Page 33 of Catching Flynn

Flynn snorted. Didn’t matter what color or species, Zavier would pull that look off, leaving behind a trail of broken hearts.

You’re officially banned from the romance section.

“You’re a little too quiet for someone who just found out preternatural exist.”

“I was thinking about how we skipped dinner so now I’m starving.” Flynn tried to escape, but there was a wall of warm flesh in his way.

Zavier didn’t lift a finger to help. He just lay there, watching Flynn wiggle like an idiot.

“Mind giving me a little help? The back of the cushion sucked me in and now my butt’s trapped.”

“Right out the gate.” Zavier shook his head.

“Is my butt showing? Stop looking. Just grab my hand and give a hard yank.” Flynn’s brows shot up. “That's not …I was…then.” You are never getting laid again.

Flynn tried once again to free himself but gave up when he started folding in on himself. His couch wasn’t even that deep. It was the pocket between the back of the couch and Zavier where Flynn was stuck.

“You’re trying to end the conversation.” Zavier studied him. “Which means you lied to me.”

“When?” Flynn had spent the entire time trying to dislodge from the couch. Searching his mind ended with zero results. He could’ve asked Zavier, but if he wouldn’t help Flynn from the couch, chances were slim he’d help with Flynn’s memory.

“Guess this is my new home,” Flynn huffed. “Can you at least pass me the remote?”

“Right after you tell me the truth.”

The guy was like a dog with a bone. “What truth?”

“When I asked what you were thinking.”

“I’m pleading the fifth.” Flynn was not trauma dumping. Not a chance. He wasn’t letting Zavier discover just how pathetic he was, or that Flynn had been suffering from touch depravation most of his life. Zavier wouldn’t understand. His looks and quiet confidence guaranteed a warm bed and company. He was a tiger, too. His points just kept racking up.

That’s not fair.

Zavier shifted around, propping his head on his hand. “Always stick as close to the truth as possible when lying. You’ll have less to remember.”

Flynn frowned. “You’re teaching me how to become a better liar?”

“No.” Zavier snorted. “You have to already be good in order to reach the next tier. You hover between cookie-stealing and eyes-darting lie level.”

“I am not that obvious,” Flynn argued. “I can get in and out of any room, pockets stuffed full of cookies with no one the wiser. Never underestimate my noodle arms and legs. They’re surprisingly stealthy.” He held up his arms and flexed. “See for yourself.”

Zavier’s fingers circled Flynn’s arm with inches to spare. “Can’t argue with proof. Very nice.”

“You’re so full of shit.” But Flynn still preened at the compliment.

Chapter Eight

“Your arms are nice.” Zavier brushed aside a few stray hairs from Flynn’s forehead. “Do you think the only qualifying factor is how big a muscle is?”

“Nobody flocks around a beanpole.” Flynn rolled his eyes. “They drool over a body built like yours, not mine.”

Zavier was truly baffled at Flynn’s measure of worth. “I’ve travelled extensively, have meet many people. What I’ve come to realize is, looks fade and bodies age. So, what remains?”

“Funeral planning?” Flynn frowned then his face lit up. “Pudding! Old people are addicted to that stuff.”

Zavier lost it. He laughed so hard, a few tears fell. “Kitten, I love how your mind works.”

“Well, you’re old.” He ticked off his fingers as he spoke. “Your medicine cabinet is a sea of orange bottles. Your fridge is nothing but soft foods and prune juice. You smell like a sports injury. You watch gameshows at full volume because the hearing aids are charging. And you’ve got one dying fern you’ve named Gerald because he’s the only one left who understands you.” Flynn paused thoughtfully. “You’re basically just waiting for Gerald to go first so you don’t have to feel guilty about leaving him.”