I’m not going to lie and say auctioning myself off in a charity auction is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done. I mean, there was that 36-hour Vegas “marriage,” my scandalous faux pas on Japanese television, the shark incident in Hawaii—let’s not even get into that one. But this event is still pretty ridiculous. I’m going to make a total fool of myself. So I probably shouldn’t be in a mood this good.

But I am. Because as I’m buttoning up my shirt, I’m not thinking about how it’ll look under stage lights, but how I hope Maggie’s eyes are going to light up when she sees me in it. As I head out the door, I’m not thinking about the hotel I’ll be showing up at in less than an hour, but about all the hours I’ll have after Maggie wins that auction. She’s going to be bidding on me, but I’m pretty sure I’m getting the better prize.

Maggie texted me earlier to warn me that her mother’s book club would be in session when I arrive to pick her up, but I’m still not totally prepared for the mass of cars packed in the driveway and along the street outside her house. Apparently book club involves half the population of Philadelphia.

Twitters of laughter carry through the living-room window, so I duck around back, figuring I’ll surprise Maggie—minus the parental pile-on. The outer part of the sliding glass door there is wide open to let in the breeze through the screen. And the screen door isn’t locked. I ease it open and slip inside.

The house’s layout is pretty similar to the house my mom still lives in across the street. I tread softly through the kitchen and along the thankfully carpeted hall. Extra gratitude for the not-particularly-creaky stairs.

It’s not hard to figure out which room I’ll find Maggie in. That’d be the one with Category 5 tunes audible through the closed door. I grin. I stroll over and open it just a crack.

“I think I hear my theme song calling.”

“Oh! You—” Maggie darts into view to turn off the music. Her face has flushed, and the dress she was pulling on hasn’t been zipped up yet, revealing a long triangle of that gorgeous creamy skin. Is there a man alive who can resist a sight like that? If there is, I don’t think I want to know him.

“I was just . . . doing some research,” she says, still looking embarrassed.

“Hey, no judgment here.” Sometimes I feel a little embarrassed by the results of my early attempts at creative genius, distilled into pop form. But that doesn’t stop me from being completely flattered that Maggie has the songs and wanted to listen to them of her own free will.

I step into the bedroom, kick the door shut behind me, and set my hands on either side of Maggie’s waist from behind. “Anyway, it looks like you need a little help,” I murmur with my mouth by her ear. “May I?”

“Be my guest,” she says, and I’ll be damned if the breathy quality that’s come into her voice doesn’t get me half hard just like that. The zipper can wait. I lean closer to kiss the sensitive spot just below her earlobe. Maggie hums approvingly, and there we go, I’m hard as they come.

“How did you manage to get by the book club brigade?” Maggie says, her voice wavering as I plant a few more kisses down the slope of her neck. I don’t know if it’s some perfume she’s put on or just the aftereffects of baking, but she smells fucking fantastic. Like buttery vanilla with a dash of nutmeg.

Charity auction—what charity auction? I don’t want to move one inch from where I am right now.

“I have highly developed parental evasion skills,” I inform her. Then I move my hands to exactly where they’re meant to be—on the soft, bare skin of her back.

Maggie sighs as I slide my fingers under the edges of her open dress. “I thought you meant you were going to help me get the dress on,” she says, but from the way she’s leaning back into me, it’s obviously not a complaint.

“Oh, I will.” I stroke my thumbs along the seam of her bra. “I’m just taking the scenic route.”

I lift my hands to cup those luscious breasts. Maggie lets out a muffled moan as I caress them through the fabric. “We can’t . . . get too caught up. The walls in this house are . . . kind of thin.”

“So we’ll be quiet, then,” I say, nipping the corner of her jaw. “Didn’t I mention my parental evasion skills?”

She laughs for a second before it turns into a whimper as I pinch her nipples. Her sweet ass grinds back against me, and if my cock was hard before, it could now rival steel. Then she turns, forcing me to relinquish her curves, if only for a moment. She kisses me hard. I grip her hips and pull her flush against me, letting her feel just how much she’s already turned me on. Her hand fists against my neck. She pulls back, biting her lip, but there’s a glint in her eye that excites me.

“I never did do the sneak-a-boy-into-my-bedroom thing when I lived here way back when,” she says. “I’m starting to see the appeal.”

“Hmm. I can absolutely help you make up for lost time.”

I dip my head for another kiss. She swallows a moan as I tug gently on her lower lip. Then she nudges me backward, toward the bed. My pulse kicks up a notch. I completely approve of the direction this is going.

She pushes me down onto the mattress. I grab her hand to pull her with me, but she shakes her head, biting her lip again. I want to be biting it.

