Page 1 of His Virgin Romance Series

VIRGIN FOR THE FIREFIGHTER

JARED

Iwoke up a little groggy and looked around my apartment. I sat up with a start when I realized I wasn’t even in my bedroom. It appeared I had just passed out on my couch…again. Groaning, I raised myself to a sitting position, realizing that I had slept on my arm funny and it would probably irritate me for the rest of the day.

I looked at the clock on my kitchen wall. It was six in the evening. My shift had finished at noon, and I had hightailed it home to get some rest after my exhausting night. The plan had been to wolf down the leftover macaroni in the fridge, have a quick shower, and then sleep away the last shift. But as usual, the best-laid plans fell to the wayside in light of my severe exhaustion. My body was still tired, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep now.

I tried to stretch away the knots in my back as I walked to the kitchen to finish off the leftover macaroni. My stomach growled with hunger, and I ended up just eating straight from the serving bowl without even heating it up first. While I was eating, I realized that I had messages on my answering machine. I pressed the little button on the side after putting a huge spoonful of macaroni into my mouth.

“Hi Jared, it’s Kendrick. Sarge changed the roster for tomorrow morning. Our next shift starts two hours early, okay? You’ll need to report at four a.m. See you tomorrow.”

The machine beeped, and the next message began to play.

“Yo, dude,” Brent’s voice sounded slurred, almost as though he had been drinking. “What’s happening? I tried calling your cell, but you weren’t picking up. I figured you were out there saving fires and putting out lives.”

I heard him guffaw with laughter at his own slip. “Ha…did you hear that? I said… I said…saving fires…and putting…putting out lives. That’s fucking hilarious. Anyway, come over tonight, kay? We’ll just hang out. And bring my jacket; I left it behind the last time I was over. I have beer at my place, so we’re sorted. Maybe if you’re up for it, we can go out and do something. Okay…see you soon. Don’t forget my jacket.”

I shook my head and then looked around the apartment for Brent’s jacket. It was lying behind the couch, having obviously fallen. I picked it up and put it by the door so that I would remember to take it when I left.

Since I was up, I figured a visit to Brent’s place wouldn’t hurt. The guy was crazy, but no one could accuse him of being boring. I didn’t really hang out with him as much as I used to. Since becoming a firefighter, my social life had been forced into the backseat. Most of my other friends understood, but Brent had never been the understanding type.

I finished the macaroni, had a quick shower, and headed off to Brent’s. I was halfway there when a police siren started flashing behind me. I groaned as I pulled over, wondering what I had done. I rolled down my window and waited for the police officer to appear at my window.

“Jared?” The voice was familiar.

I looked up. “Officer Manolo,” I said, recognizing his face from work. “How are you?”

“Oh, you know, not too bad.”

“I didn’t realize this was your area.”

“Has been for a year now,” Manolo replied. “They keep shifting us around.”

“Right.” I nodded.

“So, do you know why I pulled you over?”

“You wanted to say hi?” I asked.

“You have a broken taillight.”

“Fuck,” I groaned. “The right one?”

“That’s the one.”

“Fuck,” I said again. “Sorry, I’ve been meaning to get it fixed. It’s just… Things have been so busy at the station.”

“Hey, I understand—personal business takes a back seat,” Manolo replied.

“Exactly.”

“License and registration, please?”

Cursing inwardly, I opened the glove compartment on the passenger’s side where I kept my documents and pulled them out. My hand knocked over Brent’s jacket, and something fell out of the breast pocket. The package was concealed in brown paper, but I could make out something suspiciously green from a tear in the paper. Feeling nauseous suddenly, I prayed that Manolo hadn’t noticed.

The moment he disappeared from my window to walk back to his car with my information, I grabbed the package and stuck it back into Brent’s coat. A few seconds later, Manolo appeared again at my window and passed me my documents.

“There you go,” he said. “Listen, I don’t want to have to give you a ticket. You do a great service to our community, and it seems to me community could cut you a break here.”

---