AFTER
The doorbell rings sometime before lunch and I don't even have time to wonder if that could be Pippa before I hear Mum yelling for me from downstairs.
"Matt!" her voice rings across the house cheerily. "Your friends are here!"
I frown. Friends?
I groan when I get to the living room and find Oliver sitting nervously next to Pippa who, now used to the surroundings of my house, looks a little more comfortable sitting on the blue couch that faces our big French windows.
"He's here," I say accusingly. Pippa raises an eyebrow up at me and shoots Oliver an apologetic look. He looks ashen-faced and he keeps picking on some invisible stain on his shirt.
"You did say you would talk to him," Pippa reminds me and I groan again, reaching up to rake through my hair in frustration.
"Yeah, but—" I roll my eyes and blow out a sigh. "Not—not today. I meant – you know, at school or something."
Again, this displeases Pippa and a crease appears between her eyebrows. She puts an encouraging hand on Oliver's shoulder – his body stiffens at the contact and he edges away from her somewhat resentfully – and, noticing this, she quickly withdraws. "Oliver's willing to talk now," she informs me, "so now we'll talk."
"Upstairs." I jerk my thumb in the general direction of the stairs that lead to my room and then look at Pippa seriously. "I'm not entirely sure we'll be getting the privacy we need in here," I tell her and she nods in agreement.
"Fine." She motions for Oliver to get up and he silently does so. I smirk to myself as I lead them upto my bedroom. Having known him since we were twelve years old, it's a little weird to see him act so small and subdued. I have to say, I'm enjoying watching him squirm uncomfortably in the confines of my house. Maybe I'll invite him around more often.
Pippa settles herself down at the foot of my bed and Oliver follows suit, looking like a lost little lamb – and way out his depth. I flop down on the yellow bean bag that faces my bed and begin to twiddle with my thumbs, staring intently at both Pippa and Oliver.
"Pippa," I say, concentrating on her now, "how exactly did you convince him to come over?" I sit up suddenly. "Come to think of it, how did you even contact him? I didn't think you had Oliver's number."
"Masey gave me his number," she explains. "And I texted him immediately, explaining that I knew everything." She glances at Oliver and smiles. "You were a lot more co-operative than I thought you'd be."
"I thought you were flirting," Oliver mumbles with a ghost of a smile on his face. It's a weak joke and I scowl as Pippa lets out a small laugh.
"It wouldn't have mattered if she did," I growl. "You don't exactly bat for that team do you?"
Oliver's eyes grow dark with fury and his lip curls angrily. "Shut your fucking mou—"
"No fighting!" Pippa interrupts us loudly. "Not until you explain yourself Oliver. Then maul each other to death for all I care."
Oliver shifts awkwardly. "Wh—What do you need to know?"
"Everything," I spit out. "How it all started. This—this loving stuff—if it's even true—"
"It is," Oliver thunders. Pippa sighs loudly.
"Leave the questioning to me," she says, throwing me a pointed look. Then, she turns to Oliver and her brown eyes turn softer and I find myself growing irrationally annoyed at seeing that. "Okay," she says kindly. "You and Adam. I assume you two were involved with each other?"
