045. Wasted

Jareth laughed, watching the image of mushy food bits and spinning blades fade from the center of his crystal. That was a perfectly good crystal down the drain—literally—but it had been worth it to see the look on Sarah's face.

More than that, it had been worth it to watch her shimming around the kitchen in a tank-top so old it was nearly see-through and a pair of ratty boxers.

Distinctly male boxers.

Distinctly male boxers that forced him into thinking about just which sorry bastard they might belong to.

Apparently, he had more competition that he'd planned.