Stuck with a Punk ✔

No. 45.: Mastermind

Ideas come to you on their own. Sometimes trying to think of it too hard does more damage than good, then suddenly, your brain fuzzes and the idea is there, so clear and clean that you beat yourself up for not thinking of it before. That's all super and great, but sadly, hasn't happened to me, right now.

There is only a week until Aidan's early celebration, and my only plan still revolves around counting on other women.

Sometimes I am amazed by myself what kind of stuff I think about while I'm driving. I think if I said only a quarter of my thoughts out loud, I'd lose my job, get slapped, have Devon taken away from me, and get jail time.

Well, one of the good things is I remember to get the flowers for Annabelle. It's the safe option to go with flowers since we haven't known each other for that long, and... she's kind of vulnerable. I don't want to show up with teddy bears and plushie hearts with the number 30 on them.

Blue iris bouquet is waiting on the passenger's seat for me to hand it to Annabelle already. I got her blue, purplish flowers on purpose. She's ginger, people probably constantly make jokes by giving her roses that can match her hair.

What I'm more worried about is smoothly pulling this off. She's a grown-up and still heads over heels in love with her ex. So, she won't take this the wrong way, will she? 'Cause even if I specify this is strictly for her birthday, women just have this annoying tendency of 'trying to read between the lines', while there are no lines to read in-between.

By parking my car and going up to the apartment, I don't feel any less nervous, it only gets worse. I really start to panic, because what Annabelle and I have if you can even say it that way, is something nice. She takes care of the baby, I come to annoy her, and occasionally we get dirty.

 That woman can keep up with me.

So, here I am, standing before my own apartment. Funnily, it reminds me after we first did it and what a coward I was to confront her about it. But this time it's worse; I have flowers that are meant for her.

What I can do is to just walk in confidently like nothing in the world has changed because nothing has. I'm still a my-old-self, egoistic sex addict. So, I do that.

I'm a sex addict, and I'm hella confident.

I burst in and stop myself from going all cliche and announcing that I'm home. But then, I can't see her or Devon anywhere nearby. Maybe I should've said something, like 'Hi, I'm home' or, 'Missed me?'.

Then I hear melodious murmuring from Devon's room, and head there after I leave the flowers on one of the stands.

The door is slightly ajar and I push it open only to see Annabelle holding Devon and singing him a lullaby.

"Frère Jacques, frère Jacques, dormez-vous? Dormez-vous? Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines. Ding, dang, dong. Ding, dang, dong."

I lean on the doorframe and my American ass is amazed at how she sings in French, and especially how Devon reacts to it. It's as if he was knocked out by pills or a really tough blow at a face.

"Frère Jacques, frère Jacques, dormez-vous? Dormez-vous? Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines. Ding, dang, dong. Ding, dang, dong."

I don't know if it's the swaying melody or the gentle high peak of her voice, but it's even putting me to sleep. Devon must be completely powerless against her charm.

She starts singing again, but this time she looks up while she's in the middle of her lyrics "Frère Jacques, frère Jacques, dormez-vous? Dormez-vous? Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines. Ding, dang, dong. Ding, dang, dong."