Page 72 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

Where are we going? she asks.

My hotel.

For the kinky shit?

No, I need to find my friend.

For kinky shit.

No! I focus on keeping my balance and grab the cart with the espresso machine in one hand. In the other, I hold onto Rosco’s leash.

As I walk toward the hotel, I glance over my shoulder to make sure McKay isn’t following me. She isn’t, but one of the other body hoppers might be. If they are, I wouldn’t be able to spot them right away.

I cross the street a few times and keep an eye on both sides to see if anyone is watching or following. Most people avert their gaze from a homeless woman with a cart and a dog—even when the cart holds a commercial espresso machine.

The coast is clear. Probably.

Why am I feeling paranoid? Kennie asks as our surroundings change from busy city streets to a quieter residential area. Low-rise apartment buildings line both sides of the road, and street lights illuminate our way.

I tighten my grip on the cart. I’m worried someone is following us.

Are you in trouble? I feel her concern as she turns our head from side to side to look around.

Roscoe barks. I hope that’s not a warning.

Kind of… I speed up. Hey, why are you taking this body borrowing so well?

She shrugs our shoulders. I’ve been homeless since I ran away at seventeen, and I’ve seen things. Not body hopping things, but one time I saw a squirrel turn into a woman in a bikini and high heels. Of course, no one I’ve told believes me—and they’re not going to believe this happened either, are they?

Probably not, I tell her. Hey, is the Holiday Inn near here?

It’s just up ahead. Turn right at Jarvis. It’s before you reach Adelaide.

I almost miss it, but Kennie points out the green H hanging above the door. I open it—which takes a bit of coordination in a new body—and push the cart through the door.

You sure we should be here? Kennie asks.

Course I’m sure. I tug on Roscoe’s leash so he can follow me in. The key is to always act confident, even if you don’t belong somewhere. Like the time I became a model by climbing onto the runaway and strutting my stuff. It helped that I was wearing my friend Lacey’s designs. Sure, she sewed them herself and they were a bit… eehhhhh. But if you act like you belong, nobody notices the details.

Did that really happen? Kennie asks.

Of course it did. I glance around the hotel lobby.

The place looks sterile, with three white reception desks topped with clear barriers to keep customers and employees apart. It looks more like a hospital than a place you’d want to stay. Who designs hotels like this?

Neph would think the glowing blue light embedded in each desk looked cool though. I smile as I remember my friend and her enthusiasm for… well, most everything. She’ll be so confused and so excited to see me in a new body.

A middle-aged woman in a blue hotel uniform that looks two sizes too big glances at us nervously from behind her desk. “Umm… ma’am? You can’t be… you know, in here.”

“Why? Because I look homeless?” I snap.

“Umm… yeah.”

I pull my shoulders back. “I’ll have you know that I have a room booked here. I don’t know the suite number. My friend booked it. It’s under Nephrite Murphy.”

“Sorry, ma’am, but your, um, friend will have to show ID and let you in.” She flinches as though she thinks I’m going to dive over the partition and hit her.

Damn, it must be hard to work nights at this hotel. The other two desks are empty, so I assume she’s the only person working right now. It’s no wonder she’s stressed and nervous.