Free Waiting for a Prince by K. C. Wells

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.

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