Table Of ContentHIS FIRST TIME: GABE
A HOT SHOT OF ROMANCE QUICKIE
ANN OMASTA
CALLIE LOVE
CONTENTS
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1. Gabe
2. Ciara
3. Gabe
4. Ciara
5. Gabe
6. Ciara
7. Gabe
8. Ciara
9. Gabe
10. Ciara
11. Gabe
Epilogue - Ciara
Man of the Month Club: January Sneak Peek (Maggie)
Let’s stay in touch…
Acknowledgments
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1
GABE
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.
I’ve never 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?”
2
CIARA
I
can’t believe my eyes. I must be having some kind of horrific nightmare. This can’t be
happening.
My body freezes––rendered motionless by fear and shock. My mind knows that I
should be doing something to help, but my limbs refuse to move.
Until moments ago, it was an ordinary Tuesday. I was helping Mrs. Jenkins, one of our regular
customers. She likes to dither before pointing out precisely which square chocolate yeast donut she
wants. Some of the other girls that work here complain about her nitpickiness, but I am always patient
with her and let her take her time. I know this is her big outing for the day, and I am happy to do
whatever I can to help her enjoy it.
Working in a donut shop isn’t a glamorous job, but I decided long ago that with anything I do, I’m
going to try my best and keep a positive attitude. The warm smiles I give my customers are sincere. I
truly care about them and want to make their days better. The best way to do that is to give them a
friendly morning experience with their fresh and delicious square donuts.
Squared is the only square donut shop in the area, so people come from all over to try them. It’s a
bit of a gimmick, but it works. People can’t resist a novelty, and once they taste our yummy donuts and
perfectly cooked bacon, they are hooked.
I gawk at the enormous new hole in our building. The sound as the city bus blasted through the
brick wall was deafening. I’m sure it’s still loud in here now as people begin to stir and scream, but
the blood rushes too fast in my head for me to hear anything else.
I’m shaky as I try to stand up from where I fell behind the counter. My first thought is to call 9-1-
1, but this big of a disaster in such a busy part of town must have already drawn the attention of
numerous passersby. I’m inside the heart of the destroyed building, so I will be more helpful assisting
injured people than I would be talking to a dispatcher on the phone.
Silently praying that real help is on the way, I gingerly make my way through the rubble toward
the end of the counter, which has been shoved out of its normal position. Shattered shards of glass
crackle under my shoes as I walk. Sparks shoot out from the overhead light fixtures.
A swatch of pink fabric is peeking out from the corner, so I carefully make my way over to it. One
of my co-workers, Maggie, is on the floor with her body contorted into a strange angle. A large
portion of the front display case has fallen onto her legs and has her pinned to the ground.
Lightly shaking her shoulder, I say, “Maggie?”
As she begins to stir, she lets out a miserable moan.
“Don’t try to talk or move,” I advise her before adding, “I’m going to lift this thing off you.”
I strain and push, but the stubborn cabinet won’t budge. I’m waiting for my rush of super-human,
adrenaline strength to kick-in, but it doesn’t seem to want to comply.
Maggie turns to give me a wan smile before saying, “I’m okay for now, and I’m sure some big,
strong emergency workers will be here soon. Go see if there’s anyone else you can help.”
Although I hate to leave her, it’s quickly becoming obvious that I’m not going to be able to free
her legs by myself. I look deep into her eyes to check if she’s truly okay for the time being as I say,
“You’re sure?”
She nods her head, so I turn to scan the rest of the building. It’s beginning to fill with hazy gray
smoke, which makes my eyes water.
The doorway to the kitchen in the back has crumbled, so I don’t dare go through it. Besides, the
bus crashed into the front of the shop, so most of the damage is likely up here.
I climb over a pile of wood and ceiling tiles in front of the stopped, steaming bus. When I reach
the store’s front, I stoop down and pull the bottom hem of my apron up over my mouth and nose to
keep from inhaling too much smoke.
