“fuck you, those cigarettes are good.” it’s mumbled, thrown right into the middle of her sentence before she can even finish the bage in garbage. there’s no bite to it, the phrase more punchline than insult. timothy lost all rights to any genuine fuck you’s the second his truck died on them. besides, he can’t find it in himself to be offended over her telling the truth. he’s definitely two for two when it comes to goading spencer into trying the nattiest shit—though he’s more partial to his cigarettes than whatever the hell this place is trying to push on its customers.
he settles into his seat as she grabs the coffee cup, gaze expectant as he watches. and yeah, the whole thing unfolds exactly how he’d imagined, but he still gets a kick out of the disgust written on her features. it almost makes up for being stranded at a gas station with bluetooth ceiling speakers and a cashier too fond of madonna’s greatest hits (holiday, music, borderline—twice, all in the past fifteen minutes).
“right?” for the first time since plopping himself in the booth, he laughs, taking the coffee cup back when she ditches it for water. “some real big competition from regular exclusive blend for shittiest cup of joe in town. somebody should warn loretta.” the jab at their boss comes with a grin that’s soon covered by the lid of the paper cup. it may be dirt water at best, but it cost a full dollar, and he has nothing but time until somebody picks them up—he’s drinking the coffee. at least the sugar wafers he got make it a little bearable. the artificial sweetness and unholy bitterness almost cancel each other out if he times his bites and sips just right.
he’s mid-chew when he pauses to glare at the cashier over spencer’s shoulder as borderline plays for a third time. a sip of coffee washes it down before his gaze shifts to the table, grin gone and scowl in its place.
“i’m gonna lose my fucking mind before triple a gets here.”
“loretta is quaking in her boots as we speak.” spencer cracks a joke, surprisingly smiles for the first time since his piece of shit alternator ruined tonight’s plans. talking shit about their work always provides amusement with a laugh or two. that’s exactly what she does: laughs. even if a brow raises expectantly, watching timothy continue to drink arguably the shittiest cup of coffee to exist. there’s definitely something wrong with his taste buds. “her career is basically over. good riddance. fuck her and fuck the diner.”
another laugh escapes then borderline blares through their speakers for the third time. she has never heard so much of madonna until now, and it’s beyond infuriating. her smile dissipates into a tight line. biting the inside of her cheek, she lifts her head to throw an accusatory glower. she’s this close to climbing over the counter to beat the cashier senseless. maybe they’ll acquire better music taste. not whatever the hell this is.
spencer pauses to take a few deep breaths. although it does nothing to calm her down. when the chorus loops for the millionth time, she groans loudly as hands grip the seat. “i’m already losing my fuckin’ mind.” it’s a short mumble mostly to herself. that’s when she explodes.
“i’m gonna deck this bitch in the face if i hear this song one. more. time.”
the declaration echos throughout the gas station with a death glare to match. it’s on purpose, of course, to offer some incentive to change the tunes. the girl falls back into her original position, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. there’s a brief moment of peace until never gonna give you up starts playing. well, at least it isn’t borderline.