After an early morning, a long day at my boys' swim meet, and a long drive home with an allergy-stuffed head, I decided to give myself a break and give you an encore posting of my first Sunday Squirrel. Enjoy.

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The man stumbled and bumped the bar, but steadied himself enough to scoot onto the stool next to her. He smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke, and Brianna's nose twitched in protest. She checked her watch. Vince would be there any minute.

“Hey there,” the drunk man said, swaying in her direction as he ogled her chest. “I'm Scotty.” The red flush of drink marred his handsome face, and she turned away.

“I'm not interested,” she replied, unable to hide the hint of disgust in her voice. The bartender chuckled at the exchange, and Brianna tapped her foot on the brass railing. Why did these men always want to meet in bars? Just once, couldn't they start at a coffee shop, or maybe a nice book store? She took another swig of her club soda and grimaced, wishing she'd stuck with plain water.

A cold breeze blew across the bar as the front door opened and Vince walked in. Goosebumps sprouted on Brianna's arms as he approached, looking every bit the successful businessman in his Armani suit. He looked her up and down, smiling as his gaze rested on the low cut neckline of her red dress.

She smiled back. The dress worked every time.

Vince slid his arm around her waist and whispered against the side of her neck. “Let's get a private table.”

“I have a better idea.” Brianna glanced back at the drunk and winked. “How about a private room?”

Vince gave her a surprised look and nodded.

The drunk slid off the barstool and shuffled past the couple. “Yeah, like a private room with bars and an orange jumpsuit,” he said as he snatched Vince's wrist and twisted his arm behind his back. He locked handcuffs on Vince and pressed him up against the bar.

“What the hell is going on?” Vince cried. “You bitch,” he said turning his gaze on Brianna. “You set me up.”

She smiled innocently at him and looked at the fully upright, sober Scott. “Great job tonight,” she said as uniformed police officers poured into the bar. “I think you missed your calling.”

“You weren't too shabby yourself,” he said, keeping a tight grip on the struggling fugitive. “Have I told you how much I like that dress?”

She laughed and nodded. “More than once.”

Scott handed Vince over to one of the cops and grabbed Brianna's hand. “Let's go home. I need a shower.”

She snuggled against him, glad their part in the sting was done. “I'll join you.”

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