Waiting for a Prince (6 page)

Mark had been puzzled. For a man whose girlfriend had just told him she might be

accompanying him, Sam didn’t seem all that happy about the prospect.

Mark had spent the last three days since Sam’s call in anticipation of this evening. He

knew, if he were being honest, it wasn’t the prospect of the fireworks, but that of spending time with Sam which had kindled his enthusiasm. Knowing the girlfriend was going to be there had

put a slight dampener on his mood that he couldn’t account for. It wasn’t a date, for goodness

sake.
Hasn’t stopped you thinking about him all week, though, has it
? The thought gave him a brief pang of guilt.

The marquee near the Yacht club was packed as the people crowded in to watch the

band perform. Mark loved live music. The Hamsters were an eclectic bunch of guys, some

sporting long beards like the guys in ZZ Top, but the lead singer resembled nothing more than

an aging hippie. But when they sang, the hairs stood up on Mark’s arms. Man, they were good.

33

an aging hippie. But when they sang, the hairs stood up on Mark’s arms. Man, they were good.

The band launched into a set of Jimi Hendrix numbers. The strains of Purple Haze had the

crowd joining in with enthusiasm.

“They’re good, aren’t they?” A voice yelled near his ear.

Mark turned to find Sam next to him, dressed in a T-shirt with a Union flag emblazoned

on the front and a pair of tight jeans. In his hand was a pint of beer. Sam’s short brown hair was gelled and spiky. Those brilliant blue eyes regarded him. For a second, Mark went weak at the

knees.
God, he looks good
.
Good? Downright fuckable
. No sooner had the thought occurred to him, he pushed it aside, berating himself.
Stop torturing yourself. It ain’t gonna happen
. In the past week, he had come to look forward to Sam’s texts and calls. Every night there’d been

something from him. Mark had to admit it—the man always made him feel good.

Sam’s face lit up in a wide grin. “You been here long?” He raised his voice to carry over

the sound of the band.

Mark shrugged. “About forty five minutes.” He held up his watch and stared pointedly

at Sam.
“One
of us was on time.” His lips twisted into a smirk.

Sam’s face fell. “Yeah, sorry about that. Becky got delayed. She was arranging to meet

up with her family. Looks like they’re all going to be here, too.” He didn’t look happy at the

idea.

Mark glanced around, curious. “So… where is she?”

Sam’s furtive look had him wondering. It was as if he didn’t want to see her. “She told

me to wait here for her. She’ll be here in a minute. Her Dad is a member of the Yacht Club and

she’s meeting him there.”

Mark let out a long whistle. “Yacht Club? Is Daddy loaded, then?”

Sam gave a glum nod. “A fact she reminds me of constantly.”

His whole demeanor was puzzling. Did he not
want
to have Becky as a girlfriend? Mark

couldn’t figure it out. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask his new friend what was going on—

until a loud, bored voice broke in.

“Sam, who is this?”

Mark bristled at Becky’s tone. It hadn’t changed since her appointment nearly a week

ago. He turned to face her, taking in the casual clothes which must have cost her plenty. She

looked down her nose at him, making no secret of her disdain.

34

Sam jumped in hurriedly. “This is Mark. You met him last Saturday when you were

having your hair done. Remember?” Sam rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, gripping

the plastic pint pot containing his beer with the other.

Becky wrinkled her nose. “Oh yes—the tea boy.”

Mark’s nostrils flared. He clenched a fist tight, but Sam laid a hand on his arm. Mark

could just about make out the almost imperceptible shake of Sam’s head. He took a deep,

calming breath.

“Sam, Daddy wants us to join him at the club.” She barely gave Mark a passing glance.

“We don’t want to keep him waiting, do we?”

Sam gave Mark an apologetic look, although his words were directed to her. “No, I

guess not.” He dropped his voice lower. “Sorry, Mark. I... I’ll call you tomorrow, all right?”

