I swing open the door for the next stripper contestant to arrive and in one look, it’s obvious. Our resident bad boy has arrived. Ace has tattoos on both arms with spikey black hair and piercing blue eyes. He walks with a definite swagger, has a slightly crooked smile, and exudes a cocky attitude that is hard to resist.

“So, why do you think you can be America’s next top stripper?” I ask.

He grins and then points at his face, then chest, then crotch.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he says, raising his eyebrows and flashing a sexy smile. He also has a hint of a New York City accent that gives him even more edge.

“Okay, Mr. Cocky,” I say with a grin.

He smirks, rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger, obviously loving that I called him that.

“You’ll need more than that,” Justin tells him. “You have to be able to dance and put on a show, that’s what this competition is all about.”

“Oh, I’m all about the competition,” Ace tells him while shooting me a sly look.

As we head up the stairs to check out the rooms, Justin whispers in my ear, “He’s going to be trouble.”

“Yeah, in the very best way,” I whisper back.