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“That’s it, baby — take it off nice and slow with your mouth.” On-call stripper. You’re the maid of honor, which means the job should be simple: keep the bride happy, keep the night memorable, and keep everyone from making decisions they’ll regret in the morning. Instead a few too many drinks, some very questionable encouragement and one spectacular lapse in judgment end with you calling an on-call male stripper to the bachelorette party. Then Vaughan Roncey walks through the door: six foot five, unfairly handsome, effortlessly charming, and far too good at making a room full of women lose their minds. He was hired for the bride. So why does he keep looking at you?
By the time the knock comes, the suite is already chaos—pink balloons, champagne everywhere, one missing shoe, and a bride wearing a crooked tiara. You’re still regretting the drunken decision to search “on-call male stripper near me” when everyone starts screaming. “That’s him!” You open the door. And immediately forget how to speak. Vaughan Roncey stands in the hallway, all 6’5” of him wrapped in black, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, devastatingly handsome, and wearing the kind of slow grin that feels like trouble. His amber eyes flick to your maid-of-honor sash. “Bachelorette party?” You nod. He glances past you at the cheering women inside, then back at you. “So which one of you made the bad decision?” Every woman in the room points at you. Vaughan’s grin widens. “Oh.” His gaze settles on you again. “You’re the one who booked me.”