A tiny crumpled pile catches my attention. I recognize the purple flower print of the dress Mrs.
Jenkins was wearing when I waited on her. Even though it has likely only been a couple of minutes
since I was helping the older woman pick the perfect donut, it feels like a lifetime ago.
I scurry over to her. She’s so tiny and frail that I’m scared to move her. When she stirs, I breathe
out a huge sigh of relief before taking one of her hands into mine. I’m not sure what to do other than
try to comfort her, so I say, “It’s going to be okay, Mrs. Jenkins. We’re going to get out of here.”
Even though I have absolutely no idea if my reassuring words are accurate, they seem like the
right thing to say. Empty promises and a comforting hand are all I have to offer, since I’m not
medically trained or mentally prepared to deal with this kind of catastrophe.
I have no idea how long we sit there together. I keep my eyes trained on Mrs. Jenkins because I’m
sure there are other innocent victims scattered around the room. I don’t know what to do to help,
despite how much I want to, so I focus my full attention on the woman in front of me.
“Ciara!” I hear my name being shouted, but it’s muted as if I’m under water.
My gaze darts around looking for the source of the sound. When I see him, the air spews from my
lungs in a relieved whoosh. He’s even bigger when he’s all suited up in his fireman’s gear.
We make eye contact and he’s by my side in a flash. Before I even have time to register what is
happening, he scoops me into his strong arms and I’m being carried outside.
I lean my head on his shoulder and let my hero’s name fall from my lips, “Gabe.”
3
GABE
R elief floods my system as I carry sweet, beautiful Ciara in my arms. I’ve never been so
frightened as when I heard the address of Squared being called out by dispatch. I don’t
even want to imagine a world in which this wonderful woman doesn’t exist.
When she leans her head on my shoulder as I carry her, I’m tempted to just keep on walking and
carry her as far from here as possible. The trust that arose in her gaze just before I picked her up
made my protective instinct flare to unprecedented levels. Keeping her safe is all that matters.
But Ciara is only concerned for everyone else’s safety. As we walk outside into the fresh morning
air, she suddenly raises her head. She scrambles for release from my arms, so I tighten my grip on her.
Her eyes are wild as she sees the orange flames begin spreading past the front window of the shop. In
a panicky voice, she says, “Maggie! Mrs. Jenkins!”
I use my steady, calming tone to say, “I’ll get them.”
Her wide-eyed gaze locks onto mine as she says in a flat-toned, faraway voice, “All of those
people on the bus.”
It’s obvious that the gravity of this dire situation is beginning to set in with her. I need to get back
inside, but I can’t leave until I know Ciara is going to be okay.
My gaze is unwavering on hers as I promise, “We’ll get them all. This is what my crew trains for.
You have my word that I won’t leave this building until everyone is out. Got it?”
“Yes,” she answers in a croaky voice as I place her on her feet.
Using a stern voice, I say, “Do not go back inside.”
She nods her agreement, so I quickly turn to head back into the burning building. My heart wants
to stay with Ciara to make sure she’s truly okay, but my job is inside this growing inferno.
More fire trucks arrive at the scene. It’s a coordinated team effort as we fight the blazing flames
and rescue injured victims.
The smoke is getting so thick, I can barely see the small crumpled pile on the floor near where I
found Ciara. I scoop the fragile, older woman into my arms. As I carry her toward the door, she opens
her eyes and beams up at me, so I say, “Are you Mrs. Jenkins?”
“Yes,” she answers in a barely-there voice.
I wink at her before saying, “Let’s get you out of here, Mrs. Jenkins.”
“My hero,” she says as she rests her head on me, trusting me completely.
After delivering her to safety, I return to the fiery building. A quick sweep of the shop confirms
that the customers have been cleared out of the front, so I climb onto the bus to help the last few
passengers that need assistance.
I have my arm around a burly man with an injured leg, helping him down the aisle toward the back
