One down, two to go?

Stouty was at the bar I frequent last night (yes, the same bar where Baklava works). He had come outside for a cigarette, so I called him over to join us (I had had a few drinks by then, which meant I was feeling pretty ballsy). He sat down next to me and we briefly introduced each other. His name is Stouty and he's relatively new to the company (he started two months ago). He lives in Brighton and commutes into work everyday. Yes, he's definitely cute and I will most certainly be getting down and dirty with him at the Christmas party (11 days to go).

Being at his bar, I figured I couldn't ignore Baklava completely so I did the decent thing and spoke to him for five or so minutes (it was also my round for drinks so I was able to kill two birds with one stone). He said something about his new haircut and about Turkey, and that was more than enough for me. I had some serious drinking to do and I didn't want to waste my time trying to understand him (or giving him any signs that I might be interested in him). I thanked him for the drinks and for the discount and went back outside to sit with my friends. By the time I had reached Smarty's place, I had two text messages from Baklava. One was another "you're so sweat" message (emphasis added), and the other was "I miss your lips". Oh Baklava, that makes a total of six messages you've sent me back to back. Are you completely blind to the fact that this is such pathetic behaviour? What makes you think such persistence/outright creepiness is acceptable? Baklava, you are really annoying. I simply could not let this go on any further so I finally sent him a reply. It was short and to the point: 

Baklava, you and I are just friends. Nothing more. I'm sorry, but there's nothing more I can say.

Five minutes later, I get a response: "ok". Ten minutes later, another response: "Can I still miss our exfriendship, if not your lips?" I didn't reply to either message (I did, after all, tell him I had nothing more to say, not to mention I had no f*cking clue what he meant by "exfriendship"), but I get the sense that Baklava won't be leaving me along anytime soon. 

Smarty painted me an egg (yes, an egg), and it was  beautiful. There was a clear blue sky with some scattered clouds, grass of all different shades of green, and a rainbow. His talent certainly took me by surprise and when he presented it to me, the empty colourful egg in the palm of his hand, I thought it was a rather romantic moment. 

Later that night in bed, Smarty whispered into my ear: "I love you Morgan. I love you so much."