Buffy and Willow sat on Buffy’s bed, giggling conspiratorially.
“You know,” Xander said, waking reluctantly from his nap on the floor, “you might want to save something for later. A guy like Riley, he needs some mystery. Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?”
“Fine, Xander, you’re right.” Buffy leaned over the edge of the bed to glare at him. “On our next date, we’ll play Monopoly instead of making out.”
“Strip Monopoly,” Willow suggested immediately. “One article of clothing for every house you buy.”
Xander perked up. “Wanna practice?” Buffy’s dark glare turned back to him and he held up his hands in surrender. “Nevermind. Still,” he continued, “you should be careful with Riley. He may seem all sweet and cuddly now, but one of these days, he might just pull his face off like on Scooby Doo and be some grotesque, slimy demon guy.” He blushed under the disbelieving, annoyed stares of the two women. “What? It could happen.”
“Just how long has it been since Anya was over? The Cartoon Network is not a healthy substitute for sex. Not in your case, anyway,” Buffy observed.
“It’s only been about . . . a week, two days, four hours, eleven minutes and,” he checked his watch, “forty-three seconds. She’s mad at me for forgetting our six-month anniversary.”
“Good work, Xand. At least you’re still breathing,” Buffy reminded him.
He sat up, looking hopeful. “Yeah, and she can’t get far because she left her whip at-“ Suddenly realizing what he’d said, Xander blanched.
Buffy recovered first, hastily trying to move on. “New topic! Please, God, new topic!”