The more Layla opened up, the more Francis was beginning to realize being nice to her in the first place probably had been a mistake. It was somewhat because her disposition clashed with his, but it was also because Francis was bad at small talk. He didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t want to talk about what was on his mind at all, so that left … what? If he could loosen up a bit it might have been good for him to talk about nothing, laugh at some guy neither of them knew but had defeated in a moment of spontaneity, and get familiar with someone who could turn out to be a positive spot in his crap week, but he rarely could loosen up.
Unless.... “Another beer,” he told the bartender.
Francis only glanced at Layla when she told him she was being affectionate, his brows drawn slightly together. “If I get cold sores I’ll know who to blame.”
Later on, as he walked home, Francis would think that he should have tried to get another free beer from Layla in exchange for his name, but in the moment all he could think was that he didn’t want to give her his name at all.