Marcus didn't respond to the comments about Bell still being around. He wasn't about to get into that discussion, particularly since he wasn't sure how he was even suppose to explain it. It was better just to let it be. If the other two were looking for details they were barking up the wrong tree. They had better luck weaseling the details out of Bell. "Women and Quidditch," he responded, nodding at his speculation about the girls and their bar fight, "tend to be the biggest attention whores under the sun." If it wasn't one calling their attention, it was the other. It was just the way it was and none of them ever thought to complain when one or the other was around. It was only when they weren't that they realized the other things had been pushed to the side.
Adrian, however, had to agree with Clint. His relationship had taken up a lot of his time already and it was only going to increase now that Emma was pregnant. This was going to become a rarity. While he wanted to proceed with Emma, there was a part of him that was going to miss this. The two of them did not have the luxury of easing into anything. They just had to accept it as it happened and move forward. Looking back wasn't going to help them any.
The wistful smile on Clint's lips wasn't that difficult to read and Adrian rolled his eyes as his cousin's thoughts strayed. Marcus, however, snorted. "You say that now." He was sure once the date of the wedding grew closer, those thoughts would change. Marrying a friend or not. He'd start questioning it. They all did.
Unlike the other two, he wasn't all that fond of the topic of Nationals. He wasn't impressed with his team. Bunch of slackers, the lot of them. He sincerely wished he was a different nationality most days. The best of England were a bloody joke. "No. She's not," he grunted, finishing off his whiskey and filling his glass again. Fuck. He didn't want to think about how well they would do. He supposed if the rest of the countries had epileptic seizures on the field, they might have a chance.