Though the turn of the twenty-first century was derided for its proliferation of disposable waste, Yona loved how the era had been so tactile. Lots of things meant lots of textures, colors, angles, and curves. The modern world was so efficient, so streamlined, so clean—junk was junk, but it was also a veritable buffet for the senses.

He slid her a skeptical look. “What is that?”She almost laughed at the suspicion in his face. “Food. Real food. Didn’t you eat?”He frowned. “Not any of that.”“You’re missing out. You can’t get anything like this out of a replicator.”“You can get anything out of a replicator.”She grinned and held up the burger. “Not like this. Not anything this juicy.

Pirates always chose the most inconvenient moments to come blazing—in the middle of a meal, while she bathed, minutes before the dramatic climax of her favorite show—but this was the first time her unwanted visitors had had orgasmic timing.

Second rule of the plastic pit,” she said, guessing his thoughts. “Always park out of its reach.”Liam retracted his helmet. He brushed away the bits of plastic stuck to his person. She was untouched. “What’s the first rule?” he asked.“Never enter the plastic pit.