Flynn rolls to one side, flicks the hem of my borrowed t-shirt back over my thighs, then crawls up the bed and collapses beside me. “Don’t send me back to that sofa, sweetheart. I promise to behave if you let me stay. And if I snore, you can always cut my throat.” I laugh, but it’s half-hearted. He’s joking, right? Surely he knows I’d never hurt him. “You can stay if you don’t hog the covers.” Flynn draws a cross over his heart. “Scout’s honor.”
