Another day of work completed, Miranda almost breathed a sigh of relief as she and Naomi traversed the scant distant to their cars. The rest of the parking lot was bare. In the sky, the sun hung low, turning the world a bluish hue. The cool evening air might have been relaxing, if it wasn't for the bomb Naomi just dropped. Miranda groaned as she turned to her friend, “You did what?”

 

“Oh, come on, Miranda!” Naomi jutted out her bottom lip as she leaned across the hood of Miranda's car. Behind her, her sporty yellow car clashed against her navy blue outfit. “I can't go alone.”

 

Miranda glared and pursed her lips. “Don't you think you should check with me before scheduling a double date?”

 

“It's not a double date,” Naomi replied, reproachfully, pushing herself off the car hood. “It's just hanging out.”

 

“At the bar,” retorted Miranda with a flat tone. She was less than impressed. Nate just broke up with her and her ex-sweetheart breezed into town. Her emotional capacitors wanted a rest.

 

“Yeah, at the bar. What's wrong with that?” Naomi's head listed to the side. Her eyes caught the dying rays of the sun, making her baby blues nearly glow in the twilight.

 

“You're probably going to go knock boots with loverboy and leave me in the lurch with his creepy friend,” Miranda sighed in exasperation. Naomi had pulled the stunt more than once. The worst case seemed so promising, at first. It involved a cute, buff firefighter and his friend, an old buddy from high school with a receding hairline, beer gut, and an aversion to deodorant. She waved her hand, her car keys jingling loudly. “Yeah, no thanks.”

 

“You shouldn't judge people before you get to know them!” Naomi's lips twisted into a frown. She very blatantly misunderstood Miranda, whether intentionally or from sheer obliviousness. She crossed her arms over her ample bosom and pinned Miranda with a hard look.

 

Miranda was completely unaffected by her friend's bluff. Naomi didn't have a stern bone in her body. Soon enough, the blonde would switch tones and resort to the puppy dog eyes. “Naomi, it's been a long day.”

 

“So go to the bar. Let off some steam,” pleaded the blonde, “It'll be good for you!”

 

“I don't see how, Naomi.”

 

“Trust me.”

 

Miranda sighed, yet again. A drink sounded fabulous after everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours. Nate would be to busy with his new girlfriend and who the hell knew where Tyler was. Her stiff shoulders eased a little, “Do we have time to go home and change, first?”

 

“Yes!” Naomi squealed in delight as she hopped into her sporty convertible. Miranda shook her head as she climbed into her sensible sedan. Together, the two cars pulled out of the parking lot and headed in the direction of Miranda's apartment. She didn't know why she let Naomi talk her into these things.

 

A noisy bar scene was the absolute last thing Miranda genuinely wanted. Yet, a small voice nagged at her thoughts. Someone, in particular, hung around bars and Miranda very direly wanted to see him again – even if it was a bad idea.

 

* * *

 

Smoke clung to the ceiling in the Firebird Bar. Chatter filled the air, along with the scent of cologne and alcohol. Country music spat into the air from the old jukebox and various, tone-deaf patrons sang along. In the far corner, pool tables rumbled and pool balls clacked loudly, punctuated by whoops and hollers. Underfoot, peanut shells cracked beneath Miranda's heeled boots. She maneuvered awkwardly through the crowd, as Naomi languidly traversed the throng. The blonde smiled and gracefully stepped around the drunken masses. Miranda felt like a bull in a china shop as she stumbled through the bodies, trying to keep an eye on Naomi.

 

Just as she thought she lost sight of the blonde, the crowd opened up for her like Noah and the Red Sea. Her gaze fell on Naomi, hanging all over her date. Miranda paused, eyeballing the two men. Naomi's date stood tall and broad, with a farmer's tan and long black hair. Handsome, in a rough sort of way. His friend wasn't much different. Tall, rippling muscles, a cocked smirk, but with shorter hair than Naomi's date.

 

Miranda swallowed her disappointment. She had thought, for a split second, it could be Tyler and his friend. Mentally, she shook the thought out of her head. It was ridiculous to even hold that hope. Plastering on a smile, she trudged through the bar.

 

“Miranda, this is–”

 

A flimsy table tumbled near the pool table. A hulking behemoth, with a beer gut to match, flung the matching chair as he snarled, “You're a damn cheat!”

 

“Hey, don't be a sore loser.” From the throngs surrounding the pool table, a voice laughed. Something in the tone, or, perhaps, a lilt in the voice, caught Miranda's attention. Her gaze snapped to the corner and heat clawed up her neck. “Ladies like me, including Lady Luck.”

 

The behemoth bristled, “Fuck you, smartass!”

 

The snap of wood – a broken pool cue - echoed through the air, followed by a ripple of gasps through the crowd. Someone grunted. People dove out of the way and more people started to trade obscenities. The sound of fist impacting on flesh muted the lively air of the bar. Someone skidded across a table close to Miranda. She yelped and stumbled out of the way.

 

Tyler groaned and rubbed the back of his neck, his sunglasses askew atop his head. As he sat up, his back groaned in protest. He caught sight of Miranda wide, green eyes. She was suddenly breathless next to him, without the counter between them. Shock and delight slammed through him. Tyler covered his surprise, and his pain, with a cheeky grin. “Oh, hey, Mir. What's up?”

 

Before she could answer, another man picked up yet another chair. He swung it at Tyler just as the redhead slid off the table. Miranda screamed, her heart thrumming, as the chair burst into pieces. Using his weight, Tyler managed to tip the lightweight table up and over his head against his attacker. As his opponent struggled against the stick of furniture, Tyler swept out his feet. The man gave out a yelp and dropped to the boards, the table landed atop his torso.

 

It seemed Behemoth didn't have too many friends, though. Within the next second, the subtle click-clack of a shotgun being cocked cut through the air. The bar's owner didn't even need to say a word. Behemoth and the man who attacked Tyler were promptly escorted – or, more appropriately, heaved – from the bar.

 

Tyler couldn't help the smirk that curled at his lips. He turned to Miranda, his slightly buzzed hazed painting a darker flush and bedroom eyes on her face. Adrenaline coursed through her head, freezing her thoughts in place as she tried to make sense of the destruction. Their gazes locked and she steeled herself for his smart-alack comment.

 

At the same time, she fought against her fluttering heart. Tyler didn't get the chance to say a word, though. Within seconds, bar floozies swarmed him, swinging their arms around him and making husky comments in his ear. They leaned their fleshy, soft bodies against him, as if mere proximity meant a better chance.

 

“Oh, my God,” squealed Naomi as she sidled up next to Miranda. Her arms looped through her friend's elbow and she leaned close. “You know that psycho?”

 

Miranda's tongue fumbled around the words. Thousands of answered swarmed her head from an affirmative, to a negative, to something pleasantly vague. She shook her head and forced an airy laugh to her lips, “Ancient history. So, you going to introduce me to my date?”

 

As the blonde led Miranda away, Tyler watched through his little slew of barflies. The delight that flared when he saw her faltered. She was on a date. A double date. Tyler resisted the urge to scowl and forced himself to turn away from the scene. This was for the best. Miranda deserved better than him.

 

He tried to take solace in that thought as he wrapped an arm around a pretty brunette who smelled of bourbon.