Page 65 of Ignited

And then… what?

Would they stay together? How? Even if Thanatos would hire her to stay on at the Ridge, she wasn’t part of the pack. She wasn’t military. She didn’t follow orders well. Like, at all.

The only way she could stay was if she and Boomer were mates. Officially. And they’d never talked about anything like that.

She was afraid it was more than either of them could handle. And what about his brother? If Boomer did mate with someone, that would leave his brother feeling like even more of an outsider.

What if it pushed him over the edge? Boomer would never get over it.

And yet, the thought of leaving him, of maybe never seeing him again, made her feel hollow inside.

At that moment, he appeared in the doorway carrying a breakfast tray.

In spite of her worries, the sight of him immediately made her smile. His hair was still all messy from sleep, and he was wearing nothing but boxer briefs. And his eyes had that sparkle they got when he was feeling especially pleased with himself.

RoomBubba was behind him, carrying a second tray with a pot of coffee, sugar, and cream. His dick was fully deployed, with a cloth napkin over it.

RoomBubba rolled over to the bed. “Would Madame care for a napkin?”

She sat up, stuffing the pillows behind her back, and took the napkin off his dick, trying not to look like she was fondling a robot. “Thank you, Bubba.” The dick retracted, clanking back into his body. The sight of it shrinking up made a snort of laughter rise up in her, and she bit her lip. “A little cold in here for you, RoomBubba?”

“I’m sorry, I do not understand the question.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It happens to every guy. It doesn’t mean you’re not a man.”

“Cut that out,” Boomer said, grinning. “You know how sensitive he is.”

He handed her the tray, and then extended its legs so it sat on the bed, covering her lap.

Karisma stared at the plate. It was crepes.

Real crepes, just like on TV, brown and perfect, garnished with fruit and powdered sugar, and sausages on the side. Plus orange juice and two coffee mugs.

Boomer took the coffee pot from Bubba’s tray and poured, then added cream and sugar exactly the way she liked. “Go ahead, eat,” he said. He poured himself a cup of coffee.

She poked the crepes with her fork. They looked perfect. And they smelled amazing.

“Dude,” she said, awed. “Who reprogrammed RoomBubba so he could cook?”

“Ha ha. Have you ever seen one of those grippy hands trying to crack an egg? Yolk everywhere.” He settled on the bed next to her with his coffee in one hand, and reached for one of her sausage patties with the other. “I made them.”

Karisma stopped in the act of smacking his thieving hand with her fork.

“You made them? Who reprogrammed you so you could cook?”

Boomer munched on her sausage. “Internet,” he said indistinctly. “And those cooking shows. Turns out making food is pretty much like making explosives. Exact measurements, figuring out how the different components interact, and understanding how the mixture responds to heat. How did I not know this before?”

“Well, food doesn’t blow up,” Karisma said, taking a bite. “So not as fun?”

The crepes were filled with strawberries and whipped cream, and they were like heaven on her tongue. “Holy shit,” she said. “This is incredible.”

“I rock,” Boomer said complacently. “You’re welcome. Also, my tiny ignorant tiger, you can make bombs out of all kinds of food. Besides alcohol, I mean. Because everyone knows about Molotov cocktails. But you can explode many kitchen staples. Sugar, flour…”

Karisma stopped in the middle of scarfing down her crepes. “Excuse me? You can blow up flour?”

“Hell yes. Flour is highly explosive in an enclosed space. Fill a room with flour dust, light a match…” He spread his fingers and made an explody noise. “Kaboom.”

“You’re bullshitting.”