Page 6 of Vodka And Virtue

“Oh, I know exactly who you are, Carlisle. You’re Graham’s nephew. I’ve known you for years, since you had braces and acne in high school.”

“That’s a less than complementary way to introduce yourself to someone. Next time, maybe don’t point out the most awkward phase of their life.” He chuckled. “Wait a minute.” His face scrunched adorably. “Are you saying your name is Gregory MacGregor? Did your mother not like you?”

I was spared from concocting a witty reply when his so-called girlfriend interrupted, tapping her glass against the bar’s granite surface.

“I’m empty, Carly. Hey, my friends are getting ready to head out. Can’t you knock off early and join us?”

He glanced sideways at me, probably wondering if I noticed the use of his nickname. Oh, I noticed all right. I wouldn’t soon forget. The name Carly suited him perfectly.

“I can’t do that, Susannah. You know that I’m working and I’m closing tonight.”

“Can’t your brother close?" she whined. “Or your cousin?”

“No,” he grated. “It’s my job and my responsibility. If you want to leave with your friends, go. I would never stop you.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” she countered petulantly.

I was beginning to see the gist of their relationship and the problems at hand. No wonder he didn’t seem thrilled about their ‘trial’. I was getting an idea about the kind of girl she was, and where her priorities lay, and I would rather play in traffic during rush hour than follow her anywhere. Then again, I’m gay, so she really didn’t have anything that I wanted.

Without another word or even a proper goodbye, she hopped off her barstool and trotted out the door after her girlfriends. I honestly couldn’t say Carlisle looked sad to see her go.

It wasn’t until he turned around and realized I was still standing there, witnessing his humiliation, that he actually showed genuine emotion.

“Okay, well, thanks for your help with the case. You can go back to work now, or whatever it is you were doing.”

He adjusted the knot on the black apron tied around his waist and brushed off his hands, and then systematically ignored me as he began unloading the case of Guinness, stocking the glass bottles under the bar.

I shuffled back to my post by the door with a smile on my face. That was the second time I’d ruffled Carlisle’s—no, Carly’s—feathers. What was it about me that got under his skin? He didn't seem to have that reaction with anyone else. Quite the opposite, actually. From the hours I’d spent surreptitiously studying him while working, I’d noticed how easy his manner was with his coworkers. Carlisle managed them without micromanaging. He didn’t hover, and he didn’t belittle. He was always available to lend a hand or fill in wherever needed so someone could take a much-deserved break. He laughed and smiled easily, unless he was in my presence, yet, I wasn’t aware of having slighted him in any way. No, it was a reaction he was having to me that was all on his part.

And I was dying to figure out why.

* * *

Three days later,I got a chance to interact with Carlisle again. And it went about as smoothly as the last two attempts had. The bar had closed for the night, and Carlisle stood behind the counter, taking inventory of the liquor. I refused to leave until he was safely in his car, quietly biding my time on one of the padded chairs at the bar. Of course, my attention was focused solely on him as I watched him tally numbers on a notepad, wipe down bottles, and rinse a few of the stainless steel pour spouts that had become sticky. He ignored me as he worked, focused on his task. Until…

“Why are you always staring at me!” he snapped, his calm demeanor dissolving like sugar in water.

“Because I like what I see.”

“Why don’t you ever stare at my brother? He looks just like me.”

I scoffed. “He might look like you, but he’s nothing like you.”

He seemed taken aback, like he didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Well…stop it. Look somewhere else.”

I hid my smile behind my hand by pretending to rub my jaw. “Why does my attention make you so uncomfortable?”

“Because. It just does. I don’t know. Stop asking me these questions. And stop staring at me!”

“It’s not my intention to make you uncomfortable, Carlisle.”

“Then what is your intention?”

“I’m not sure you’re ready for that answer. Let me know when you’re finished here and I’ll walk you to your car.”

“I don’t need an escort or a babysitter.”

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