Spencer hated the beach. Like, loathed it from the deepest depths of his soul. The sand, the sunburn, the seagulls, the people. It was all extremely unsanitary and utterly disgusting.

For him, atleast. Not for you. You were a certified fun-haver. You threw parties, went on crazy rollercoasters, went in haunted houses. Everything he didn't have the balls to do. And going to the beach was infact, one of those things.

You loved the beach as much as you loved him, which is a lot. In the summer, who doesn't want to go relax and sunbathe, maybe even tan? Or go swimming and then have a cocktail or two, or ten?

Spencer apparently didn't. Because it took two hours of negotiating and one threat of you going by yourself to finally persuade him to go to the damn beach. And he still complained. Well, it wasn't complaining, it was facts that he hoped would make you change your mind.

"You know both commensal and pathogenic human-associated microbes have been found in samp-- ah." He cut himself off when you took your shirt and shorts off to reveal the bathing suit underneath.

If it was like this all day, he could definitely overlook everything disgusting about the beach. You in a swimsuit was worth everything.