No, not wondered at the thought; he's literally wondering why the idea of Giles being furious should make him feel better. But I've used "thought" twice in too close a proximity. Shall fix.

For heaven's sake, don't hold your breath; this one will likely be bit more meandery than my usual.

edit: ah, got it, also a typo in that sentence. All fixed now.

Ah, wondered why the thought... Yeah, makes sense.

next bit:

All the way to the Beverly Center, stiff-backed and livid with suppressed rage, Giles wondered who had come up with this time-wasting, soul-destroying rubbish.

Olivia, he thought, it had to have been Olivia. After all, dragging him off shopping in Nevada, and following that up with some maniacally intense sex that had threatened to break him in half, had worked once before as a way to relax him. It would be just like her, to assume that would work every time. But making this into some sort of stupid competition...?

"Stop looking so cross and disapproving. You look like Margaret Thatcher's third cousin when you do that. Hideous." Olivia was holding a manila envelope in her lap; she reached in and pulled out the contents. "Titanium Card, good. Walkie talkies, excellent. They had damned well better have remembered to - ah. Yes, they did."

She reached into the envelope and pulled out a golden charm bracelet. There were four charms dangling from it; it was too dark to see what they were.

Olivia slipped it onto one wrist. The clasp on the bracelet snapped itself shut; in the dim light of the black Lexus custom limo, Giles thought he saw the bloom of magic settle over Olivia's skin. Damnation, he thought, must remember to keep an eye on that thing....

The Lexus pulled into the parking garage at the Beverly Center.

"We're here," Olivia remarked, and leaned forward to tap on the glass. It slid back. "Have the others arrived?"

"Yes ma'am. They're right behind us."

The glass slid closed, and Olivia leaned over. She kissed Giles full on the mouth.

"Let the games begin," she told him, and climbed out of the car.

• * *

Dear God, this is funny.

more:

The competition, the women told them, was simple and straightforward. They would split into two teams: Wes and Fred, Olivia and Rupert. Each of the women had been handed a Wolfram & Hart Titanium card, and a set of walkie talkies.

The object of the exercise was shopping. Each Watcher was to have from now until the Center locked up for the night, with his Shopping Buddy and the W&H Titanium card in hand. They were to meet back at the cars at closing time. The Watchers would be judged on the quantity, value and cost of their purchases; while their Shopping Buddies were there to point them down particular purchasing paths, each Watcher would be expected to explain each purchase to the appointed Judges, why they had bought it, why they had wanted it. Was this clear?

"What are the walkie talkies for?" Rupert was extremely uneasy; there was something about that charm bracelet that was nervous-making.

The two-ways, Fred explained, were in case they got separated from their buddies. Besides, you, well, you just never knew, and two-ways were handy things, after all, right?

"Fine. By the way - what's the prize?" Wes, accepting that he would not only have to go ahead with this idiocy but also deal with Fred in her most manic mood, asked the question. "For winning? You threatened us with the torments of chastity and making us pong like gone-over horsemeat patties if we don't play, but you haven't told us what the winner gets."

The women smiled at him, but said nothing. Fred kept fingering an odd ring she'd found in the envelope with the rest of the goodies. Something about that ring was making Wesley's gob do nasty little dances. his lips kept wanting to do things, lick her or purse in disapproval or maybe just pucker up and yell for help. Something had seemed to slide over her skin after she'd popped the thing on...

"We're off." Olivia jerked her head towards the escalator. "May the best Watcher win."

"Win what, again?"

• * *

Something about that ring was making Wesley's gob do nasty little dances.

Gob means spit, his spit was dancing?

Gob's mouth, isn't it?

Mouth. His mouth is jerking around.

Is that not visual? Damn. Gimme a minute.

OK - enhanced that a bit. It's important, actually, because it's related to the ring's, er, function.

Really? Gob means mouth? Huh... In Canada if you gob on someone you've spit on them.

But, really, shut your gob and gobsmacked now make more sense.