Mark nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “Go on, have fun.” The expression on

Sam’s face made that doubtful, however. Becky pulled Sam’s arm impatiently as she edged her

way through the crowd toward the Yacht Club, Sam glancing back at Mark just once before he

disappeared into the throng.

Mark drained the last of his pint and looked at his watch. The fireworks weren’t due to

start until nine, maybe nine thirty, but for some reason the encounter with Becky had taken the shine off his evening. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to stay around to watch the display. What

was foremost in his mind was the look on Sam’s face. His friend wasn’t happy, that much was

clear. Mark wished there was something he could do. And then it hit him. In the space of a

week, less even, Sam had gotten under his skin. How the hell had he done that so fast? All Mark knew was, Sam had become important to him. And Mark wanted to help him. He’d just have to

figure out how.

* * * * * * * * * *

fantastic
at it,” Mark grumbled. He glanced up at the screen where his pitiful scores glared out for all to see. Pitiful when placed next to Sam’s, that is. His was a line of strikes and half-strikes.

35

Sam smirked. “Are we not having fun?” He adjusted his hold on the sparkly blue

bowling ball and peered determinedly at the pins. For one brief moment Mark was tempted to

nudge him—accidentally, of
course
—but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. And he
was
having fun, despite being on a losing streak. This was their fourth game and Sam showed no signs of

giving up his impressive lead.

“Another beer?” Mark suggested hopefully. Maybe alcohol would slow Sam down.

“Ooh, by all means.” Sam’s white teeth gleamed in the lights of the bowling alley. “I

play even better when I’ve had a few.” He laughed as Mark groaned loudly. “You really don’t

like losing, do you, Mark? And you’re not above playing dirty, either.” He winked.

Mark pouted. “I don’t know what you mean.” But he couldn’t keep up the act for long.

It had been a long time since Mark had had so enjoyable a night out. Sam’s jokes had his sides

aching with laughter, and the two had talked about the film festival that one of the island’s

theme parks—there were only two—was about to put on, a week of open air cinema. When

Sam suggested that they went along to a couple of the films, Mark had jumped at the chance.

Especially when he learned that one of the films on offer was a Spielberg classic—Jaws. Sam’s

eyes had lit up at the prospect.

“We can take a cool bag with food and drink, and eat before it starts. I’ve got a couple

of inflatable wedges to lean back on, so we can get comfy while we watch.”

Mark liked the sound of that. There was something niggling him, however.

“Won’t Becky mind you spending another night with me?” It was Tuesday and normally

Mark didn’t go out during the week, but Sam’s phone call out of the blue as he’d got in from

work had been a pleasant surprise. Sam had made no mention of the aborted fireworks evening,

but the suggestion of a night of bowling had come across as an apology of sorts, one which

Mark was only too ready to accept.

Sam frowned. “She wouldn’t come tonight because she hates bowling. She thinks it’s

common.” His face flushed. “And she hates Spielberg, so I can’t see her wanting to join us for

that, either.”

Mark shrugged. Privately he was pleased not to have the woman accompany them.

Based on their two previous meetings, although brief, he didn’t think an evening with Becky

would be all that enjoyable. He was amazed at how well he and Sam got on. It felt as if they

36

would be all that enjoyable. He was amazed at how well he and Sam got on. It felt as if they

had known each other for years.

But still… “As long as you’re sure she’s not gonna start telling you that you can’t play

with that Mark anymore.” He chuckled.

Sam guffawed. “How old are you? Six?” He shook his head. “Besides, if I want to spend

time with you, it’s none of her concern. She has her own life, after all.”

“What does she do?” Mark was curious. He couldn’t for a minute imagine what Becky’s

profession might be.

Sam’s lips narrowed. “Becky’s time is divided between the gym, the pool and going

over to the mainland to shop.” He grimaced. “If shopping were an Olympic event, we’d be

talking gold medal winner here.” He shook himself and stepped up to the line, bowling ball at

the ready. Surprisingly his attempt ended up in the gutter. Mark raised his eyebrows. It seemed he’d found Sam’s Achilles heel. The unhappy expression on Sam’s face, however, left Mark

unwilling to press his advantage.

