Page 40 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

“I’ll save you,” the Rooftop Spider-Man above me shouts.

Suddenly, he shifts. An adorable, fluffy skunk drops onto the parking brake. He looks like an adorable, tiny surfer trying to balance on his back paws. I try to smile at him, but can only turn some of my dials upward.

“Shift back and grab the wheel!” I shout at the skunk.

He jumps on the parking brake instead.

“You have to press the button!” I scream.

He raises his tail, stands on his front paws and aims his ass right at the clown.

For the first time ever, I’m glad I’m an espresso machine. I guess there are times when it’s nice not to have a face—or nose.

The clown coughs and starts to swear. So does the Steroids Man in the front passenger seat. Guess the skunk must have done his thing.

I do a mental happy dance. “Go skunk go!”

“Stop!” the clown shouts. He sounds like he’s in pain. I shove away the urge to help him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Steroids Man shouts. I don’t feel the least bit bad for him.

“Pull over before my skunk bodyguard sprays you again!” It’s always good to pretend you have a bodyguard when dealing with thieves and kidnappers. It tends to scare them.

“Skunks can only spray once,” the clown says.

Can they? I’m glad I don’t have facial expressions, or my frown would have given me away. “Skunks can spray all they want,” I say with a confidence I definitely don’t feel. “You show him, bodyguard… McGee!”

The clown—despite being, you know, a clown—might be right, because the skunk doesn’t spray. He stomps his little feet instead and clamps his teeth down on the bodybuilder’s arm.

I let out an internal grimace and pretend I’m not relieved he didn’t choose to bite the clown.

Steroids Man grunts in pain and grabs the skunk by the tail. He hauls the little guy into the air and forces him to let go of his left arm… and then, shit. His window starts to slide open!

“Shift!” I scream at the skunk, but it’s too late.

Steroids Man tosses my would-be skunk rescuer out of the car window.

I scream and watch his little fluffy body hit the sidewalk as we zoom past. He shifts into a man, but then we’re gone before I can tell if he’s even alive.

Is he hurt? Did he hit his head or break any bones? I can’t even turn my head to look out the back of the van to catch a glimpse of him.

“You monsters!” I roar at the kidnappers. “I’ll have my entire team of lawyers on your asses. You’ll spend the rest of your lives in prison for this! I’d kill you myself if I had arms!”

The clown driving the getaway car glances over his shoulder at me, and I gasp. That bright red smile painted on his face is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. The rainbow hair makes me want to drip from my nozzles, but I’m all out of water. Maybe the kidnappers cast some kind of Stockholm Syndrome spell on me. Why else would I be attracted to a murderer? Or at the very least, a murder accomplice?

“Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay,” he says.

“Don’t you tell me what to feel! I should tell you how to feel. I eat clowns like you for breakfast. I hire and fire party entertainers like… like…”

“Can it, Maxwell House. I’m taking you somewhere safe.”

“Safe, my ass. You kidnapped me and possibly killed my skunk.” Okay, he’s not really my skunk, but that’s not what’s important here. “Get me the fuck out of this unwashed and uncouth piece of crap car!”

I stare out the windows and sunroof, searching for more rescuers. No skunk. No Neph. No Fletcher. The car must have outpaced them. Or maybe they stopped to help the skunk. I hope so.

Is the skunk man safe? Maybe Fletcher and Neph stopped to help him? Maybe they’re taking him to the hospital? Or bandaging up his cuts and scrapes? I hope so. I hope he’s okay.

Whatever the case, they’re definitely not coming for me. From the looks of it, no one is.