I’m what is commonly referred to as a man’s man. I like going fishing, taking naps, watching football on the flatscreen, and eating barbecue… lots of barbecue… as hot as they can make it. I work out to stay in shape, so I can be the best at my job. I’m a firefighter––a damn good firefighter.
Our crew works hard, and we play hard. We joke around and have a good time, but we take our jobs seriously. When someone is in need, we are there. When others run away, we run in. It’s the job. And it’s everything to us.
Before I went to the fire training academy, I figured the vocation would be a total panty-dropper, but I had no idea the extent of its power. There are loads of women who actively pursue anyone in a uniform. A significant number of these ladies are only interested in firemen. We affectionately call them hose chasers.
The hose chasers are great for a good time, but I’m starting to realize that I crave more than just a hot, but meaningless, roll in the sack. No one’s more surprised about this shocking development than I am.
For the past few months, Ciara, the beautiful, skittish woman that works at my favorite square donut shop, has been popping into my head at all kinds of strange times… in the shower, while I’m lifting weights, as I’m making my world-famous (okay, fire station-famous) spicy chicken chili, and even in my dreams… not the wet kind.
It’s more than just a sexual attraction to Ciara, although I do want to discover what those luscious curves that are always hidden beneath that short, pink uniform dress look and feel like. Beyond that, though, I want to talk to her, hear her opinions, and find out how her day went. I want to spend time with her and get to know her.
This is the first time I’ve ever felt like this about anyone, but for some reason, I turn into a bumbling idiot whenever I try to speak to her. I thought my awkwardness would ease with time, but she’s been working there for months, and I go there every day for breakfast, yet I still can’t manage much more than meaningless small talk with her. The thought of asking her out on a date makes my mouth go dry.
Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink when I come in and she always gives me a twenty percent discount, rather than the fifteen percent standard discount for emergency workers. I take those both as good signs, but she’s very difficult for me to read. I can’t tell if she’s just being nice or if there’s a spark of interest on her end, too.
My crush on her is starting to become a ‘thing.’ I haven’t told anyone about it, but anyone that goes to breakfast with me can somehow tell. My buddy, Adam, called me out on it during his girlfriend’s restaurant opening last week. When he threatened to tell Ciara about my secret crush, I nearly had a heart attack. Granted, I deserve it, for what we did to him with Evie, but that ended up working out in his favor.
My shift is almost over, so I might actually go to my apartment for a while. I don’t spend much time there, and the succulents my mother gave me probably desperately need a drink. If I can’t even keep some nearly impossible-to-kill plants alive, I definitely won’t be able to nurture a real relationship with a sensitive woman, like Ciara.
A mental image of her dark, shiny hair flashes into my head. I’m not sure what it is about her that makes me crave her so much from afar. I wonder for the millionth time if she would be interested in me, but am concerned that she might turn me down for a date. At least, if I don’t ask, I still have hope that she may go out with me.
It’s not like me at all to be so insecure, but something about this woman makes her important to me––too important to risk taking the leap of asking her out. Besides, things might not work out, and then I would have to deprive myself of the best square donuts and crispy bacon in town.
I slam my locker shut, grab my duffel bag, and turn to leave. I barely make it two steps before the blaring fire alarm begins ringing. Quickly shifting gears, I decide the plants will have to survive a bit longer without any attention. At least if they wither and die, due to a lack of love from me, they can be replaced. Any people in danger from the fire are irreplaceable.
Quick as a wink, our crew is geared up, and we climb onto the rig. As dispatch relays the address of the emergency, I feel the blood drain from my head, just before my disembodied voice asks in a wary tone, “Isn’t that the address of the square donut shop?”
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Ciara’s workplace is on fire. Will Gabe be able to save her? Find out in His First Time: Gabe.
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I won’t let Charlotte die. I can’t. She means everything to me. She needs me to stay calm and talk her through landing the plane. We can’t let her find out this is my first time doing this, too.
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Acknowledgments
A HUGE thank you to:
- Fionn Warner, Milktee Studios (Cover artist)
- Dana Lee, Lee Clarity Consulting (Editing/Proofreading)
- The wonderful members of Ann’s Clan, Ann’s Amazing Aces, Ann Omasta’s Reader Group, and Callie Love’s Reader Group. We wouldn’t be able to do what we love without you!
His First Time: Adam © copyright December 2020 by Ann Omasta and Callie Love
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