Extraits

« Listen, coffee maker, I know you think you’re the shit because you’re bougie as hell, but let’s keep it real. You have one job—to make coffee—and, bitch, right now you’re sucking at it. You should be ashamed. What would all the other coffee makers have to say about your attitude?” I growl as I try for the hundredth time to make this damn machine work.

It once again gives me a bunch of lip and then does fuck all. I stare at the bag of coffee beans, debating the merit of skipping the middleman and just eating them. That’ll show this snooty bitch of an espresso maker what’s up. She doesn’t own me. I will prevail.

“Oh hey, you’re up,” Rogan greets from somewhere behind me.

I quickly drop my hands from the triumphant pose I was just making and do my best to look normal.

“Morning,” I sing-song, retreating from my battle with the maker of life blood and casually taking a seat at the island.

“Did you make some coffee?” he asks, taking in the mug cradled in my palms.

“No, because your machine is evil,” I tell him plainly.