Waiting for a Prince (8 page)

expecting him to lay into me and beat me up.”

“But he didn’t, right?” A crease appeared between Sam’s eyes. Mark was touched by

Sam’s apparent concern.

He gave Sam a reassuring smile. “No, he didn’t. In fact, he loved it that much, it became

a steady thing. Once or twice a week we’d meet up in the toilets. I’d suck him off, or him me. It took me a longer time to get him to fuck me, however.” He glanced keenly at Sam. “You sure

you’re okay with this conversation?” Sam showed no signs that he was about to expire of

embarrassment, Mark had to admit. The only reaction was the blush on his cheeks.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Sam said with a wave of his hand. “I don’t shock easily.” His eyes

sparkled. “So you were—what—seventeen when you lost your virginity?”

Mark nodded. He leaned back into his chair and folded his arms. “Enough about my

lamentable sex life. Now it’s your turn.” He winked—and then caught his breath as Sam’s lips

pressed together in a slight grimace, that killer smile wavering. Sam’s mouth opened and closed 45

pressed together in a slight grimace, that killer smile wavering. Sam’s mouth opened and closed and he pulled at his earlobe. “Sam. You okay?”

“Sure,” Sam croaked and then he cleared his throat. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Now
that
was interesting.

“Sam? Something you wanna tell me?” Mark lifted his eyebrows.

Sam took several long swigs of his beer. He put down the glass and swallowed as he

raised his eyes to meet Mark’s gaze. “Okay, so maybe I shock more easily than I’d thought.”

Mark snickered. “Oh,
I
see. It’s okay for
me
to bare my soul and share my first pathetic attempts at sex, but
you
get to chicken out.” He flapped his arms and made bawk bawk noises.

Sam laughed. “Apparently I need to be more drunk before I reveal the sordid secrets of

my sex life.” He picked up his glass and drained it. “And it’s your turn to get them in.” He

waved his empty glass at Mark.

Mark grumbled to himself as he stood. “Just when things were getting interesting.” He

winked at Sam to show he was joking and then headed for the bar. There was only an hour

before closing time. The beer had given him a very pleasant buzz, but a couple more pints and

he’d be on the way to being drunk. He handed over his money and grabbed the two glasses,

walking carefully to their corner table. The level of noise in the bar had increased as its patrons grew more voluble.

Sam was leaning back against the padded back of his seat, fingers laced behind his

head. His gaze was on the people around him. He lowered his arms and patted the seat next to

him.

“Sit here and people-watch with me for a sec.”

Mark shrugged good-naturedly and sprawled out on the seat, glancing around the bar.

“So, who exactly are we watching?” He reached for his beer.

Sam indicated a young man who was standing near the door on his own, his eyes on the

TV screen which was silently showing Sky news. “Would you do
him
?”

Mark almost choked on his mouthful of beer. “Excuse me?”

Sam grinned. “You heard me. Would you do him?”

Mark gaped. “ ‘Do’ as in ‘fuck’?” Sam nodded. “Oh,
fuck
, no.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot skyward. “What’s wrong with him?”

Mark stared incredulously. “Sam, he looks like he’s not even old enough to be in this

46

Mark stared incredulously. “Sam, he looks like he’s not even old enough to be in this

bar
, let alone my bed.” He took another mouthful of beer.

“Okay, then, what about
him
?” Sam indicated another guy seated in a group by the

window. Mark gave him a quick glance, taking in the heavyset man in a leather biker jacket, a

tattoo rising above the neck of his T-shirt and curling up his neck.

“Not really into bikers, but tats? Now, that’s a different matter. Still, he’s not my type, to

be honest.”

Sam’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Oh, go on, tell me.” Mark cocked his head. “Your

dream guy—what would he look like?”

It was Mark’s turn to swallow.
Oh hell…

Sam cocked his eyebrows. “Ooh, now you have me intrigued.” He nudged Mark

conspiratorially. “C’mon, tell me.”

Mark picked up his glass and took several large mouthfuls of beer before placing the

glass down on the table.
I can’t believe I’m going to do this
…. He took a deep breath.

“Good sense of humor.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, right. You’re not writing an ad for a lonely hearts column here.

