I got asked for something funny because the show has us grieving through the end of the month, and twitter is/was (idk) fighting.
Now, 'funny' is always a bit of an intimidating request , but I hope this gives you all a little laugh.
_____
"Eh."
"What do you mean eh."
"I mean... it was eh."
Spencer watches incredulously as his girlfriend attempts to shimmy out from under him.
"Can you move? I—"
His hand locks down on her hip. "No ma'am. On a scale from one to ten. What do you give it?"
Olivia's eyes roll up in thought. Seconds tick by, and she sucks her lip between her teeth. Really, truly, considering.
"Woman, stop playing with me."
Her gaze meets his. "A solid three."
"Oh, you're fucking with me today." He lets out an ironic chuckle as his hand slips between her thighs.
"Spencer." She squirms under his grip. "Spencer, stop. I have to get to class. I'm going to be late."
Shocked, he lets go. This is a first. In their two years of dating, he couldn't think of one time she had denied him the pleasure of pleasuring her. It really must've been bad.
"Stop pouting," she teases. While she tugs a fresh pair of underwear up her thighs, her eyes remain steady on him, wounded and silent on the bed. "You got the job done."
"You got the job done," he mocks, scrunching his face up at the ceiling.
Her arm pokes around one of his oversized shirts until it finds its slot. He doesn't budge while she locates a pair of baggy jeans, nor when she leaves the room to pee. When she comes back and leans over the edge of the bed to plant a kiss on his forehead, he's still lying dead as a corpse.
"Baby, relax," she sighs. "It was good enough."
_____
The eggs just barely miss Spencer's plate as he shakes them off the pan. "Shit."
He spins to drop the hot steel into the sink before coming back to rescue his late breakfast off the counter. Why he thought grabbing a scorching metal handle without a towel was a good idea was beyond him.
"Shit. Shit. Shit," he mutters, awkwardly tossing the hot, scrambled clusters onto his plate. "Damn it, Liv."
Looking down at his disaster, he grimaces. Burnt toast. Massacred eggs. Not his best work. Thank God Olivia is on campus.
"Hey, did you make some for—" Jordan's face scrunches when he catches sight of Spencer's post workout meal. "Never mind, I think I'll just whip something up myself."
"Very funny."
Jordan pauses, taking in his friend's sour attitude. "What's up with you?"
"How'd I look today in practice man?"
Confused, Jordan slowly begins to gravitate towards the fruit bowl. He grabs a banana. "Ummm." Spencer's waiting expression stares back at him, and after another second, his friend's eyebrows shoot up. "You looked fine."
Spencer sucks his teeth. It may be an off day, but reading the Bakers is his specialty. "C'mon, be real with me. I can take it." The wide receiver takes another stab at his turkey sausage. "On a scale from one to ten. How'd I look?"
Jordan hesitates, buying time by reading the white labels under the blender's buttons.
"Man, stop playing with me."
"Fine," Jordan sighs. "It wasn't your best day... maybe like... a two."
Spencer scoffs. "Who asked you shit?"
Jordan opens his mouth to speak, but Spencer is already back to stabbing his meal. Accustomed to his friend's mood swings, Jordan doesn't let it phase him. And by the time the blender is done whirring, his friend's anger seems to have settled.
"You ever be in your groove," Spencer asks pensively. "You know doin' your thing."
Jordan thinks back to the stellar practice he had this morning. The one where Spencer failed to catch a single one of his throws. He nods in agreement. "Yeah."
"Like you doing everything right."
The nodding continues as Jordan pictures the beautiful touchdown pass he made to his backup receiver that morning. "Yeah."
"Like you getting in there—"
A vivid memory of his last running touchdown flickers across the quarterback's mind. In his daze, he replies. "Yeah, just last week."
"Hittin' it good," Spencer rants on. "Then she looks you dead in the face to tell you... it was good enough."
