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More people crowd around me, none of them bothering to hide their interest in our back and forth.Great, a fucking audience.
“I’m not leaving until you give me a chance to explain,” I tell her sternly, working hard to keep my voice even.
“Either you get out of my bar, or I’ll fucking throw you out myself. Choice is yours.”
She stalks off, her nose in the air, with her sweet ass swaying from side to side. Tapping the other bartender on the shoulder, he looks over at me as she whispers something in his ear. With a nod, they switch places, with him taking over my end of the bar.
I drop my head forward and sigh. I’m getting nowhere fucking fast if she won’t even talk to me.
The old man next to me chuckles. “First time apologizing?”
“That obvious?”
“Pretty sure the whole bar knows. You’re shit at it, by the way.”
“Uh, thanks?”
“Want some advice?” Lifting his wrinkled hand, he points over at Cora. “A female that mad? You need more than words, buddy. You need a grand gesture.”
I give him a blank stare. “A what?”
“Grand gesture.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“You really are new at this, aren’t you?” He swivels around on his stool and shakes his head. “How do you normally get a woman to talk to you?”
“I don’t,” I admit. “They seek me out.”
This makes him laugh. “And that’s your problem right there—women chase you. You never learned to chase them.”
“You said you were gonna give me advice, old man, but all I’m hearing is you laughing at me, giving me no fucking direction on what to do in this situation.”
He tips his head, acknowledging my words. “I apologize. Been a long time since a young buck like yourself needed advice on how to deal with a woman from an old ass like me, but I mean it when I say you need a grand gesture. Look around you. There’s a whole lotta ways you can grab her attention in a crowd like this. Get yourself an audience, and she’ll have no choice but to talk to you.” Grabbing his beer from the bar top, he slides off the stool and walks away, calling back, “Good luck.”
I continue to stew, wishing I’d taken that beer when the DJ announces the next person up to sing, and that’s when it hits me. Like a man on a mission, I stride over to the DJ booth.
“How do I do this shit?” I ask him.
“The sign-up list is right there.”
I peer over at the paper in front of his station and see every fucking spot is full. This won’t do. Reaching into my wallet, I finger out a hundred-dollar bill and hand it to him.
“That’s yours if you let me go next, and I’ll give you another hundred if this works.”
Grinning, the DJ plucks the bill from my fingers. “What song?”
“The fuck if I know. One that’ll make a woman stop being pissed at me.”
He gives me a knowing nod. “An ‘I fucked up’ track. I got you, man. What’s your name?”
“TK,” I mutter.
He goes back to his setup and punches some buttons. The woman on the stage screeches out some pop song, grinding her hips like a geriatric Britney Spears. As horrible as she is, the crowd goes wild once she’s finished.
Am I really gonna fucking do this?
I eye the crowd, thankful that none of my brothers are here to see me do this. I can’t sing for shit, and I’m about to make a total fool out of myself. But if it makes Cora stop and listen to me, even for a few minutes, it’ll be worth it.
