Mischief Coffee Novels & Stories

“I thought you left?” “Two things,” I said, as if we’d never stopped our conversation. “First of all, this is only okay coffee. I got you a mocha, a latte, and a cappuccino. Chances are, you won’t like that last one. But everyone should try one at least once in their lives.”

She still couldn't believe that she had managed to escape the suspicion of the Lewd Demon. ‘This is like a suicide mission. I have to leave this company as soon as possible.’ While thinking hard, Kara prepared hot water and a cup. However, as soon as she opened the cupboard, her focus was diverted. The row of jars in front of her were labeled with the names of the days. Black Ivory coffee for Monday, Finca El Injerto for Tuesday, Saint Helena for Wednesday, Hacienda La Esmeralda for Thursday, and Luwak coffee for Friday. The contents of that cupboard cost more than her monthly salary!

She entered holding a mug, heading straight to me while wearing a very nice smile. And a very nice smile means trouble. "Your coffee, sir," she mumbled, placing it on the top of my desk. "Thank you," I murmured, slowly taking a sip. "Oh, don't be jealous, my dearedt Mikey. I'd let you fuck me if you still want me." The coffee went down the wrong tube, and I choked so hard that I thought my lungs began to bleed. I blew the coffee in the air as I felt my veins started to pop out.

His brows arched as he picked up the mug and there was dead silence in the room, he took a deep breath and walked brought out the trash can again, spilling the contents right into it, ‘Can you tell me what's wrong with the coffee Miss Turner? Oh God this is it, she thought as she scratched the back of her head in confusion, she did what he asked her to do—she made the coffee with the Guatemalan beans, two cups of sugar and even brewed it extra black so she wasn't sure where she went wrong, ‘I can't think of an answer sir'. ‘Well I can..', he slammed the mug right back on the trolley, ‘It's fucking cold Miss Turner!!'.

Brandon settled on a sofa, and they mirrored him by sitting on the other sofa in the room to face each other. “Now—” Brandon began, but was interrupted as a beautiful redhead handed him a cup of coffee and left two more cups for the guests before moving away but not leaving the room. “Oh, thanks, my love. Ah…delicious. Nothing like a good Mexican black coffee.” “Well, if you’re a fan of bitter coffee, I recommend trying the ‘vampire coffee’ they sell on 60th Street. It has a weird name, but it’s delicious,” Nicholas suggested as he took a sip from his own cup.

"I'll take one of these and a drip coffee, no cream." `After collecting our coffees, I went back to our rooms. Caden was still shoring lightly. I took the little baggy of off-white powder that Lorenzo had had delivered the day before. I dumped all the contents into his coffee. I'd been warned it was a little bitter, so I hoped the Mocha covered it up. After mixing it all in, I replaced the lid and made my way over to Caden. "Caden," I said softly, shaking his shoulder lightly." Caden."

Fucking rainbow-coloured sprinkles! “Jealous?” He says with an annoying grin, and I roll my eyes. “Not jealous, more like disturbed.” “Relax, it’s just coffee.” See, what I was talking about? This isn’t coffee anymore; it’s a drink that gives you a ticket for diabetes. Right on cue, a waitress comes with my order and puts it down in front of me. He eyes it like it’s a disease. Would you look at that?! “That’s what you got?”

I ask, handing her the end of a green piece of tinsel and a piece of tape to go with it. “Only if you tone down the cheer a bit,” she replies as we both hop up on a couple of stools. “Never.” I smile. “Miss Scrooge.” Brit is my co-worker at Mucho Mocha, the coffee shop where I’ve been working now for almost a year. You’d think with the amount of responsibilities I have and my competence compared to the other workers here, I’d be manager by now, but nope. Still just a barista who also gets asked to do all kinds of other things she shouldn’t be asked to do.

Just the difference in the last twenty-four hours had you staring off into space while you were in line at the coffee shop down the street from the office. "Excuse me? Sir?" You shook your head, waking yourself up. "Sorry, sorry," you mumbled, stepping up to the counter and thumbing open your phone to read off the orders. "I need three black coffees extra large, plus an almond macchiato large, a french vanilla large, two cold brews medium aaaand can I get one of those chocolate pastry things?" You asked.

I’ve never liked oatmeal. I was half-way to convincing myself that if I add enough cream and sugar to my cup of coffee, the oatmeal might be almost palatable, when Misha reached around me again, nudging me out of the way. “Excuse me,” Misha grabbed the full, fresh pot of coffee and then, as I watched in horror, poured the entire carafe inside a large thermos which he placed in the insulated bag with everything else–Leaving coffee grounds and crumbs as the only remnant of the beautiful meal he had made. A meal I thought he had made for me, for us, to share.