Let it never be said that Maggie Hayes can’t deliver a rocking party. I crack my knuckles first thing in the morning and get to work pouring and sifting and beating—not half as dirty as it sounds, except in the batter splatter way. By the time six o’clock rolls around, I’ve got a spread of treats to warm the heart of anyone with a smutty mind. Mom wanders by the kitchen, takes a look, and walks away shaking her head.

I may actually have gone a bit overboard, but throwing myself into the baking felt so good, I don’t really care. Anyway, this is my first proper client since Brooklyn, and that’s worth pulling out all the stops. I grab the drinking game and naughty scavenger hunt sheets I printed off, and swing by a favorite shop of mine on the way downtown. No bachelorette could be complete without a pecker piñata and a chance to pin the junk on the hunk, after all.

Ava’s eyes grow round when she meets me out front of the bar that’s hosting the party. “You are a superstar,” she says as we hustle the goods inside.

I certainly feel like one. About fifty women are crammed inside amid streamers and thumping dance music. One woman opens my box of cock pops and squeals as if I’ve just made her year.

“Oh my God. These are the best! Carmen, get a load of these.”

Soon mini penis cakes mounted on sticks are bobbing throughout the room—and disappearing into hungry mouths. The bride-to-be, Sara, sticks the hunk poster to the wall with a cackle of glee. The girls pin a veil to her sparkly tiara between bites of my infamous pink cake—“Oh, hell, these balls are heaven,” I overhear from a blonde waving a fork coated in coconut flakes and icing.

Everyone gets their phones out and starts snapping away. “Remember to tag me!” I call. “Sugar Mama Bakery.”

Ava pulls me over to show the photo she uploaded to her Instagram account: my twenty-inch dick cake in all its frosted cum glory. She managed to capture it before the girls dug in, and the likes are already skyrocketing.

“You’re famous!” she says, and I laugh.

“Only with the best people,” I tell her.

I figured I would just drop off the supplies and be done, but this group is already four drinks to the wind, and won’t take no for an answer. They drag me along for the scavenger hunt, and I find myself fluttering my eyelashes at the bartender to earn a free shot. The girls brandish the phone numbers and condoms they’ve scored. Blondie starts belting out a Britney Spears song in the middle of the room. Someone convinces a cutie by the bar to give Sara a piggyback ride. She squeals with laughter as he jogs her around the room, her Bride-to-Be sash fluttering behind her.

“Time for shots!” Ava lines up another row of glasses, and I gulp another down, whooping at the burn. OK, so maybe I shouldn’t be getting tipsy on the job, but it’s not like they’re giving me much of a choice here. These women can drink.

“OK, time for the main event.”

I look up. Everyone’s bustling around getting ready a circle for presents or some sort of game, and Sara bounds over to me. Her face is flushed, her eyes bright. I’m pretty sure she’s had a lot more than two drinks by now. And by all appearances, she’s having a blast. Mission accomplished!

Or not quite. “So when is the stripper getting here?” she says in an over-enthusiastic undertone.

Uh, pardon? “Stripper?” I repeat.

“Yeah. I mean, how can you have a bachelorette without a guy getting naked, right?” She giggles. “My last chance to do some proper ogling before the big day.”

Shouldn’t that have fallen into Ava’s domain? My expertise is baked cocks, not the real deal. “Sorry,” I say. “I don’t know—”

“Oh, please,” she says almost desperately, clutching my arm. “You did such an amazing job with everything else. I know you can find someone awesome.”

Then one of the other girls grabs her and tugs her away. I quickly text Ava. Is there a stripper on the way?

She meets my eyes across the room, hers going wide. I know before she mouths Shit that she forgot.

Okay. Maggie can handle this. I’m a superstar, right? I give her a thumbs-up, and her expression relaxes. I feel good about that for the five minutes it takes me to call every number I can search up for male strippers in the city, which isn’t a huge amount.

Voicemail. Voicemail. “Sorry, we don’t take last-minute bookings.” “I’m afraid Alfonso is on another job.” Voicemail. Shit indeed. I can’t find anyone else to try. Apparently stripping isn’t a popular career choice for men in the Philadelphia area. It’s not as if it’s that hard. All you need is to be able to groove with the music and have a body worth looking at . . .

Hold on. I do happen to know someone who fits both of those criteria. And who happens to live just five blocks from this bar.

And who I could maybe sweet talk into getting naked . . . in front of me. And an extra fifty people?

It’s worth a shot.

I hesitate, but then I see Sara making hopeful eyes at me from across the room. After everything I’ve been through in the last couple months, I need to know I can pull off one job fully to the client’s satisfaction. It can’t hurt to at least ask, right?

I try texting Drew. When he doesn’t respond within a couple minutes, I duck out and hoof it down the street on unsteady feet. He mentioned he turns his phone off when he’s working in the studio. Please let him be there.

At his building, I buzz the apartment just to be sure, and then the studio. My heart thumps several anxious beats before Drew’s low voice carries through the speaker.

“Hello?”

“It’s Maggie,” I say. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Drew opens the studio door with a smile. “I thought you had that gig tonight,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

“Er, sort of, but not completely . . .” I pace back and forth a couple of times and then just blurt it out. “I need a really big favor. But it would totally save my ass. Obviously I wouldn’t normally ask something like this, but I figure it’s worth a shot . . .”

