Yes

She stepped just inside the doorway, the suite suddenly warm with body heat and ****, her pulse ticking faster. There were eight guys—maybe more—in various states of half-dress. The stereo played some thumping EDM track. One guy on the couch was passed out, arm dangling. Another poured whiskey into red Solo cups with a gleam in his eyes. They were all around her age—late twenties to early thirties—with the kind of loosened-shirt energy that said they’d started drinking hours ago.

“You with the girls from the other party?” a tall guy asked, handing her a drink without waiting for her answer.

Emily hesitated. Then took it. Just a sip. Burned. Warmed. Settled.

“No, just a guest. Checking out what the commotion was. Sounds like you're having fun.”

The tall guy gave a crooked grin. “It’d be better with a stripper.”

“Yeah, no titties, no party,” someone muttered from the armchair.

Emily raised an eyebrow. “You boys that hard up?”

“Groom’s never been with anyone else,” the whiskey guy said, sliding onto the bed that was behind her. “His girl’s his first and only. We figured this was the last chance to loosen him up.”

“Not just that,” another chimed in. “We wanted him to actually enjoy himself for once. He’s always been… kinda boring.”

Emily let her eyes drift toward the corner. The groom was sitting shirtless, a little flushed, nursing a beer like it might disappear. Cute. Soft-eyed. Young in the face. He looked up, met her gaze—and looked away, sheepish.

Something inside her clicked.

He’s a virgin.

Or might as well be.

And suddenly the room felt smaller. Warmer. Her buzz sharpened into something darker, deeper.

She stepped forward, setting her cup down on the dresser, and turned toward the circle of men.

“So… your dancer bailed,” she said, voice lower now.

They all looked at her.

She smiled. Slow. Almost shy.

“Well. What if I gave him a night he won’t forget?”