Page 6 of Waiting for a Prince (Island Tales #1)

Chapter Four

Mark leaned back into his seat and relaxed, loving the warmth of the sun on his bare shoulders.

They were sitting in the far corner of the beach bar, Mark resting his arms lightly on the wooden poles that ran around the perimeter of the bar.

Fortunately, there’d been an empty table.

Mark knew how busy this place could get.

Sam faced him, sipping a Coke. Mark studied the man in front of him.

Mark was twenty, so that made Sam approximately twenty-three.

He’d got it right on Saturday: those blue eyes were stunning.

But now Mark had the opportunity to really look at him, there was a vulnerability in Sam’s body language that he hadn’t spotted previously.

Maybe it was Sam’s crossed arms, the way he avoided eye contact—not all the time, but yeah, enough to be noticed.

What goes on in that head of yours, hon ?

The server arrived with their lunch and all such thoughts were forgotten as Mark dug in with enthusiasm.

The sea air always made him hungry. Sam ate at a more sedate pace, looking out to sea at the sailboats and yachts which were making their way slowly around the eastern coast of the island.

There were always more boats around the island during Cowes week, when it seemed as if half the world’s yachting fraternity descended on the island for the boat races and speed trials.

Most of the Cowes week activities were confined to the northern shores.

The races were exciting enough, but Mark couldn’t stand to be among the yachties, with their designer clothes and inane chatter.

Now the Friday night fireworks, that was another matter entirely.

Live bands, lots of beer and a truly spectacular display to mark the end of the festivities…

Mark was looking forward to it.

The edge of his hunger somewhat dulled, Mark nibbled at the ham and cheese sandwich and picked at the side salad. He was amused to watch Sam carefully pushing the pickles to one side.

“I take it you don’t like them.” Sam jerked his head up and Mark gave a nod toward his plate. “Pickles.”

Sam pulled a face. “Can’t stand them.”

Mark laughed and reaching across with his fork, he stabbed into a fat pickle.

The prongs of the fork skittered over its slippery surface, sending the pickle shooting off the plate and under the pole to land on the sand.

“Oops. Slippery little sucker.” He winked at Sam, who shook his head.

Sam picked up his plate and pushed the remaining pickles onto Mark’s plate.

“Next time, just ask.” Sam pointed at Mark’s plate, a hopeful gleam in his eye. “Er, do you want that coleslaw?”

Mark let out an exaggerated sigh as he pushed the coleslaw onto Sam’s plate.

“Anything else you want while we’re at it?

The rest of my sandwich, perhaps? My crisps?

” Sam gave him a smile and leaned across to snaffle one of Mark’s crisps but Mark smacked his hand away before he could reach.

“Touch them and die.” He squinted at Sam who held up his hands and backed away, smirking.

“You don’t go around touching a man’s crisps. ”

Sam snickered. “Is this some social etiquette rule I wasn’t aware of? ‘Do not handle another man’s crisps’?” The two men chuckled.

A wave of relief flooded through Mark. He’s loosening up a little.

Sam took another drink of his Coke and then regarded Mark keenly. “So, how long have you been working at Hair Today?”

“About six months.” Mark stretched his back and then resettled into his seat.

“Mind you, that was after nearly eighteen months of job-hunting. There were no positions anywhere on the island.” He stared gloomily at his plate.

No wonder loads of young people wanted to move away.

Job prospects were thin on the ground. There was always lots of seasonal work, but he hadn’t wanted that.

“Did you train at the college?” Sam inquired, referring to the Island’s further education centre. Mark nodded. Sam tilted his head. “How many blokes were on the course?”

He scowled. “Just me that year. I tell you, the amount of ribbing I took from those girls was nobody’s business.”

Sam winced. “I can imagine. And I’ll bet you had to put up with a load of digs about how you must be gay to be doing a beauty therapy course.”

Mark stared. Is he trying to be funny? And then the penny dropped.

Oh hell… .

“Sam, I am gay.” His stomach clenched when Sam paled.

Mark became very still. Oh, please don’t be one of these homophobic fuckers I seem to be continually running into …

“Oh God, Mark, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. God, you must think me so rude.” Sam appeared horrified, but Mark quickly surmised that was down to having made such a gaffe.

He gave Sam an easy smile. “Hey, it’s fine, you didn’t know.” His eyebrows quirked. “Although I was sure me calling you ‘hon’ on Saturday was a bit of a giveaway.” He smirked.

