Cliché with a player

Chapter 25 - Why won't the cushions swallow me whole?

A/N: I honestly don't know what to write here, but I feel like I haven't written anything in awhile. And because nothing else comes to mind, here is a quote by Oscar Wilde:
"You can never be overdressed or overeducated."
And the song added is just for fun.

I guess we fell asleep after that, because I wake up now with his feet near my head and mine on his chest. I smile and wiggle my toes. And it's funny but his feet don't smell at all!

"Hey, Matt, are you awake?"

He groans, "No, I don't even exist, sush."

"Sorry," I whisper back and lay down.

"GOOD MORNING, LOVERS OF SNAKES AND HIGH GRASS!" yells Dan and walks into the living room.

Matt jumps up, his eyes wide, his face confused, like he is ready to flee at any time now.

"Wow, relax man."

"What is your FUCKING PROBLEM?!"

Jeez, Matt is not a morning person.

"You look cute when you're angry, buttercup."

And Dan looks like he's used to this.

Matt lowers his head and mumbles something under his breath, before lowering his head onto the pillow and grabbing his hair in frustration.

His phone rings, pulling him back up.

"I swear to god..."

His eyes suddenly go wide and his jaw drops.

"WHAT THE HELL IS MYLES DOING AT OUR HOUSE?!"

"Are you always this cranky in the mornings?" I ask sarcastically, and, boy, is he not in the mood for it.

"Not now," he growls in my direction.

"What do you mean?" Dan asks loudly from the kitchen.

"I mean what I said. He is at my house, apparently helping Iry with studying. Why didn't she ask me? And why did she ask him?"

Dan goes silent, but Matt is luckily too caught up in his own mind to pay any attention to him.

"I'll have to take care of this later."

"It sounds like you're about to kill him."

"I may just do that, thanks for the idea, darling," he smirks and joins his friend in the kitchen.

Damn the blushing.

I want to get up, when suddenly the events from last night come rushing back. Trough out the night Matt kept me occupied with talking, and I focused on that. Now, when I'm alone with my thoughts, it's all I can think about. One question in particular strides in my mind.

What happened to my biological mother?

I stand up because the room got to hard to breathe in all of a sudden. I walk out into the hallway, when Andrew comes down the stairs and stops abruptly, blocking my path.

"Morning," he says with a raspy voice.

"Morning."

"How are you?"

I shrug, trying to end this conversation as soon as possible. He reaches out and hugs me — I'm not used to him hugging me, we don't do that anymore. My hands find a way around his torso and I squeeze back.

"Did you see the piano?"

"No," I answer, thankful for a distraction.

I didn't know there was a piano. It makes sense since Nessa told me her dad plays.