Page 76 of Tinder Embrace
It wasn't until I got home that I started to itch.
At first, it was a tingling sensation, easily ignored. I scratched absently at my scalp, but that only seemed to make it worse. By the time I'd finished putting away my groceries, I couldn't stop the urge to scratch. I'd slept at home, so I couldn't blame the irritation on using a new brand of shampoo at Davis's.
Phantom prickles danced over my scalp, and I shuddered as I considered the next most likely cause.
No.
No-no-no-no.
Fingers trembling, I pulled a strand of hair in front of my eyes, examining it for tell-tale signs.
Mortification locked my muscles, adding to the resistance I felt over what I needed to do next: notify Davis.
What kind of man wanted to date a woman who gave him head lice?
At best, he'd never want to sleep over again.
I'd had one other memorable bout with lice in my classroom early in my teaching career. Thankfully, that time I hadn't picked it up. But it had spread among my students like wildfire. This was why we didn't share hats or jackets, making me feel absolutely foolish for lending mine to Brendon. I should have sent him to lost and found for something to borrow, but I'd been too soft-hearted, and, it turns out, unlucky.
Shirt balls.
Sighing, I reached for my phone, hitting Davis's contact while I grabbed my keys and headed for the door.
"Sophie? Everything okay?" his gruff question hit me in the feels, tightening my throat. He sounded so concerned. Rightfully so, though my problem was only embarrassing, not life-threatening.
"Davis. I'm so, so sorry," I began, locking my front door and sprinting for my car. "I have some bad news."
"Oh," he said, a note of caution bleeding into his tone, as if he were shoring himself up for something awful.
"I may have given you head lice. Again, I'msosorry, Davis. I'll make it up to you. I'm headed to the store now for medicated shampoo. We'll cross our fingers there hasn't been a run on it. I'll grab an extra bottle and drop it off for you, if you like."
Out of breath, I paused, giving him a chance to respond.
"How about I come to you, Bee?"
Thankful he didn't sound mad, I sighed. "You don't have to do that."
"Well, Jo might not appreciate it if I spread the love here. I'll pack a bag and meet you at your place."
"Has anyone ever told you you're kinda awesome, Davis?" I asked, relieved he didn't seem upset.
If our roles were reversed, I wasn't sure I'd be so calm. Head lice freaked me the fork out. I shivered, still in denial that I had creepy-crawlies on my scalp.
"I'll see you at my place, and I'll order us pizza from Slice for dinner."
I avoided making eye contact with the clerk as I checked out, two bottles of lice shampoo and fresh combs my only purchases. I considered burying them under condoms and ice cream, but I figured I'd already earned enough notoriety for one shopping spree.
Davis beat me home, and I drew to a stop in front of him.
He sat on the landing in front of my door, hands braced behind him, a black duffel bag on the floor at his hip. He wore fresh jeans and a Pinkney T-shirt with a ballcap pulled low over his hair. It was a nice Mariner's hat, and I winced. Would he feel compelled to burn it after this?
"Hey.” He pushed to his feet and took my reusable grocery bag from my hands.
"Hey," I said, my voice gravelly. "I'm so sorry, Davis. I know this is gross."
He shrugged off my apology, his expression serene. "Don't apologize, Bee. I imagine it's a hazard of the job."
"Sure, but that doesn't mean I want to share it with you," I lamented. "I feel terrible."
