First Class Rescue (First Class Novels) Read Free

front of
them, and they were cheering loudly and having fun. Tim watched the woman
closest to him. She was dressed in skin-tight jeans and a button-up shirt that
was clinging to her curves, with several of the buttons undone exposing a large
amount of cleavage. She had long blonde hair and she wore knee-high black boots
that just looked sexy.
    Their eyes locked and the hint of a smile twitched on his
lips. She responded immediately by walking over to his table and sliding into
the booth next to him.
    “Hey,” she purred. “I’m Trish.” She stroked his thigh.
    She’ll do nicely , he grinned as he got an up-close
look at her well-endowed rack in front of him. “Tim,” he replied. “You wanna
get out of here?”
    “Hell yeah,” she smiled. “My place? It’s just a couple of
blocks.”
    “Works for me.” Tim crawled out of the booth behind her and
Trish went and whispered to her friends as he informed his buddies, still at
the bar, he was leaving and to escort Jeff home when the game was over. They
patted him on the back and congratulated him on his “ date” .
    “You always get the hottest ones,” one of them whined.
    “That’s ‘cuz he’s the hottest one of us,” was his friends’
reply.
    “You think he’s hot?”
    “No, but all the women do.”
    Tim chuckled and said goodbye, meeting up with Trish at the
door. “Ready?” he asked.
    “Yep,” she openly ogled him as they walked out into the
darkness. “Let’s go.”
    They walked around the corner and down three blocks to
Trish’s apartment. They chatted about what they both did for a living -- she
was a photographer for a fashion magazine, and how much they loved the Buffalo
Bills. By the time they reached her apartment door they were done with the
small talk, and once inside, their mouths were too busy doing other things
anyway.
    *****
    The firehouse held Ladder 5, Engine 24 and Battalion 2 to
serve their area of Greenwich Village. The communal areas (the kitchen, dining
room and large family room), the offices and the sleeping quarters were on the
upper floor.
    Tim had recently been promoted to Lieutenant, so he now had
a desk in a shared office with the three others. He didn’t like the paperwork
side of his job…he liked the action part; helping people, putting out fires,
making a difference in his community. That’s why he’d moved to the West
Village. He wanted to be a part of the community that he served.
    The sounding alarm snapped him out of the daze he was in as
he tried to focus on an equipment maintenance chart on the computer screen in
front of him. In under a minute, he was in full response gear and climbing onto
the truck. Within four minutes they were pulling up in front of an apartment
building to respond to a fire.
    As members of his team ran into the building and started up
the three flights of stairs, Tim watched and waited for orders. Within seconds,
he was informed over the radio that it was just a small grease fire and was put
out with an extinguisher. The adrenaline pumping through his veins eased, and
he sat down on the runners on the side of the truck.
    Out of nowhere, a dog appeared to the right of him. Tim
pulled off his gloves and whistled to the German Shepherd and it responded by
walking slowly toward him. He held out his hand as the dog cautiously sniffed
him and then Tim carefully lifted his hand to pet it between the ears.
    “Good girl,” he cooed in a soothing voice. The dog responded
by pushing into his hand and tilting her head to the side.
    “You like that?” he grinned and then used both hands to
scratch her behind the ears.
    Tim loved dogs. After years of pleading and begging, when he
was nine years old his parents had given him a dog from the humane society. Tim
had been asking for a Doberman, but Maureen had said that she would never
purchase a dog from a puppy mill and that if he wanted a dog, there were plenty
looking for good homes. His father, Peter, had taken him to the shelter on