AN: Written for the prompt "Strip."

Xander was elbow deep in suds when he heard the clearing of a throat behind him.

"Mr. Eervol! How's it going?"

The club owner grinned in a way that put Xander in mind of the Mayor, post ascension.

"Not too good Harris. Say, can you do me a huge favor?"

Xander reached for a towel to try his hands, and eyed his boss warily. The last time those words had left his mouth, Xander had wound up in the dumpster looking for a patrons missing engagement ring.

"I guess…"

"Fantastic! Tex Thunderstreak is sick. You're going on in his place."