Sam’s brow furrowed. “You did? I don’t remember.” He took several gulps of his Coke. “So, do you have a boyfriend? Partner?” He seemed flustered all of a sudden. It was actually quite sweet.

“Nope.”

Okay, this felt awkward as hell.

It had been less than a couple of hours since Mark had been lusting after him, imagining all kinds of hot encounters.

It was true Mark found him attractive—okay, maybe that was a gross understatement, because hey, the man was drop-dead gorgeous —but the more they’d chatted on the beach and before lunch arrived, the more Mark started to see the real Sam, whose good looks were simply another part of the whole.

Which makes me shallow as fuck.

Maybe it was time to change the subject.

“So, how long have you and…” He struggled to recall the woman’s name. “Becky? Rebecca? How long have you two been together?”

Sam shifted in his seat and looked out toward the sea, crossing his arms once more.

“About six months or so. Not all that long.” His expression grew apologetic.

“Look, about Saturday… I’m really sorry if we caused a scene.

” His face fell. “I didn’t mean to leave like that.

I think she just rubbed me up the wrong way. ”

Mark waved a hand. “Hey, don’t worry about it. All couples have fallouts now and again.” Or so I’ve heard. He had yet to experience being part of a couple.

“Now and again, I could put up with,” Sam muttered. Suddenly his face cleared. “Enough about me. Let’s talk about you. Do you like working there?”

It was clear Mark wasn’t the only one who wanted to change the subject.

Mark expelled a breath. “It’s not what I imagined, that’s for sure.

I thought they were going to have me trailing one of the senior stylists at first, you know, finding my feet.

But it’s been a case of ‘ clean up the salon, Mark. Make tea, Mark. Sweep the floor, Mark .’ He mimicked Marie’s nasal voice and Sam chortled.

“I swear my boss hates me. And while the other girls are okay, it’s pretty obvious they’re not used to having a guy around the salon.

” He stared resignedly at the remains of his sandwich.

“Maybe it will be better with time.” He glanced up at Sam.

“Okay, I know you did a degree in Computer programming. What did you end up doing with it?”

It was Sam’s turn to look disgruntled. “Working for my dad.” Mark cocked his head to one side and Sam explained further.

“Dad has a software company based in London. He’s got me working on designing some of their new programs. The good thing about it is that I can live where I want, as I work from home.

Though Dad keeps harping on about me moving to London. ”

Mark laughed. “God, Sam, most of our classmates would dream of living in London.”

Sam scowled. “They can keep it. Loud, huge, dirty place. Too many people, too much traffic… I prefer life over here.”

“Me too,” Mark agreed. “Although….” His words trailed off and his cheeks heated up.

Nope. Don’t go there. You only just met the guy. It’s too soon to be oversharing.

“What?” Sam uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. Mark gave a quick shake of his head but it seemed Sam wasn’t about to let go. “Aw, come on now, spill.”

Mark cleared his throat. “It’s just…” He picked up his Coke and drained the glass. Sam hadn’t broken eye contact.

Fuck it.

“Let’s just say if I lived in London, my sex life would be a whole lot more interesting than it is right now.” He rolled his eyes. “In fact, scratch that last part. At least I’d have a sex life.”

A flush spread up from Sam’s chest, up his neck, staining his cheeks and finally turning his ears bright red.

Man, that’s cute .

Sam composed himself quickly. “So you’re saying things are a bit too quiet for you on the island?” That gleam was back.

Mark snorted. “Quiet? Try dead.” Sam’s expression was sympathetic and Mark relaxed slightly. “I’m not kidding, there’s not a single gay club on the island.”

“So what do you do for… entertainment?” Sam’s cheeks were still flushed.

God, he’s sweet when he’s embarrassed .

Mark snickered. “I don’t stay here, that’s for certain. I go to Portsmouth or Southampton. There are a few decent clubs over there. Great for one-night stands. Not so great places for finding Mr. Right, though.”

And why the fuck did I say that?

Sam’s expression softened. “So you are looking for a Mr. Right, then?”

Mark swallowed. “Aren’t we all?” Sam arched his brows and Mark hastily continued. “Looking for that special someone, I mean.”

Sam looked at him thoughtfully. “Yeah, I suppose we are.” He glanced down at his watch.

“And now it’s time for me to go, I’m afraid.

