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insecurity which just seemed wrong. Josh was always happy and laughing and just…just Josh.
    Les had no idea how to reassure Josh that he wasn’t any less attractive than Adam was. Playing the part of the shrink wasn’t Les’ thing; he preferred to deal with tangible things not emotions and feelings and all the crap that went on in a person’s head. Give him action and deeds any time over this stuff.
    Luckily for him, Dr. Velez came into the room before Les had time to figure out what to say to Josh. He tried to keep his sigh of relief silent but Josh cut him an amused glance and mouthed, “You wuss.” Les gave a nod of agreement. He’d rather tackle an armed assailant than delve into the potential mess brewing in Josh’s life.
    “Teach you to ask how things are going for me,” Josh muttered teasingly several
    minutes later as he drew up a shot. “Now turn over and drop trou so I can make you feel all better.” Josh’s cheeks turned dark and his eyes shot wide open as he slapped a hand to his EX’S AND O’S
    Bailey Bradford
    30
     
    mouth. “I swear, I didn’t mean…” he muttered between his fingers, the blush spreading to the roots of his hair and down onto his neck.
    Les figured his own flush was buried under that of the fever’s, and even if it wasn’t, surely Josh wouldn’t have been able to know the truth for it. Les was shocked to the tips of his toes and didn’t know if it was him hallucinating because he was sick or if he really did feel a tidal wave of desire rise and crash in him at the idea of rolling over for another man.
    Either way, his dick was trying its best to firm up as Les shifted onto his side, turning his back to Josh. Angry at his body betraying him—again—Les shoved away the threatening arousal and unfastened his uniform pants, shoving them and his underwear down enough to bare his hip.
    Maybe he’d be lucky and the shot would hurt like hell and stun some sense into him.
     
    EX’S AND O’S
    Bailey Bradford
    31

Chapter Five
    Ideally, Les wouldn’t be sick at all, but since he was and there were already other officers out sick before he became ill, Les couldn’t get time off work unless he was pretty much dying. Because he had felt so miserable, he’d taken the medicines he’d been prescribed instead of trying to tough it out. Now he was kind of thinking he should have read the information pamphlets that came with each prescribed drug. He was feeling a little fuzzy-headed. Maybe he should call Chief Ewers and see if he thought it might be best for Les to stay right here, parked where he often waited to catch speeders, at least until whichever drug it was that was making him feel weird wore off.
    Les rubbed his temple. He should have been more careful. He just hated being sick and—the flashing numbers on the radar readout caught his attention. Maybe he was in worse shape than he thought, because he was afraid he might just be hallucinating. Les glanced at the readout again. Yep, the beat up Honda was rocketing down the highway at a good twenty miles over the speed limit. And it had Montana plates. No matter how
    medicinally high he was, the cop in him was still as astute as ever.
    This could be interesting. Les couldn’t deny he was anticipating pulling the car over, or, more to the point, putting the fear of God—or at least himself—into the man who was the cause of Josh’s bout of insecurity. It was petty and kind of bullyish, and normally Les wouldn’t give in to such impulses, but it seemed that whatever medicine was making him feel kind of off was also sending some of his baser impulses floating all too closely to the surface.
    Les grinned as he gassed the Charger—he loved the new cruisers the department had sprung for—and hit the switches for the lights and sirens. The car jetted from the thatch of shrubs that hid it so well in the darkness. He knew the second he was spotted, or his sirens were heard, because the Honda’s brake lights glowed and the