What would he
look
like? Details, details…”

Mark closed his eyes, his mind picturing Sam that Monday morning on Yaverland

beach. “Tall, over six feet. Skinny, but with nice abs and toned legs and arms. Short, brown

hair. Blue eyes. Nipple piercings. Tattoos.” He swallowed. “Long, thick cock, pierced. Tight

arse.”

He heard Sam’s breathing catch. Mark opened his eyes cautiously. Sam was staring at

him, eyes wide.

“Oh my God.” Mark watched as the color slid from Sam’s cheeks. Then those gorgeous

blue eyes narrowed. “Well, now it all makes sense.” His lips pressed together.

Mark’s heart stuttered in his chest. “What?”

Sam’s gaze had turned cold. “And here was me, thinking you were concerned about me,

worrying that I wasn’t happy with Becky. Well, now I know what
that
was all about, don’t I?”

“W-what are you talking about?” Mark bit his lip, blinking rapidly.

“Oh, come on, Mark!” Sam said, his voice a deep rumble. “First you try to get me to

break up with Becky, and then it all comes out that I’m basically your fantasy guy.” Mark was

47

break up with Becky, and then it all comes out that I’m basically your fantasy guy.” Mark was

shocked into stillness. He stared at Sam, aghast. Sam speared him with an intense stare. “At

least you have the decency not to deny it. That
was
me you just described, wasn’t it?” Sam sneered. “Was that the plan, then? I ditch Becky and then you make a play for the straight

guy?”

Mark gasped. “Oh God, no, it…it wasn’t like that, I swear!” A sudden coldness spread

through his body, radiating out from his heart which was pounding so loudly, he swore Sam

could hear it.

Sam got to his feet and stared coldly at him. “Well, at least I know where I stand. And

here was me thinking you and I were friends.” He grabbed his denim jacket from the seat

beside him. “Bye, Mark. Thanks for the drinks. It was certainly an informative evening.” Sam

started to move toward the door, but Mark grabbed his arm.

“Sam, please, you’ve got this all wrong. I
was
concerned about you, believe me.” Mark

gazed at Sam imploringly. “Don’t go. Please.”

Sam shrugged off his arm. “Sorry, but right now I can’t stand to be anywhere near you.”

He swallowed, and just for a second, something flickered in his eyes. Then it was gone. “Bye,

Mark.” He walked toward the door, wavering slightly on his feet, and out into the street.

Mark stared in disbelief. In less than a minute their pleasant evening together had been

shattered. He kicked himself for being such an idiot. Why the hell had he told him?

“Too late now,” he muttered under his breath. Sam was gone, and the likelihood of him

ever reappearing in Mark’s life was looking remote. His heart sank. The last three weeks had

given him a taste of what it was like to have a really good friend. He’d genuinely liked Sam. All of a sudden Mark wanted to get out of there. He grabbed his jacket, got to his feet and headed

out the door. He glanced anxiously up and down Union Street, but there was no sign of Sam.

Head hung in misery, shoulders hunched, Mark crossed the street and started the trek home,

trying to ignore the tightness in his chest.
Well, you certainly fucked
that
up
.

No argument there.

* * * * * * * * * *

48

Mark woke up with a start, his head pounding. Something buzzed insistently. He

glanced toward his alarm clock. What the fuck? It was three in the morning.

Groggily, Mark sat up in bed. There it was again. It was the intercom from the main

door at street level. He pushed back the solitary sheet that covered his naked form and

staggered out of bed. Suddenly, coming home and drinking two or three glasses of whiskey

seemed like a
really
bad idea. Mark groaned as the buzzer sounded once more, this time louder.

“Coming.” He clutched his aching head as he leaned against the front door of his flat

and pressed the intercom. “Who’s it?” The words slid out of his mouth unevenly.

“Mark, it’s Sam. Let me in.” Sam’s speech was slurred.

Mark stared in horror at the intercom.
No fucking way
. How in the hell had Sam found

him? He’d never been to the flat. Mark scrubbed a hand across his cheek, the rasp of his stubble all too loud. He pressed the button. “Go away, Sam.” The words sounded so weary to his ears.

