“Yes,” she said crossly, annoyed at her muddle and blaming him for it.
His mouth curled up at the corners and his eyes smiled, and he said, “That’s the whaole point, love.”
Love? He’d never called her that before.
“What? To confuse me with all your masculine wiles?”
He opened his hands in a what-you-see-is-what-you-get gesture. “Moi?” He pronounced it ‘moy’. “Plain old moi?”
“Yeah, well, you know you’re sexy. Don’t play the ingénu with me!”
He sobered. “I’ve been thinkin’ of you ever since the last toime. ’Cos I want ya to have … a good toime …” Esmé made an inarticulate protest. “…yeah, a good toime, because ya deserve it. Just because your dad was a vile loathsome bully and pervert doesn’t mean …”
“He used to say gays were perverts and abominations,” Esmé observed quietly.
Keith stared at her. “After what he did to you? What a prick! What a cunt! He is the abomination! A loathsome worthless piece of dogshit!”