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Sunday 12 May 2013

440




“So, it was Keith, right?”
Esmé glared at him.  “No, it was Fred.”
“Fred?”  Luke wasn’t sure whether she was teasing him.  “Fred?  I haven’t met a Fred.”
“I don’t bring all my men home, you know.  I mean, hundreds fall at my feet, bow down before me.  Hundreds?  Thousands!
“Yeah, right.  Like me.  Just a constant stream of sexy studs.  I just fatigued all to hell every morning.”
“Aren’t we just the cat’s pyjamas?”
Luke grinned at her.  “We are.”
“Yeah, well, of course it was Keith.”
Luke looked at her.  Presumably they had made love and it had all worked out but …. Keith was gay.  Mostly.  His own gaydar wasn’t well developed, because he was never sure whether blokes weren’t interested because they were straight or because they were just, well, not interested.  Not that he blamed them.  Who would be in a fat fuck like him? All the same he was certain that Keith was gay.  The way Keith had sassed him out wasn’t the way straight guys looked at another man.  Keith was gay.  Gay-shaded, anyway.  But Esmé seemed so happy.  He didn’t want to spoil that.  When it all went wrong, as it most prolly would, then ….   That would be the time to pick up the pieces.  That was tomorrow’s problem.
“I’m glad,” he assured her.  He meant it.  But all the same, he couldn’t help wondering when he himself would find someone to love.


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