He stumbled back toward his bedroom, but the buzzer’s strident tone stopped him in his

tracks. Cursing under his breath, Mark lurched back to the door and depressed the button

firmly. “I mean it, Sam. Go the hell away. You said all you needed to in the pub.” And there

was no way Mark wanted to hear it again.

“Mark, please.” Something in Sam’s voice tore at him. “Don’t turn me away. I need to

speak to you.” There was a pause. “Please, mate. ’S important.”

Mark hesitated, his hand hovering over the intercom. He was in no fit state to have a

conversation. But a tiny part of him remained stupidly hopeful. Sighing heavily, he pushed the

door release button. “Come on up. Second floor. It’s the flat on the right.”

“Oh, thank God.” Mark couldn’t miss the note of relief in Sam’s voice. Mark staggered

into his bedroom and snatched his robe from its hook on the back of the door. He slipped into it, tugging it around him and tying it tightly. He went to the door, unbolted it and pulled it open.

Sam had just reached the top stair. He held onto the rail, panting.

“Get in here, quickly.” Mark grabbed hold of Sam’s arm and hauled him into the flat. He

pushed the door closed as quietly as he could. Ron across the hall worked on the rubbish bins

and always got up at the crack of dawn. It wouldn’t do to piss off his neighbors. Once Sam was

inside, Mark shut and bolted the door as silently as possible. Sam leaned against the wall of the small hallway, as if the wall was propping him up.

“Come into the living room,” Mark told him and led him into the long room which

49

“Come into the living room,” Mark told him and led him into the long room which

contained his living room at one end and kitchen at the other. He pointed toward the long sofa.

“Sit.” He switched on the small table lamp which stood next to the sofa.

Sam flopped down onto the sofa, his head lolling back against the seat cushions. His

eyes closed.

Mark shook him by the arm. When Sam opened his eyes, Mark fixed him with an

intense look. “What do you want, Sam?”

Sam stared up at him with such a look of abject misery that Mark caught his breath.

“Need to talk to you,” he slurred.

Mark was puzzled. “Did you find somewhere else to drink after you left the pub?” Sam

hadn’t been
this
drunk. Sam’s head bobbed once. “Sam, how did you find me?”

“Waited in a doorway ’til you left,” he confessed. “I hid when you came out so’s you

wouldn’t see me. Followed you home. Thought ’bout ringing the bell, but didn’t have the

nerve.” He gulped. “Then I went to the off license and bought a bottle o’ Scotch.” Sam closed

his eyes. “I sat on the beach at the end of your road, drinkin’, ’til I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

He choked out the words.

Mark could see Sam was hurting. He longed to touch him, to comfort him, but the

memory of Sam’s coldly delivered speech was still too raw. “You’re in no state to talk,” Mark

said gently. “I think you should go.” He winced as his head throbbed.

“Please!” The word burst from Sam’s lips. “Don’ make me go!” To Mark’s dismay, two

fat tears slid from beneath Sam’s eyelids, rolling down his cheeks. “I don’ wanna go home.”

The words tugged at Mark’s heart. “Oh, Sam.” Those piercing blue eyes regarded him

anxiously, shiny with imminent tears. There was no trace of the man who had left him alone in

the pub. He came to a decision. “Look, why don’t I make us some coffee, and then you can

crash on my sofa for what’s left of the night. We can talk in the morning when we’re both a

little less worse for wear.”

To his relief, Sam nodded and Mark went to make some coffee, looking around every

now and then to keep an eye on his guest. Sam rested his head back against the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, the rise and fall of his chest now more even. Mark left the coffee black and

brought the two mugs over to the coffee table. He handed one to Sam and then sat down beside

him, gazing at his own mug in silence. There were no sounds at all from the building.

50

“’M sorry.”

Mark gave a slight start. He turned to Sam to find him gazing at him, eyes large and

round. Mark didn’t know what to say. He struggled to find words. “Let’s leave the talking for

the morning, all right?” He spoke quietly. Sam bobbed his head once more and sipped his

coffee. Mark got up and went into his bathroom to fetch a clean sheet from the airing cupboard

above the boiler. Then he went into his bedroom and opened the wardrobe to pull out a spare