Page 43 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

“You wouldn’t know nice if it bit you in the ass.” Hmm… I could bite her ass, though I haven’t seen it yet. I shove the thought away. “You don’t have to help them kidnap me. Help me!”

“I am help—never mind. I give up,” she snaps. “Shout all you want. Nobody will look twice at a homeless woman talking to herself. They’ll just think I’m a ventriloquist. Maybe they’ll even give me some cash. Not that it would be a lot of cash. Wouldn’t even be enough to buy an espresso con panna.”

She’s acting just like Steroids Man. Fuck! They must be working together. “Gah! How do you know the clown and Steroids Man anyway? And why are you helping them?”

“Seriously?” The Cart Kidnapper shoots me a weird look. “You should have figured this out by now. And my name is Trevor Brock.”

“You don’t look like a Trevor,” I tell her.

“It’s just a body. Steroids Man was just a body. I haven’t looked like me since I died.”

I’d gape if I could. Instead I just stare at the woman that is Trevor in silent shock. “You’re… him?” Shit, if he’s telling the truth, that means body hoppers are real. But it might explain why I’m attracted to both the homeless woman and Steroids. They’re all the same person. Which means… “You were the clown too, weren’t you?”

“Slow on the uptake, aren’t you, Starbucks? But yeah.”

I try to steam him for insulting me, but only manage to blow air out of my nozzle like a dry fart. Why is it that every time he gives me a fun nickname, it always follows an insult? “You’re a rude asshole, aren’t you, you… you… body-stealing brain parasite!”

Trevor groans. “Takes one to know one.”

“Whatever, Short-Shorts the Clown.”

“Okay, look…” Trevor glances around to make sure no one is nearby.

The raccoon darts behind a trash can and out of sight. Trevor doesn’t seem to notice him.

“We’re working on a way to help people like you,” he says.

“You mean people being kidnapped? Well, that’s easy. Let me go.”

“For the last time, I’m not kidnapping you.” He frowns. Though his lips are thin and chapped and he’s a flaming dickweed—not to mention possessing a woman’s body—I want to kiss him.

Did he cast some kind of spell on me? Well, it won’t work! “Taking someone somewhere against their will is kidnapping, you douche canoe. Once I’m free, I’ll make sure all the police or Mounties or whatever you have here track you down and tase you. They better have tasers in Canada!”

“Fuck, can’t you see that I’m helping you?” Trevor shakes his head. “We rescue people trapped in objects. We’ve been working on a way to free you.”

“You mean by helping us move on? Been there, done that. Many times. I tried everything I could think of. Kissing a hot guy. Eating lobster dinner—well, getting it smeared all over my knobs and nozzles. Even going to a ballet. None of it worked.”

“Wait, you tried to move on? Willingly?” Trevor gapes at me like I’ve grown a second head—or a second espresso machine, I guess? Extra nozzle?

“Of course I tried to move on! You think I want to be stuck in an espresso machine? I would love to go to heaven and get pampered and wear all the Gucci I want! You think it was fun watching everyone else move on?”

“You watched others move on?” Trevor’s voice grows soft.

“Yeah. Dozens of mugs, tables, spoons, and chairs. Neph and the gang helped them all find their unfinished business.”

“Neph?”

“The pony shifter.”

“Then it’s a good thing I rescued you.”

“No, you didn’t—”

He cuts me off. “Look, make a bucket list.”

“A what?” I stare at the homeless woman claiming to be Trevor Brock and try to figure out if he’s all there. “Are you planning to kill me? Is this a last meal sort of thing? Because I’ll have you know—”

“No, I’m not going to kill you. Now make a bucket list, the crazier the better. Like… wanting to ride an alpaca.”