Cantrell noticed the nervous edge of Illias’ words and raised an eyebrow in response.
“Got into a fight with my folks,” Illias admitted after a beat of silence. “I used to come here a lot years ago. Back when it was still Lil Bo’s.” Illias turned his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “They were a lot worse at checking IDs back then.”
The corner of Cantrell’s lip twitched upwards. “You were a troublemaker then?”
“No more than I am now.” He shrugged playfully. “Though the type of trouble I get into is a little different.”
A dark curiosity slithered through Cantrell’s mind like the serpent in the Garden of Eden. “What kind of trouble do you get into now?”
“Usually, the kind that ends with me bent over someone’s knee.” Illias did a once-over on Cantrell as if calculating exactly what to say to further worm beneath his skin. “Or desk, if that’s what you prefer. I’m not picky.”
Illias flirted with an ease that reminded Cantrell of late nights, rough hands, and the taste of alcohol on someone else’s mouth. A life in which Cantrell wouldn’t have thought twice about takinga perfect stranger in the back of his car. A part of him, tucked deep within his innermost self, still considered it.
“So, you enjoy being on the receiving end, then?”
“Not always, but I wouldn’t say no if that’s something you’d enjoy.”
Cantrell’s head spun at the idea of having a beautiful, willing man at his mercy. He craved to feel the familiar pulse of a heart beneath his fingertips. Warm breath against his skin. A body pressed against his own. God, he starved for it all. His mouth watered at the chance to bite into the life he left behind for hymns and gospel.
“Is that so?”
“You look like that type to enjoy a lil…” Illias played with the neck of the beer bottle. Cantrell watched, ached, wished,wanted. “Challenge.”
“I’ve been known to in my past.” Cantrell forced his eyes away. The embers of lust burned in his gut like the pits of Hell opened within him. “But I’m afraid that’s no longer in my cards.”
“A pity,” Illias pouted. “What if I gave you a different deck to play with?” His foot brushed against the inside of Cantrell’s calf, which caused him to choke on his iced tea. “Would you play with me then?”
Cantrell coughed a few times, flustered from losing his composure from a simple touch on his calf. At one point such a thing would have only provoked him further. He feared it still did. “Depends. How do you like to play?”
He toed the line between salvation and eternal damnation.
“Cantrell, you tease.” Illias bit his lip. “I thought you were just looking for conversation.”
A small smirk of his own danced across Cantrell’s lips. “We’re conversing, are we not?”
“We are, but”—Illias made a pointed look at the crowd around them—"wouldn't you prefer to talk somewhere more private?”
Yes. “I don’t see the issue with talking here.” Cantrell sat back in his chair as he crossed his arms. “Unless you’re just trying to get me by myself?”
Illias’ eyes sparkled with mischief and insatiable hunger. “And if I am?”
Cantrell tilted his head back and looked down his nose at Illias. “I’d say you might need to try harder than stroking the neck of a beer bottle and playing footsy beneath the table.”
“Oh?” Illias placed his elbow on the table and propped his chin on the palm of his hand. “Would you rather hear how much I want you to take me to your car and fuck me until I can’t walk straight?”
Cantrell froze. Cold sweat pricked the back of his neck. The facade of supposed harmless conversation shattered with a single sentence. His chest tightened.
“I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have—I have to—I’m sorry,” he choked out, standing so abruptly he nearly tipped over the chair he sat in.
He heard Illias say something but couldn’t make out what the words were. He pushed his way through the late-night Saturday crowd, ignoring the grumbled protest of other bar patrons. He needed to get out. Needed air that wasn’t thick with alcohol and sweat. Needed to put distance between himself and Illias.
Outside, he hurried across the parking lot towards his ancient, sunburnt sedan. The air was cold enough to sting his lungs with each frantic inhale. He fumbled with his keys and bit out a swear when he dropped them. He grabbed them then quickly unlocked the door, slamming it shut the second he was inside. His heart pounded against his sternum. A piece of him that still clung to the past scolded him for ruining the opportunity presented to him on a silver platter. If he hadn’t been afraid, he could’ve tasted life again.
He tried to ignore those thoughts, knowing that they would only lead him astray. He glanced at the air freshener that dangled from his rearview mirror. Mother Mary’s placid face stared at him. He prayed she could not see the sins of his heart.
Chapter Two
Illias
