Anders was definitely accustomed to waking up warm, snuggly, and in some generally advanced state of undress. That sensation didn't strike him as weird when he cracked open one eye this morning and pretty much gave up on the idea of continuing to sleep
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That's when the memories of the weekend flooded her mind. "Oh my god..."
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Wait.
That wasn't Phoebe's voice.
That -- hello there, memory. Anders sat up, and now he was awake. Kinda wishing he wasn't.
"Oh, hell!"
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She started to push him out of the bed. "You need to get out of here and be so far away right now."
How was she going to explain this?
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"Where the hell are -- how did my underwear get on the ceiling fan?!?"
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She hoped Anders would be gone before Lindsey got back. And then there was Phoebe. "Oh god, Phoebe is going to hate me."
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"Just so we're clear?" he blurted out from the entryway. "I still hate you. Got it? Good."
If anyone was in the shower in his own suite he didn't know what he was going to do.
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Shower, here he came.
. . . not like that.
SO NOT THINKING ABOUT THAT KIND OF -- NO.
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