets out of the car. He slides the minivan door open and leans in to grab me. Wasn’t the clown going to do that? I guess he must have accepted he can’t lift me.

My gaze drifts down to Steroids Man’s bulge. It’s pretty attractive in those tiny off-brand short-shorts.

What the hell? Since when am I into unfortunate fashion choices? Have I lost all sense of taste since coming to Toronto? You’d think the big city would have the opposite effect and make me more stylish!

Steroids Man wraps his arms around me. It feels like curling up in a warm bed on a cold night.

I forget about everything else as my insides melt. Not literally—it would take a whole lot of heat to do that, and I wouldn’t enjoy it this much—though Steroids seems to be packing a whole lot of heat.

Mmm… I snuggle into his rock hard chest. This is as pleasant as being carried by Fletcher—but also different. Still nice… wait, what? The fuck am I thinking? The guy is kidnapping me! I hated him a moment ago, and now I want to pull his short-shorts off with my non-existent teeth.

I must be broken! I need Neph to take me apart and clean all the pieces. Maybe I’ve got some espresso buildup or something messing with my circuitry.

Steroids clutches me against his bare chest and hurries down the narrow downtown sidewalk. The crowded narrow downtown sidewalk.

“Help, help!” I cry.

No one even looks my way. Not the elderly man wearing a stylish neon pink sweatsuit and matching bandana. Not the couple in spandex zooming past on matching bikes. Not even the homeless man feeding bread crumbs to the seagulls—which, I know for a fact, is a terrible idea. I was chased down a beach by an angry flock of seagulls after I had a one-night stand with a surfer. Long story.

The only one who looks my way is the adorable raccoon perched on a patio table. I meet his eyes, and my insides flutter and do backflips like they’re in Cirque du Soleil. Somehow, I know he’s the same raccoon from earlier with the same certainty that I know my own nozzles.

“I’m being kidnapped!” I shout at him.

He nods once and hops off the table, disappearing behind a massive potted plant. Maybe he’s coming to help! Is he a shifter? Or are Torontonian raccoons just super smart?

“Shut it, Folgers,” Steroids snaps. “You’ll never be free of this hunk of metal if you keep that up.”

“Hel—wait, what?” I say while I keep an eye on the potted plant.

The raccoon peeks out, then ducks back out of sight.

“We can’t talk here.” Steroids Man looks around. “Just be quiet until we’re somewhere safe.”