Page 7 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

He shakes his head. His hair hangs lank and damp from my steam, and his face is red from the heat. “I don’t have narcolepsy. I just said that so the human cops would leave.”

“So I did burn you so bad you passed out?”

He shakes his head again. “Nope, just startled me. Whenever that happens, I play possum. Didn’t you read the fine print?”

He pulls up his phone and turns the screen for us to look.

Disclaimer: ChorePossums may be prone to sudden bouts of wide-open mouth and playing dead if startled, scared or insecure. This is a defense mechanism that evolved from our animal form and cannot be controlled. Thank you for your understanding.

“That font is tiny. Does anyone even read it?”

Hunk-a-hunk shrugs. “It’s not usually a problem. This is the first time I’ve been steamed on the job.”

Shit. I can’t even giggle and touch his arm to make burning him seem like a cute quirk.

I used to be able to flirt my way out of any situation—from convincing guards at a warlord’s villa to let my friends and me go, to getting free drinks when I was underage—but ever since I became an espresso machine, nada!

I still have my voice, though. Maybe I can at least smooth things over. I giggle—or try to, anyway. It sounds strained, and much closer to a cough. “I’m really sorry about the steam. I just thought you’d look a little bit better… wet.” Since I can’t flutter my eyelashes, I twist my knobs instead.

“Really, Diva?” Neph snorts.

I shush her with a hiss—literally, because a bit of steam escapes.

Hunk Squared’s cheeks are flushed, but that could be from the steam. He runs a hand through his damp-but-still-gorgeous hair, knocking the leaf out. He doesn’t seem to notice it flutter to the floor. “It’s okay. I never say no to a free sauna.”

He laughs, but it sounds forced. My heart drops. He’s clearly not impressed with me. No one ever is anymore—except in the “oh look, a talking espresso machine” sense. If they ever bother to compliment the coffee I’ve made, they just give credit to Neph—or whichever one of her mates happens to bring them their cup of java.

Men used to line up to take me out on a date. I miss that. I miss getting compliments about my hair. My clothes. My curves. All I had to do was bat my eyelashes—

“Diva,” Neph cries as I let out a puff of steam.

“Sorry. Sorry!”

“No worries,” the sexily damp ChorePossum says. “Shall we go? The UP Express is just that way.”

I glance in the direction he’s pointing. As much as I want to go with him, I can’t. Not when there’s a good chance I’ll steam him again. Ever since I’ve met the man, I’ve had no control over my knobs and nozzles… and what if next time it happens, he doesn’t come to in time, and Neph ends up in jail?

If I had a head to shake, I would. “Actually, Neph and I can handle it from here.”

Chapter 4

Diva

The ChorePossum squeezes some of the water out of his shirt while Neph glares at the luggage cart where I’m sitting.

“I can’t carry you by myself, Diva,” she protests. “That’s why we hired a ChorePossum.”

“Can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?” I shoot the ChorePossum a pointed look, but he doesn’t notice—because I don’t have a face or eyes, and he has no way of telling where my gaze is trained.

Sometimes being an espresso machine really sucks. Wait. What am I saying? Being an espresso machine always sucks.

The ChorePossum seems to take the hint and moves a few feet away—though I guess for him they’re meters—giving Neph and me some space.

“You like him,” Neph teases the moment he’s out of hearing range.

“Do not!”

“Do too,” she fires back.