Destiny lures Colin Leyton to a HMV music store one fine Saturday morning in March where he stumbles across the young and flamboyant Sam Taylor.
Sam has a knack for attracting trouble and a gift for rubbing people up the wrong way.
Against his better judgement Colin finds himself playing white knight when Sam’s antics get out of hand and he lands in bother with two store security guards. He gives him a lift home. Sam tries to charm him into a date, but common sense tells Colin not to get involved, in fact to run for the hills and not look back.
However, destiny hasn’t finished with Colin. Sam comes back into his life in an unexpected way, turning it upside down.
Colin's closest friend Jon turns mentor in a bid to help him sort out his feelings for a man most people love to hate.
Chapter two - Graffiti Palace
It was horrible. I gazed at the ugly dilapidated building in dismay. It was a crumbling concrete monstrosity, a hideous monument to the dark days of sixties architecture at the low end of the social scale. “This is where you live?”
He nodded, un-popping his seatbelt. “Home sweet home. My own Graffiti Palace. Come and have a drink with me, Colin, hot or cold, I've got both. Don’t worry.” He must have caught the expression on my face. “The place was recently fumigated.”
I found myself agreeing to his offer, although the only thing I really wanted to do was drive away. At least if I had a coffee with him I’d know he was safe at home. Hopefully he’d stay there until he was feeling less inclined to be the centre of attention in a way guaranteed to land him in trouble. I followed him into the high-rise block and up the stairs to his fifth floor flat; as is usually the case in such places the lifts weren't working.
The building was even worse inside than it was outside, run down and smelling of damp neglect. It became apparent why he’d referred to it as Graffiti Palace. The lobby walls were adorned with drawings and scribblings, most of them obscene. He inserted his key into the lock of a battered door where someone had spray painted the words ‘Queers Out!’ Underneath it someone else had sprayed, ‘we ARE out, so fuck off!’ It didn’t need a genius to work out the identity of the second graffiti artist.
“Shit!” The key refused to open the door and Sam kicked at it, yelling furiously. “Let me in you evil fucker!”
There was no reply and Sam kicked the door again, which did nothing to improve its appearance. “Bastard, he’s bolted it. I’ll be stuck out here all day while he shags his scabby boyfriend gormless.” He raised his voice, shouting, “not that it’ll take long cos he’s fucking gormless to start with!”
“The sour-faced stoat I share the flat with.”
“Look, Sam, I’m sorry,” I glanced at my watch, “but I’ve got to be going. I'm meeting a couple of friends. Will you be okay?”
He nodded. Removing his sunglasses for the first time he hooked them in the neck of his t-shirt and gazed at me for a moment before lowering his heavy lashes. I repressed, or at least I hope I did, a start of surprise. His eyes were two different colours.
Leaning his back against the wall he slid down it to sit on the dirty floor, drawing his knees up under his chin. “I’ll be okay. He’s always doing this. I'll get in later when he goes out to the pub.” He plucked at the beginnings of a hole in the knee of his jeans. “You’re going to stand me up tonight aren’t you?”
His cheeky bravado vanished. He looked young and somehow vulnerable. I swallowed hard and squatted down beside him. “Sam, I’m so sorry, but you’re not my type."
"Not the right kind of gay, is that it, a bit too pink instead of butch boy blue?"
Read the entire first chapter at: http://www.fabianblackromance.com
Copyright Fabian Black 2012