Oliver chuckled. "Well, there was a lot less flailing of limbs and absolutely no deafening shrieks," he responded, his nose wrinkling unintentionally as he thought about it. "I think that was the biggest clue." Though, now that she pointed it out, a lot of them did resemble twelve year old girls. Huh. He knew instantly he'd be checking at the next game to see if that were true or not.
Topping up his own glass, he turned his attention back to her just as she glanced back and waved to her previous table. His own eyes shifted to look as well, spotting the man glowering over at them, him in particular. Shrugging, he pulled his eyes back. Oliver wasn't particularly concerned.
"Don't really have the monday to friday schedule," he responded, offering her a shrug. That was the thing with Quidditch, it certainly wasn't a nine to five sort of career. There was, of course, a reason for his drinking, but given the fact that he wasn't even entirely sure he could put it into words, he kept that to himself. "Seemed like a good enough idea at the time. You?"