Page 39 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

“However, we shall not allow thou to access our realm, and any attempt to do so will be considered an act of war.”

“Queen Lettuce—” I start to argue.

“We toss thy proposal back at thou,” she adds.

I sigh. Dagnabbit Glosette and her Andrew-tossing chant! Even if it was catchy. And becomes more and more tempting as Queen Lettuce and her delegation haughtily accept some Rataphones from my people before marching away to the beat of their bottle-cap drums.

“Do you believe they will provide accurate intel?” Aero whispers as we watch the Union-Andrews scurry back down the tunnel. “Or lure us into a trap?”

I swallow a lump in my throat like a piece of unchewed pizza crust. “Only time will tell.”

Chapter 18

Diva

The clown kidnapper takes a sharp right, and Steroids Man grunts in the passenger seat.

I slide across the minivan’s back seat. The hottie on top of the roof lets out a yelp and holds on to the sunroof for dear life.

I can’t hold on to anything—or help him—because I don’t have hands. What if he falls? What if I fall?

If some part of me breaks, will it hurt? Will it cause permanent damage? What if my levers and knobs no longer work, and I can’t do anything—not even make coffee? Or what if my would-be rescuer dies trying to save me?

I let out an outraged cry. “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you how to drive? Get me out of here before I sue you into oblivion, you… you… clown!”

Why the fuck is a clown driving the getaway car? What happened to kidnappers wearing ski masks? Not that ski masks are a better fashion choice than pasty white makeup, a red felt nose, and a funky wig that sticks out over the top of the driver’s seat—though, I do want to run my non-existent hands through that rainbow hair. Maybe kiss that red nose—or, I guess, blow some air at it?

The fuck is wrong with me? Did the kidnappers slam whatever the equivalent of my head is against the side of the minivan without me noticing?

“I’m trying to help you,” the clown shouts—his voice a lot deeper and more gravely than one would expect from a children’s entertainer.

My nozzles twist like nipples hardening at the sound of his voice. What the fuck? I ignore it. “How is kidnapping helping me?”

Who kidnaps an espresso machine? What are they going to do? Force me to make them unlimited coffee?

“I’m fucking rescuing you!” the clown shouts.

“No, I’m rescuing her!” Car Surfer shouts. “She’s my soulmate!”

His words melt my metal insides… until I remember I don’t even know the guy. Claiming we’re soulmates is a bit much when we’ve never talked beyond shouting through a sunroof.

Focus, Diva!

“Hold on,” Sunroof Ninja says. Then he pulls his hot face closer to the sunroof and dives headfirst into it. But the window is too small to fit a man, so he hangs half in and half out with his legs kicking in the air.

And the worst part is that I can’t quite get a look at his ass from my vantage point, and when his shirt falls down over his head, he’s facing away from me, and I don’t even get an eyeful of abs.

“This is so unfair,” I wail.

“Fuck,” the clown shouts a second later.

The car’s brakes squeal. I almost fall off the seat, while above me, the Windshield Hunk starts to swing back and forth like a human pendulum.

“Shit!” I shout. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Pendulum Hottie screams.

I wish I could help, but all I can do is shout at the clown. “You’re going to get us killed, you fucking maniac!”