Page 52 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

“Ouch.” Since I can’t roll my eyes, I twist my nozzles at him instead. “Don’t tell me you’re hangry again, clown-stealer. Maybe finish your noodles instead of shouting at me. Yeesh.”

“I’m not eating this fucking Pad Thai.” He picks up the plate and throws it on the ground. It shatters to pieces. Noodles spill everywhere. And his nostrils flare.

What the actual hell? “To quote my bestie: what the horse manure’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t want to hear about your bestie. I can’t believe I ever fucking talked to you or listened to your bullshit, you… you…” He waves his hands in the air… “Shitty taint.”

“Right back at you, flat ass. Stop being such a dick.” And though I would never, ever admit it aloud, I’m actually a little hurt.

Hanging out with Trevor wasn’t all bad. Probably just Stockholm Syndrome or whatever. As if I’d actually start to like a guy who’d kidnapped me. Even if he did come up with the best cafe nicknames for me, admitted he likes scavenger hunts, and was kind of fun to banter with… for like a moment.

“Stop talking!” he snaps.

“What happened, Trevor? It’s like you suddenly flipped a switch. I don’t get it.”

“Stop trying to manipulate me, you coffee-sucking parasite.” Trevor scowls at me.

I push away the hurt and try to sound blasé when I say, “And to think, I was starting to like you.”

“Well, I would never, ever in a billion years like a bitch like you.”

I gasp. “What did you just call me?”

“You heard me, bitch!”

Oh no he didn’t! I’d steam the asshole if I had a drop of water left. I don’t. I glare at him instead. Oh, right, I’m an espresso machine, so that does jack shit.

I can’t even take deep breaths to calm myself, so I twist my nozzles. One Mississippi, two Mississippi…

Okay Diva, you’re calmer than the time you meditated in the Himalayas and the spirit of Elton John came to you with advice. Then you woke up and found out he wasn’t even dead, but who cares.

Three Mississippi. “Can we just forget about how we died? It’s clearly a sore subject and…”

“I don’t care how you fucking died, Del Ray. I care that you’re a fucking shit-eating bitch.”

“Fuck off, dickweed! Do you, like, have multiple personality disorder? This shit is getting weird.”

“You’re so predictable. So fucking predictable. I can’t believe I fell for your tricks. Goddamn it!” He picks up his whiskey glass and throws it at me.

“Ahhhh.” I scream a split second before it slams into my side. Glass shatters everywhere and the whiskey spills all over me. Thankfully, I don’t feel pain—physical pain, anyway. “What the hell? You hit me! Janet, help!” I cry for the cook from earlier, but I don’t hear a sound from the kitchen.

“You’re just a hunk of metal,” Trevor snaps. “The glass can’t hurt you.”

“You’re just an asshole!” He’s probably left scratches on my flawless paint. “If I find out there’s a dent, I’m going to sue your ass. Fuck! What the hell happened to you? Did someone else take over your body?”

I want to believe it’s true. That if Trevor hopped from body to body—or clown to bodybuilder to homeless woman to hunk—someone else could have hopped into the body currently shouting at me. But some part of me knows it’s still him. It’s still the same guy. And that’s what hurts the most.

“You are so not Trevor,” I say anyway. Please be true. Please be true. Please be true.

“I’m more myself than ever; that’s why I’m not falling for your tricks, Del Ray.”

“What tricks?” I glance around the yacht club dining room as it suddenly hits me. “Is this a business thing? Did you own a cruise line or yacht company that my family bought out? Is that it?” I don’t give him a chance to reply because it’s the only possible explanation. “Look, if you feel like you could have gotten more money, it’s not my fault, okay? We always pay market value.”

Trevor scoffs. “Everything is money and business with you, isn’t it, Mrs. Coffee?”

The nickname would be cute if he didn’t sound quite so disgusted. “You don’t know me,” I snap.

His voice drips with sarcasm as he replies, “Oh, actually, I do.”