Drew looks curious. “What, Maggie? Just ask.”

I stop, take a deep breath, and look at him. “I need a male stripper at that party. Like, right now.”

His eyebrow quirks up. “I don’t know what kind of company you think I normally keep, but I don’t actually have any stripper friends I can just call up and— ”

“No,” I break in. “I’m asking if you’ll do the stripping.”

He pauses, then bursts out laughing

“I’m not kidding,” I say. “I— The bride got it in her head that there’s supposed to be a stripper, but no one told me— Please. Pretty please. With a cherry on top?” I bat my eyelashes. OK, so I’m more than a little drunk.

Drew stops. “Wait, you really want me to do this?”

“You can pull it off. I mean, um, figuratively as well as literally. She’s counting on me. I’m sorry, I know it’s ridiculous, you wouldn’t even have to get naked, just, you know, almost?”

“Okay.”

This time, I’m struck dumb. “You will?”

He grins. “What’s a little humiliation between friends?”

“Oh my god!” I squeal. “You’re a lifesaver. Thank you so much.”

“But let’s be clear.” He steps closer, and teases one fingertip at the lacy neckline of my shirt. “You are absolutely going to owe me. and I’m going to enjoy collecting.”

“Done,” I promise quickly. “Come on!”

We dash back to the bar, and find the ladies rowdy and hyped up. They greet Drew with cheers and yells, and even though he looks a little apprehensive, I can tell the applause is helping win him over to this crazy plan.

“Yes!” Sara shrieks. “Get your dollar bills ready, ladies!”

Drew follows me to the front of the room. “So what exactly am I going to be dancing to?”

Oh crap. I forgot about the music. “There’s a sound system set up,” I say. “I’m sure I can find you something.”

He gives me a skeptical glance, but his smile is amused. I’m so, so lucky that he’s this game. How many other guys would strip for a room of strangers just because I asked?

Try zero.

I race to the sound system controls. One of the girls has plugged in her phone with a playlist going, so I scroll through her collection, not entirely sure what I’m looking for but hoping it’ll hit me when I see it.

My thumb pauses. A smile stretches across my face. Oh, yes. How can I resist? He might kill me afterward, but I’m pretty sure I’ll die happy.

I tap the play button. The opening chords of Category 5’s biggest hit blasts from the speakers, with Drew’s youthful voice crooning right on the beat.

You say you ain’t got time, but that’s not what we need, girl. One day, two hearts, we’ll be heard around the world.

Drew shoots me a look, but his mouth is twitching in the effort not to laugh. “Here we go, ladies,” he says. And to my eternal delight, he launches into the hokey music video dance moves I was needling him about that first night we hung out.

It’s 2006 up in here, and man, he’s still got it.

A shuffle here, a sway there, an I-don’t-even-know-what-that’s-supposed-to-be with his arms. He manages to kick off his shoes in the middle of a bit of step-work, and the girls shriek for more.

Step-slide, and there goes one sock. Another to the right, and he’s barefoot now. As the song swells into the chorus, Drew waggles his eyebrows and eases up the bottom of his shirt.

I’m not asking for forever, just let me be your Mr. Right-Now.

My clientele knows perfect abs when they see them. The girls break into a chorus of hoots and hollers.

“Yeah! Take it all off!”

Drew teases, a little higher, a little lower, then yanks it right over his head. The crowd goes wild. He tosses the shirt to his audience, and Sara snatches it out of the air. She waves it like a victory flag, cheering him on.

He’s in his element now, I can tell. He might not have been on tour in years, but he’s a natural performer, and he knows how to put on a show. Drew swivels and sidles, swaying his hips, and I can’t stop laughing. When he reaches for his belt buckle, the hoots come louder. He clicks it open and snaps the belt off, rubbing it behind his back before tossing that to the sidelines too. He’s hamming it up, totally cheesy. But are my eyes glued to that body as he undoes the top of his jeans?

You’d better believe it.

Drew takes his time wriggling out of his jeans, managing to keep up most of his dance steps at the same time. Blondie claps her hands at the front of the pack. Ava lets out a catcall. Even if I hadn’t felt him up against me more than once, I’d be able to tell just by looking that what he’s packing in those boxer-briefs is impressive. I let out a whoop, and he glances over with a wink that’s just for me.

I figure that’s it, he doesn’t need to go all the way. The girls are already out of their seats, having a great time, but then he slides his thumbs along the elastic of his boxer-briefs. “That’s right! Come on!” someone calls out.

Wait, what?

The final chorus in “Mr. Right-Now” peaks, and Drew teases, gyrating around.

He wouldn’t, would he?

I lean forward in anticipation, watching his body move. But just when I think he might actually go all the way, Drew strikes a pose to the final chords. “That’s all, ladies!” he announces, as they groan. “You can’t handle the full monty.”

There’s cheering and laughter. The girls toss cash at Drew while he gathers up his clothes. “That’s all right, ladies,” he says. “That dance was on the house, courtesy of Maggie Hayes.”

He ambles over to me, still shirtless, and kisses me in front of everyone. My pulse flutters and the rest of me melts. When he pulls back, he lowers his mouth to just beside my ear. His voice in that moment is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.

“And I’ll be collecting on what you owe later tonight.”