“Can’t get too caught up, remember,” she says, but her voice has gone sultry. “But there is something I never got to finish.”

Before I have a chance to wonder what she means, she’s dropped to her knees. Oh, fuck, yes. My cock strains against my slacks as Maggie fumbles with the button and jerks down the zipper. She runs the heel of her hand up it from base to head. I lean back on my hands with a groan.

“Try to be quiet now,” she says with a coy look through her eyelashes. She’s already lowering her head as she frees me from my boxer-briefs.

There really is no describing the heaven that is Maggie Hayes’s mouth. And frankly when it’s sucking down my dick, I don’t have much use for words. It’s all things hot and deep and holy, her tongue swirling around my shaft as if it’s coated in icing and she’s licking every last bit off it. The flood of scorching sensation is so intense my arms sag. I catch myself on my elbows, my head lolling back.

“You are so. Fucking. Good at that,” I manage to say. I feel the smile her lips form around my cock before she sucks it back down again. My nerves are ablaze and the pressure is already building to bursting. I’m not going to last long.

But that’s okay. We’ve got the whole night ahead of us.

She grips me at the base as her mouth slicks up and down. An inarticulate mutter drops from my mouth. I reach for her, meaning to caress my fingers over her head, but only managing to tangle them in her hair. She gives an encouraging hum at my tug. I trace my fingertips over her scalp through the first few pumps, and then I’m too far gone to be sure of my aim. Of any sort.

“I’m almost there,” I say hoarsely. “Fuck. I’m gonna come, Maggie.”

She doesn’t pull back, doesn’t hesitate for a second. Just dives right down on me, swallowing me into the back of her throat, like I’m some rare delicacy she can’t get enough of. And then I am coming, hard, muscles clenching all through my thighs. I drop back all the way onto the bed with a breathless chuckle.

Maggie swirls around my length one last time and then straightens up, with a lick of her lips for good measure. Even though I just came hard enough to see sparks behind my eyes, my dick twitches, seeing that. I sit up to slide my hand around the bare skin of her leg just below her dress. She shakes her head with a sly smile.

“I think I’d really better get dressed now.”

She tucks me back in and zips me up before turning so I can do the same for her. I can’t resist trailing my fingers up her back once more before I comply, but I’m a good boy otherwise. Until I wrap my arms around her waist, slipping one hand between her legs, and murmur in her ear, “Are you sure there’s nothing else I could help you with right now?”

She draws in a breath, heavy with temptation—and then the doorbell sounds downstairs. Her mom must get it, because a few seconds later Mrs. Hayes’s voice carries up the stairs.

“Maggie, McKenna’s here!”

Maggie quickly steps away from me. “Later,” she says, with a wicked look. “Tonight, it’s all about you. And your big show.”

“Just what I need,” I groan. “My sister and my girlfriend witnessing my grand humiliation.”

Maggie snorts. “You’ll be fine. Everyone adores you.”

She grimaces at her hair in her mirror and twists it up in a clip. Then we head downstairs. Maggie hustles me straight to the front door.

“Is that Drew?” her mother exclaims, and she’s already pushing me out. McKenna raises her eyebrows but follows.

“There,” Maggie says as she jerks the door closed behind us. “A clean escape.”

“Hey!” a voice calls from down the street. Maggie’s younger sister Lulu is just hopping out of a cab. “Looks like I’m in time to join the party.”

I glance at Maggie, and she shrugs. “I mentioned it at lunch. She thought it’d be fun.”

“Hell yeah,” Lulu says with a smirk. She’s all dressed up in a short, tight dress, and I can already tell, she’ll be trouble. “No way I’m missing this.”

“All right, all right,” I say, holding up my hands in submission. “Everyone into the car.”

We all pile in, Maggie in the passenger seat beside me. “Never thought I’d see the day my big brother got auctioned off to the highest bidder,” McKenna says wryly.

“It’s for charity,” I protest as I pull away from the curb, stealing Charlie’s line. “A really good cause.”

“I don’t know,” Maggie says, that mischievous glint back in her eyes. “Maybe you actually like the idea of all those women throwing money at you.”

“He has gone a while without the stadiums of adoring fans screaming his name,” McKenna says. “It could be some sort of withdrawal.”

“It’s been eight years since my last stadium,” I protest. “And I am one hundred percent okay with that.”

Maggie reaches to tap my thigh. “I don’t know, I think he might be protesting too much. What do you think, Mac?”

“I’m definitely getting that vibe. He always did enjoy the spotlight.”

