Page 11 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

“Do I want to what?” he asks.

“Sit down? You must be exhausted. Thanks for carrying me.”

He smiles, and I feel as warm as fresh coffee when it drips from my nozzle. “My pleasure.”

“Sorry I’m so heavy,” I add.

“You’re not heavy.” He flexes his biceps. “It wasn’t any trouble at all.”

Fucckk, I think.

Then, I blow my load of steam at him.

Fletcher startles. Then he stumbles. He takes one step backwards, trips over a duffle bag that belongs to the sketchy-looking dude sitting across the aisle, and hits the floor with a thud.

“Fletcher!” I cry. I try to jump up to help him, but all I can move are my nozzles, dials, and… steam. A blast of steam shoots out just as he sits up.

Double fucckk! I just jizzed him straight in his face.

Fletcher yelps and falls back onto the floor.

Maybe I can just pretend that my power ran out for the rest of this train ride?

“Are you okay?” Neph rushes over and kneels next to him. What I wouldn’t give to take her place. “Ponies, that looked painful! Do you need a doctor? Is there a doctor on the train?”

Fletcher chuckles, but his face is red from steam or embarrassment, or both. “At least I didn’t play dead that time.” He waves away the sketchy-looking dude—what kind of person wears Crocs with socks?—when he offers to help him up. “Everyone sit down, I’m fine.”

Oh fuck, did half the train jump up to help when he fell? I try to stretch out my body to get a better look, but of course, I can’t.

If anyone did watch me squirt on a man in the middle of a train, they didn’t think anything of it. No one says anything or hurries over. Makes me worry that this white stuff on the chair is cum, since apparently no one cares if you ejaculate in public.

Fletcher gets to his feet and slinks past me to his seat without sparing me a glance. I don’t say anything—every time I talk to him, I just make things worse.

The train ride into the city is silent—well, as silent as anything in a city can be. People around us listen to music without earphones, shout into their phones, laugh too loudly, and argue about everything from credit card charges to bananas. What kind of person gets angry about bananas?

I haven’t tasted one in over a year, and you don’t see me getting mad. Well, maybe a little. Well, more like a lot. What did I do to deserve a lack of bananas? Or apples? Or everything, really? I never asked to be stuck in an espresso machine.

Is it because I always ordered a skinny, sugar-free, soy latte with an extra shot, no foam, and a whisper of cinnamon?

“Diva!” Neph cries, and I realize I’m steaming again.

“Sorry. Sorry!” I cry, and spend the rest of the ride reminding myself to stay calm and not get horny or upset.

When the train pulls into the main transit hub, Fletcher leans over me to haul me up. I’m surprised he’s willing to risk it after all the steaming.

Don’t jizz, don’t jizz, for the love of everything that is not espresso, don’t jizz, Diva! I think as he cradles me against his hot chest.

He makes it a few steps down the aisle before he realizes he’s made a horrible mistake. Yep, he’s decided he’s done with me and this job.

“Fletcher?” Neph says.

I brace myself.

“I think I twisted my elbow when I fell,” he says. “But don’t worry about me. I’m a shifter. Possums heal fast.”

At least I didn’t cause him permanent injury.

Fletcher starts to pick me up again, but Neph grabs my other side. “I’ll help. I don’t want you to make your injury worse.”