“How about we call it a night?” It was already gone ten, and Mark needed his eight

hours.

Sam shrugged. “Okay by me.” The slump of his shoulders and the sudden break in eye

contact told Mark a different story. He hastened to make up for bringing about the abrupt

change in mood.

“Then how about coming to Wetherspoons with me on Friday night?” Mark suggested.

“You could meet me after work and we could grab a bite to eat there.”

Sam’s brow cleared. “Yeah, that sounds great.” The light was back in his eyes and Mark

was relieved to see it. He hated that he’d been the one to bring his friend down. They may only have known each other for a short time, but Sam seemed to have slipped into Mark’s life, as if

he had always been there.

* * * * * * * * * *

car today so it was taking him out of his way, but he’d wanted the chance to talk with her all

that Saturday. It had been a really busy day for the salon, and the opportunity had never arisen.

37

that Saturday. It had been a really busy day for the salon, and the opportunity had never arisen.

Busy day? It had been a busy
week
.

“So, do you have plans for tonight?”

Mark shook his head. “Not really. I
had
thought about going over to Portsmouth.” He

wasn’t about to admit how horny he was feeling at that moment. It had been a few weeks since

he’d been over there, and Mark was tired of having nothing but his right hand to play with. But part of him wanted to call Sam and maybe meet up with him. A week had gone by since his

evening with Sam at the Wetherspoons pub. They had met up on Monday down at Yaverland

beach, where they’d had lunch once more at Driftwood. It had been a lovely warm day, and the

two had lain stretched out on their towels, reading, the silence occasionally punctuated by brief conversations.

Wednesday night had been the open air cinema at Robin Hill. They’d arrived at six

thirty and grabbed a spot with a good view, and then spread out the soft picnic rug that Sam had brought along. Sam’s cool bag was filled with bottles of beer and cold chicken salad. They’d

eaten slowly, watching the crowds gather, everyone in similar pursuits. The inflatable wedges

had proved very comfortable and the two had reclined on the rug, looking up at the huge screen.

Mark felt like such a girl when he jumped as the head rolled out from the boat. No matter how

many times he’d seen Jaws, it
always
startled him. Of course, Sam
had
to notice his reaction.

The huge smirk on his face told Mark how much he’d enjoyed it. The sky had been a beautiful

expanse of purples and darkest blue, the stars scattered across it like dust. There was so little light pollution across the island that the view had been staggering. At one point Mark had

forgotten about the film and stared up at the night sky in awe. When a quick sideways glance

revealed Sam engaged in the same activity, he’d smiled. Sometimes it was important just to stop and take in what was all around. Beauty was everywhere—a person just had to look for it.

Mark loved spending time with Sam, although he’d noticed that Sam avoided any

mention of Becky. Which was fine, in Mark’s opinion. But in his quieter moments, he would

think back on their conversations. The more he thought about Sam’s reticence to talk about his

girlfriend, the more he was convinced that something was going on. He recalled that first

episode in the salon, Sam’s nervous behavior.

“Where are you, Mark? You’re miles away.”

Sonia’s words broke through his internal meanderings. He pulled himself together to

38

Sonia’s words broke through his internal meanderings. He pulled himself together to

find her staring at him in amusement.

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly. He tightened his arm around hers.

“So how were the Cowes fireworks? As spectacular as ever?” She pulled a face. “I can’t

believe we haven’t had time to chat these last few weeks.” The salon had been fully booked,

keeping all the staff very busy, Mark included.

Mark gave a shrug. “I wouldn’t know. I left before they got going.”

Sonia stopped dead, her mouth dropping open. “But you were so looking forward to

watching them! What happened, sweetie?” The look of concern in her eyes was touching.

Mark tugged at her arm to keep walking. “Let’s just say my plans got changed.” He

hesitated, wanting to say more. Sonia said nothing but carried on walking. Mark stared out