The instant defense on Layla's part made Francis pretty sure she was a high school student, no matter what she said. He wasn't great at telling ages but he could ballpark, and he wouldn't have been surprised to see someone looking like Layla walking around the halls of Moses Pearson.
Not that he cared, or felt guilty or bad about the kiss in the first place. Part of the reason was that she had been the one to kiss him, and the other part was that, unlike Seth, Mr. Creative Writing Stud, he didn't give a damn about the taboo of student-teacher (or nurse, in his case) relations.
"Yeah, I work there," was all he said about that.
When the conversation turned back to the bothersome guy, Francis didn't spare even a casual glance toward the direction he had run off in, content to nurse his beer facing forwards.
"You got lucky; I'm in a shit mood." They weren't good, the guy was just a chicken shit and Francis looked like he could own in a fight. "Otherwise," he continued, "I probably would have knocked you on your ass for the stunt you pulled."