Jordan's face drops. "No." With a quickness, his head switches from nodding to shaking. "No. No. No, I do not." He grabs his smoothie. "I have not been there. Nor do I ever want to be."
Backing out of the kitchen, he shakes his head at the floor, not letting it stop until he's back in his room, door locked, far away from his rambling friend.
_____
"We just have to finalize the script for you because lord knows you can't be trusted without one. Now, the final cut is due on the 16th, so can you get it to me by the 14th? I want to have plenty of time to get all the edits done."
Spencer nods absentmindedly. "Yeah, yeah. Get it to you by the 16th."
A loud snap startles him as his eyes focus on Davita's hand, now inches from his face. "Earth to Spencer James. I said the 14th, but now let's make it the 13th." His friend and social media manager slides back onto the couch, fishing for her phone. "You've been doing good work, Spence. Don't fuck it up now."
The wide-receiver perks up. "How good?"
"Good." Her fingers type away. "Now, I'm going to text Liv and remind her—"
"Text me what?" With bags of takeout in hand, Olivia comes through the front door of the beach house. "I'm here."
Spencer's eyes narrow on his girlfriend. Last time he saw her was at 7am that morning.
This time, Davita perks up. "Hey, Liv. The final video for this current partnership is due soon, and the brand's marketing team has really liked our work. So, we gotta make this last video the best one yet. Keep them coming back for more, you feel me?"
"Yeah." Olivia nods in total agreement. "For sure, I'll help where I can."
Davita ushers her over to show off their plans. "We have the shot list ready and everything. I'm going to look over his script tonight, make some final edits, then I'll send that over."
Olivia nods. Feeling Spencer's glare on her, she smiles and meets his gaze. "Hi."
He replies shortly. "Sup, baby."
Her smile widens. "I missed you today."
Davita stands. "Alright, on that note, I think it's time for me to head out."
"No, please stay," Olivia insists, pulling away to head to the kitchen island. "I got food for you, too."
"No, I really do have to go. Practice, school, and running a side gig are not easy. I have a midterm in two days, and I can't remember the last time I cracked that textbook open."
Unpacking a box of noodles, Olivia hums in understanding. "Well, next time I'll get those salads we like."
Davita grins. "Just tell me when, girl. We did have a productive session today though. And I meant it, Spence. Really great work lately. You keep it going, and that money will keep flowing in."
Spencer grunts. "You hear that, Liv?"
"Hm?" His girlfriend looks up from her food.
"Great work," he calls across the living room.
"Okay, this is getting weird." Davita laughs as she closes her laptop and gathers her things. "I am getting out of here."
Leaving her fork strewn on the counter, Olivia comes around to the living area. "Let me walk you out."
_____
When Olivia comes back, Spencer is still sitting in the armchair, hands folded across his chest.
"You want some noodles?" she asks. "I can make you a plate."
"Nah, I'm good. I ate already."
A pout takes over her expression. "Without me?"
He shrugs.
They remain in silence for several minutes while Olivia shovels forkful after forkful of saucy noodles into her mouth.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" she finally asks through a mouthful.
"Just lookin'."
She gives him a skeptical look before going back to twirling her fork through the noodles. If he wants to brush off her questions, then two can play at that game.
But when she looks back up, she's surprised to see him standing in front of her.
He crosses his arms, biceps flexing. "Be real with me, Liv."
A devilish grin flashes back at him, and he knows they're on the same page. No explanation necessary.
"All I was saying was that it wasn't your best work, but baby, you still did it. It was—"
A yelp slips past her throat as he lunges at her hips. Her fork clatters to the ground, and before she knows it, her palms are pressing flat against his ass, having barely managed to save her face from slamming against his back.
"Talking 'bout some good enough," he huffs. His strides are long towards the staircase. "Fuck that."
The steps fly by beneath them, and she whines. "My food."
"Better forget the food 'cause we ain't stopping 'til I get a 20/10 outta you."