” He got to his feet and held out his hand.

Mark clasped it firmly. Sam coughed. “Look, can I have your number? I’ve really enjoyed today.

Maybe we could meet up again. Go out for a drink in Ryde.

Anything.” There was a look on his face that Mark couldn’t place for a moment, and then it hit him.

Sam is lonely.

“Sure.” Mark pulled his phone from the pocket of his shorts, opened Contacts, and handed the phone to Sam. “Put your number in there. Maybe we could do something next weekend.”

Sam nodded eagerly as he punched in his details. “That’d be great.” He handed the phone back and picked up his backpack. “Thanks for a great morning, Mark.” With a final warm smile, he turned and made his way out of the bar.

Mark watched him walk along the promenade in the direction of the town, waving as Sam turned once to look for him. Then he picked up his rucksack, left the bar and started the trek back to his car in the opposite direction.

The day seemed to have gone so slowly. It was only one o’clock, but it felt as though it should have been much later.

He walked along the prom, listening to the waves below as they crashed onto the sea wall.

The tide was in, and the waves sprayed over onto the pavements, which dried almost instantly in the heat of the sun.

The spray spattered over his bare arms, cooling him.

Mark couldn’t hold back his sappy grin.

What a great morning .

On impulse he pulled out his phone and sent a text to Sam.

Great talking to you. Let’s do it again. Soon.

The message sent, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and continued on his way to the car park, still armed with the sappy grin.

Sam couldn’t stop smiling.

He’d gone to Yaverland beach to think. Except that wasn’t true.

He’d gone there to let his mind be at peace, if only for a short while.

He’d worked hard the previous day, and as a result, getting his brain to shut down had been a chore.

He’d slept badly, and the sight of his laptop that morning had only worsened things.

Where the idea of a trip to the beach had come from, he had no clue. He’d sat on his towel and stared at the waves, hoping for calm to wash over him.

It had apparently packed its bags and gone on a trip of its own.

And then Mark walked toward him.

The first emotion to seize Sam was irritation. He’d wanted to be alone.

Hadn’t he?

Then he saw Mark’s face, and realized he’d seen it before. Saturday. A cup of tea. Rebecca.

Oh God.

And finally, he knew he’d seen that face before. A few years ago, maybe five.

Mark hadn’t changed much. The same creamy complexion, the same dark hair, and those equally dark eyes… He had to be twenty, but he appeared younger.

Sam sat in his car, parked in a side street away from the main road, smiling as he recalled their conversations, the lunch, the laughter…

Why did I ask for his number?

Stupid question.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced at it. Rebecca.

Part of him wanted to switch his phone off, except he knew he couldn’t do that.

With a sigh, he went to Messages.

Rebecca: Where are you? I’ve called you three times.

He took another glance. Sure enough, there were missed calls. One was from Dad.

He typed. I went for a walk. I needed a break.

Rebecca: It’s my grandfather’s birthday next week. There’s going to be a party.

The message might have ended there, but Sam knew what was expected of him.

For a moment, he toyed with the idea of saying he had too much work to do, but he knew that would go down like a lead balloon.

Sam: Which day is it?

Rebecca: Thursday.

He didn’t need to look at his diary. Sure .

Rebecca: You needn’t sound so enthusiastic.

Shit.

Sam: Sorry. I had a bad night, and I have a lot of work on atm. Just let me know what time you want me to pick you up.

Rebecca: I’ll be going there with Dad. I’ll send you the address. Look your best. I want all my cousins to be jealous of me.

Of course she did.

Sam: See you then.

Rebecca: You don’t want to see me before then?

He winced. He could hear her voice in his head, rising, sharpening.

Sam: I thought all your evenings were spoken for this week. Didn’t you tell me that?

Rebecca: Yes, they are, but it would have been nice if you’d at least asked me if I wanted to go out for a drink or something.

He gave an internal snort. What—so you could brush me off? His fingers slid over the screen. Then I’ll just have to make do with Thursday.

Sam waited for a response, but when none was forthcoming, he realized the conversation had finished.

He leaned his head against the padded rest, his eyes closed.

I need a friend.

His phone buzzed again, and he groaned. “What now, Rebecca?” He opened his eyes and peered at the screen.

Mark: Great talking to you. Let’s do it again. Soon.

Warmth barrelled through him.

Maybe I’ve found one.