Page 111 of Divine Temptations

I stopped cold.

The building itself wasn’t much—dark brick, neon lettering in purples and reds glowing faintly even in the fading daylight. But hanging just above the entrance, catching the breeze like it was waving to me personally, was a rainbow flag.

Shit.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly desert-dry.

Until recently, the rainbow had been something I only noticed from the corner of my eye: on stickers, shirts, banners in parades I’d never dared attend. Now it was right here, marking the doorway I was about to step through. A declaration. A threshold.

Well, if I’d only just admitted my sexuality to myself, I might as well make it official by walking through a rainbow-covered entrance. Baptism by neon light.

My feet carried me forward before my brain could protest. I reached the window and peered inside.

It looked… like a bar. Not much different from the Irish pub near campus, except here the crowd skewed heavily male. Very heavily. In fact, from where I stood, I didn’t see a single woman. Just men, leaning against the bar with cocktails, laughing in little clusters at tables, shoulders brushing shoulders in a way that was casual and intimate all at once.

My stomach lurched.

What was I going to say to Noah again? The communion wafer joke? God forbid.

I hovered there, a sweaty stranger peeping through the glass like I was casing the place. A couple of guys walked up—handsome, confident, mid-twenties maybe—and slowed as they caught me staring. One of them gave me a once-over that wasmore curious than hostile. The other arched a brow, like well, are you coming in or not? Then, without a word, they pushed through the door and disappeared inside.

I inhaled. Exhaled. Straightened my shoulders like I was preparing to defend a dissertation.

Then I did it.

I pushed the door open and stepped into a gay bar for the very first time.

The air hit me first—cooler than outside, tinged with citrus cleaner, cheap beer, and a faint musky cologne that seemed to cling to the walls. The low thump of bass vibrated through the floorboards. Neon lights painted everything in pinks and blues, cutting sharp shadows across the faces at the bar. The music wasn’t loud enough to drown out conversation, but loud enough to make it feel like everyone was speaking in secrets.

Everywhere I looked, men. Laughing, drinking, leaning in close, brushing shoulders, tossing casual touches that sent a little zing through my chest. I wanted to both hide and gape.

I knew I didn’t belong—not yet. My shirt was too buttoned, my shoes too practical, my posture too stiff. I was standing on the threshold of something I’d never dared imagine, my pulse rattling in my ears.

And somewhere in here was Noah.

The room pressed in on me, warm and loud and humming with an energy I didn’t know how to carry in my chest. My eyes darted everywhere, desperate to land on Noah’s face, on the familiar curve of his smile, on something steady in this neon chaos. But he wasn’t there—not at the door, not near the tables.

The bar stretched across the rear of the room, a glowing line of bottles lit from beneath, and that seemed like the safest destination. Heart pounding, I wove my way through the crowd, sidestepping shoulders and ducking my head when I caughtsomeone’s eye. By the time I reached the polished wood counter, I felt like I’d just run a mile in full vestments.

“What’ll it be, gorgeous?”

I nearly jumped out of my shoes.

The bartender stood before me wearing… very little. Tight blue jeans that looked painted on, a black leather harness framing a chest that gleamed faintly under the bar lights. His hair was messy in an intentional way, his smile lazy, and practiced. He leaned forward on strong arms, his biceps flexing.

“Uh,” I croaked. My mouth went dry. “Um. A glass of… red wine. Please.”

The grin widened. “Red wine, huh? Fancy. I’ll have to check if we’ve got a sommelier on staff.” He winked, already reaching for a bottle.

I laughed nervously, not catching the joke at first. “Oh, no, just… just the regular kind is fine.”

As he poured, he slid the glass across to me with a flourish. “You got it. One ‘regular kind’ of red wine, coming right up. But careful—this stuff’ll make you even more handsome, and I’m not sure the room can handle it.”

“Oh, thank you,” I said earnestly, digging for my wallet. I set down a bill. “That’s very kind of you.”

The bartender chuckled, low and amused, like he was watching a puppy chase its own tail. He leaned a little closer. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

I blinked. “Oh. Henry.”