Page 41 of Dirty Fighter

He pauses, and I glance at him.

“Before I show you these, just know he’s okay.”

“I need a warning?”

Another gruff rumble. More of that fizzy belly feeling.

He scrolls to the next screenshot.

“No!” I rear back with a gasp. “That is definitely too many bee stings.”

Half the team replies with variations on the word “No” and horrified, puking emojis.

O’Brien

Whoa

Wade

Holy shit

Rux

I’m calling Doc

Boomer

DUDE, WTF OMG! Call Doc!

Nichols

Wex needs to suck the venom out! You’ll be Bee Bros!

Diesel

That’s not a thing

Rux

Not a thing. Do not suck him!

Jason’s shoulders are quaking with his laughter, so I know this kid must be okay.

And then Huska is sharing a picture of Wexler sitting on the edge of the nursing station, chatting up some bored-looking woman in pink scrubs. Then chatting up a tired-looking woman in blue scrubs. A confused-looking woman in black scrubs. A security guard with her hand on her gun.

“Oh my.”

“Yeah, not so many Slayers fans up here. If the guys were in Chicago, Wexler wouldn’t be able to cross the street without someone trying to pick him up. I’ve seen it.”

The next image is Jason looking devastating in a tux, smiling at the camera from some kind of red-carpet event.

He starts to scroll past, but I cover his hand with mine before he can swipe the image away. “What’s this, handsome?”

He swallows. “Agent sent this from an event last month. I don’t have any more screenshots from the bee thing, but there was a text from Huska letting me know the rookie— Baby Bun —was doing well.”

I pull my hand away, ignoring the low charge beneath my skin. “Show me more?”

He nods. The next one is another screenshot of an email from someone inviting him to work from home for up to one hundred dollars an hour.