She looked at the napkin, and at the pen, and knew she had two options: real number or fake number.
The real number would lead, maybe, to an awkward call the next day. That’s assuming, of course, that this guy didn’t get another, more promising number over the course of the evening.
The fake number, of course, would allow her to gracefully exit from the situation. Everyone saves face.
It honestly shocked her that she was even debating the choice.
The guy looked like he came from central casting, where the order was for “jock/frat asshole.” He laughed loudly — loudly enough to make sure that everyone knew he was having a good time. He had his group of friends, who undoubtedly referred to themselves as a “posse” or some such, and they all looked like minded.
She looked at the napkin. Christ, I’m tired, she thought. There was no upside whatsoever in giving him her real number, she thought as she realized, in horror, that she was actually putting her real number down.
Was she too tired to argue, she wondered as she slid the napkin back to him, or was she too tired to make a better decision? Either way, she knew, this was the latest in a series of bad decisions
He asked for his pen back. At that point, she knew it was time to leave. Way past time.