You never thought bug spray would be your downfall.

One stupid spritz. Maybe two. It was hot, and you were outside with Ben, and he handed you the can like it was nothing. You barely glanced at it before spraying it down your arms and legs, and then—God help you—even your neck.

Ben had told you, “This one’s military-grade. Mosquitos won’t even look at you.”

They sure didn't. They were eating at you like a bitch.