TWATKNOT

I’ve been sitting in the parking lot outside the Moose Knuckle all day under the sweltering sun, watching for her to pull up. As soon as the open sign clicks on, and the early crowd starts funneling into the bar for karaoke night, I waste zero time and head inside, making a beeline straight to the bar, but my heart sinks to the floor when I see a man setting up the glasses, and Cora nowhere in sight.

“Cora here?” I ask the guy.

“She’s in the back.” Drying a glass, he rests his hip against the waist-high beer cooler and studies me. “Are you a friend or something?”

“Or something,” I mutter. Before I’d opened my big mouth, I would’ve been happy to answer that question with a yes.

“Want a beer while you wait?”

Fuck yeah, I’ll take anything to calm my racing heart. But then again, beer is what got me into this mess in the first place. Deciding it’s the last thing I need right now, I decline and pretend not to notice when the guy continues to eye me with suspicion before moving on down the bar to take orders.

With nothing else to do, I take a seat on the barstool and I wait, and wait. I wait long enough that I’m starting to think this asshole lied to me about her being here at all. But as soon as karaoke starts up, she finally appears.

Her eyes are dull, like the light behind them has dimmed. Her cocky smile has been replaced with a deep-set frown. Guilt punches me in the gut, because I’m fairly certain I’m the reason she looks like this.

But the rest of her… Fuck, the rest of her looks incredible with those soft curves and ample cleavage. Her silky hair shines in the fluorescent lights, making her look like a damn angel from above. I’d always found Cora to be attractive, but I’d never really looked at her before right now.

She’s much more than attractive, she’s ethereal.

I watch her take orders at the opposite end of the bar, marveling at the poise and confidence she has when dealing with a rowdy group. The woman is fearless.

A friendly smile adorns her lips as she shoots the shit with the customers, but the instant her eyes land on me, her smile damn near shatters.

“Cora, I’m—”

“Get the fuck out of my bar,” she orders, pointing to the doors.

“Cora, please,” I try again, but she’s ignoring me now. When she takes the drink order from the guy sitting to my left, she gives him a wide smile while pretending I’m not even there.

Goddammit.

“Cora.” This time, her name comes out as more of a command, and the people sitting around lower their voices, wondering what the hell’s going on.

“Get out,” she repeats, not once looking at me.

“Not until we talk.”

“I have zero interest in talking to you.”

“Come on, Cora,” I plead, my voice sounding more like a whine at this point. “I waited in the fucking parking lot all day to talk to you.”

Snagging a glass from the bar, she rolls her eyes.

I rake my hand over my face and growl. Is it always this hard to apologize to a woman? If it is, then it’s no damn wonder men surrender the second they fuck up.

“Why are you acting like this? I’m trying to apologize to you.”

She halts mid-stride and pivots, glaring coldly at me. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you used to bimbos who fall at your feet whenever you grace them with your presence?”

I frown, taken aback. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Why won’t she give me a chance to explain? She’s mad, furious, even, and I get it, but I came here to try to make amends. I just need her to listen to me.

“I’m just a fat, mouthy bartender, remember? I don’t exactly fit into the mold of whores and porn stars that you normally slum around with.” Her words hit me like an arrow to the chest. I deserve that. Hell, I more than deserve that. “Now, if you’ll fucking leave,” she continues, “I have a job to do.”

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.

The DJ leans around the barrier. “All right, TK. You’re up.”

My feet feel like they’re encased in blocks of cement as I step up onto the stage. Bright lights beam down from the ceiling, almost blinding the fuck out of me. As soon as I step up to the mic, someone in the crowd yells out something I can’t quite hear.

“Up next,” the DJ announces, “we have TK with “If I Can Turn Back Time” by Cher.”

Did that motherfucker say Cher?

“Dude, what the fuck?” I call out from behind the mic.

He just smiles and points to the screen where words start to scroll as the music cues up. When my eyes adjust to the bright lights, I can see Cora resting against the bar, arms crossed, staring a hole right through me.

Here goes nothin’, old man. Your grand gesture shit better work, because I’m about to embarrass the shit out of myself.

My mouth opens, and Cher’s apology song spills from my lips. Well, most of it does, anyway. I try like hell to follow along with the words, but they’re flying off the screen so fast, I miss most of them. Focusing on that, and trying to see if Cora’s watching me, becomes difficult.

“Fuck it,” I mutter to myself. This grand gesture is about to turn up to eleven. This is for you, Cora. Grabbing the mic from the stand, I belt out the words like I’m fucking Cher herself. I gyrate as I sing, my arms open as I add as much theatrics to my performance as possible.

The women in the audience hoot and holler with every swish of my hips, none of them caring that I’m single-handedly butchering the song. I finally get to the end, my heart pounding, and the room goes wild.

Grinning from ear to ear, I take a bow. As I’m bent forward, receiving my hard-earned accolades, I look toward the bar just in time to see Cora walking out the front door.