I give up arguing. Three against one isn’t playing fair, and besides, these two know exactly how to get under my skin. I focus on driving instead, but when I pull up at the hotel that’s hosting the charity event, the street outside is a zoo.

“What’s the hold-up?” Lulu leans forward. “Ooh, is someone famous coming?”

“I think he’s already here,” my sister says dryly. “Look.”

Some of the women are holding up signs. Old Category 5 posters, and handmade banners.

“Seriously?” Lulu snorts. “Oh my God, they’re like ten years too late.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say. I ease through the crowd, secretly kind of pleased to see that kind of enthusiasm. OK, so screaming fangirls got old fast, but it’s been a fair few years since anyone’s been so enthusiastic to see us, and I have to admit, it feels good.

We get out of the car, and the screams start. Thankfully, there’s a security barricade up.

“This should keep them away,” I say, checking the path to the front door.

“Away?” McKenna snorts. “They’re waiting in line, bro. All to bid on your company tonight. Meet your future dates.”

Oh shit.

We’ve hardly stepped into the expansive lobby, bronze fixtures and rich red carpeting everywhere, when Charlie saunters over. He’s got a woman on each arm, both of them gazing up at him adoringly. I can tell he’s soaking it up. I haven’t seen him grinning that wide since, well, since the band was still together.

“Check it out,” he says, spreading his arms wide like this is his personal playground. “Pretty sweet welcome, huh? Reminds you of the good old days.” He nudges me.

“Just as long as nobody’s hiding in the equipment cases,” I say, remembering the lengths some girls would go to in order to sneak backstage. One time, they opened up the luggage section of the tour bus and found three girls from Belgium camped out there. We’d just arrived in London at the time.

“Come on,” Charlie says. “It’s just about dinner time. They want to seat us VIPs before they bring everyone else in.”

The ballroom is decked out like it’s some kind of pageant, streamers and banners everywhere, but it’s hard to care with my hand on the small of Maggie’s back as I guide her along between the tables to our spot at the front of the room, right in front of the—groan—stage.

“Isn’t it amazing, the crowd out there?” Charlie is still bragging as we take our seats. “We’ve still got all that audience. Freaking spectacular. I’m telling you, Drew, this is the moment.”

Right. Everything’s a moment with Charlie. “Uh-huh,” I say, stroking Maggie’s knee under the table. She gives me an irresistible smile.

“Strike while the iron is hot, bro,” Charlie continues. “Nostalgia’s big business these days, I mean, just look at the Backstreet Boys. They’re making bank, back on the road! We could totally pull off a reunion. They’d eat it up.”

“Sure, Charlie,” I say, mostly in the hopes he’ll lay off for a minute or two. So that I can lean over and murmur to Maggie, “Speaking of eating things up . . .” I give her a private grin, and she laughs.

“Hungry for dinner already?” she asks in an innocent voice.

The rest of the guests stream in as the waiters bring around the appetizers. You’d think a charity shindig like this one would be all do-gooder donors and patrons of the arts, but nope, that crowd outside was just a glimpse of them. Women in their thirties and forties, gaggles of friends dressed up for a night out, already a few drinks in, by the looks of things. A decade ago, I was probably serenading them from a stage somewhere, and although I’m still faintly embarrassed about this whole situation, Charlie is right: it is good to realize how loyal they still are to the band.

“Oh my God.” Lulu takes it all in. “Can you say desperate?”

“Hey,” I find myself interrupting her, my voice sharp. “Knock it off.”

The table looks at me in surprise. “So they want to remember what it was like when they were younger, that’s not a crime,” I say, feeling defensive of them. Say what you want about teenage girls, but they made my whole life possible—and now that we’re all grown up, it feels like we went through the wars together. “Don’t you ever put on an old song and just feel like you’re sixteen again?”

“Sorry.” Lulu looks chastened. Maggie squeezes my arm.

“I didn’t mean to snap,” I tell her, and she smiles.

“No, I think it’s sweet. I wouldn’t want anyone judging me, either.”

“For all your posters,” I tease, and she laughs.

“Easy there. You weren’t the only boyband on my wall.”

“But I’ll be the only one in your bed,” I whisper, and she smiles at me.

“Maybe . . . if I win the auction tonight.”

I groan. “Don’t remind me.”

But it’s the reason we’re here. We’re just finishing dessert when a woman in a silk blouse and pencil skirt strides onto the stage and grasps the microphone waiting at the front.

“Now it’s time for the men you’ve all been waiting for,” she says. “Our special guests tonight, helping us raise all those wonderful funds for the children! Please welcome to the stage two-fifths of the chart-topping boyband—or should I say, man-band?—Category 5: Drew Delaney and Charlie Hodges!”