Fireman Edition

STANDARD ROMANCE STORY

(Fireman Edition – Book One)

By M.S. Willis

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Standard Romance Story: Copyright © 2013 by M.S. Willis

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, distributed in any printed or electronic form or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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OTHER BOOKS BY M.S. WILLIS

CONTROL SERIES

Book One –
Control

Book Two –
Conflict

Book Three –
Conquer

ESTATE SERIES

Book One –
Joseph Fallen

Book Two – Madeleine Abducted

Book Three – Hope Restrained

BECAUSE OF ELLISON

Coming in 2015

Honor Bound (Estate Series #4)

Grace Restored (Estate Series #5)

Standard Romance Story (Books 2 through 13)

AUTHOR NOTE

Have you ever read a romance novel and wondered what it would be like to date one of the heroes in the stories? We’ve all been lost to the beautiful and touching stories, the funny and quirky antics of the characters, and the, sometimes, unbelievable love stories that fill the pages of those books.

Through the Standard Romance Story series of novellas, I would like you to embark on a quest of what it would be like – in REAL life – to date these heroes. Our main heroine, Jane, is put through the ringer as she fails, and sometimes, succeeds on her own dates with the typical men found in romance literature.

Each book is a new date with a new man – the REAL man – that is nothing like the characters you read about in books.

Follow Jane as she dates the standard romance guys in an attempt to find true love: The rocker, the biker, the billionaire, the tattooed bad boy, the firefighter, the lawyer, the vampire, the cowboy, the alpha, the teacher, the movie star, the professional athlete, the fighter and the captor.

Which one will finally win her heart?

Prologue

My name is Jane.

I’m not a virgin.

I’m not a stripper.

I’ve never been raped.

I don’t have daddy issues.

I’m not in college.

I don’t have magical powers.

I’m not naïve.

I haven’t been abducted.

I haven’t been sold.

I’m not unbelievably gorgeous.

I don’t sleep around.

I can’t even tell you the last time I dated.

I live a normal life.

Making minimum wage at a used bookstore.

And my best friend is a guy, who also happens to be my roommate.

This is my standard romance story.

Chapter One

“Hey Jane, I’m going to need you to go clean up aisle three in the romance section.”

I looked up from the fashion magazine I was reading into the beady brown eyes of my balding, middle-aged boss, Brad. On further examination, I determined that his shirt was pulled apart at the buttons, his wide tie wasn’t straight, and his pleated pants were doing the slouchy, open butterfly thing beneath his protruding belly.

“I just cleaned aisle three an hour ago.” My excitement must have been written on my face. It was the only explanation for Brad’s annoyed reaction. Narrowing his beady eyes, he pointed in the direction of the mess. He’d apparently mastered the art of the silent command. I assumed
sit
and
fetch
would be next.

Holding my hands up in defeat, I caved - quickly. Most times with Brad, caving was the only thing you could do. Plus it was the easiest thing to do and I liked easy.

“Fine.  What am I cleaning? Did someone knock over the books again and your stomach is preventing you from bending over to pick them up?” Okay, sure, being sarcastic with the boss wasn’t the brightest idea, but considering I was working for next to nothing, I thought I was entitled to be snarky.

He grinned and I knew the bastard was enjoying this. “Nope; teenage boy in the romance section. You figure it out.”

The grimace on my face resulted in a victorious grin on Brad’s. At least once a week, some post-pubescent asshole sneaks into the mommy-porn section to wrestle his weasel because he can’t get into the adult section of the video store next door.

Casting him an annoyed glance, I muttered,  “You seriously need to come up with some cash and install a mirror or a camera in that section so we can stop the little shits before they blow.” Storming out from behind the counter, my hand locked to the handle of the bucket and sponge before my feet plodded me off in the direction of the aisle. Balding Brad was snickering at my back.

“Sorry, Jane.” He snickered again. “But you know how those young boys are. They finish up pretty quick. Catching them is almost impossible.” Another snicker and I considered turning around and shoving the bucket right up his nose.

Reaching the aisle, I swore under my breath when I saw the tell-tale wet spot on the twenty year old brown carpet that was thin and threading from years of traffic. My eyes roamed the shelves of books and my head shook in disgust at the amount of muscle bound naked men that graced the covers.

Now - don’t get me wrong - I have no problem staring at the sculpted pecs and six pack abs of most of these guys, and I can’t say I haven’t been turned on a time or two when I was busy stocking books, but something in the back of my head always told me there was no point to the stories. I mean, how many happily ever afters can really exist in this world?

I never considered reading a romance novel because I operated on the belief that they were fairy tales developed to appease bored housewives who realized that men were nothing more than squishy bags of flatulence who were only good to have around when you needed to lift something heavy.

Dropping to my knees, I used my finger and thumb to pick up the book, taking care not to touch much of the cover in case the horny teen wasn’t clean about shooting his load. Glancing at the title, I laughed. “
A Pirate’s Booty – One Woman’s Journey as a Slave to the Sea
.” My eyes took a good roll and I shoved the book back on the shelf with such force, the cheap-ass rickety bookshelf decided to spit out another fifty titles – all of which landed in my lap or on my head.

Fuck my life…

Pushing the books to the side, I scrubbed at the spot left by the audacious teen and threw the sponge back in the bucket so hard the water splashed out the side and onto my clothes. My breath huffed out in front of me blowing my mouse brown bangs up and out of my face.

“Screw this.”

There was nothing more I could do but sit back on my ample behind and hate life. How did I end up working for pennies at a run down bookstore in the middle of the city? This isn’t what I imagined what my life would be. Maybe my parents had been right to tell me I was a waste of potential in a mediocre body. My life was boring. It was plain and it was monotonous, but it was mine. I created it, I lived it and I was sure as hell going to wallow in the pity of realizing just how pathetic it had become.

When I was little, I imagined my life would be something –
more
. I had grandiose ideas of becoming the next Supreme Court justice, or curing some awful disease, or even traveling the world advocating for the hungry or sick. However, life in the inner city left me too poor to go to college and my parents both passed away when I was nineteen and before I proved the potential they swore I didn’t have.

As it turned out, they were correct. I didn’t have potential.

My mother was a seamstress and my father spent the majority of his life working odd jobs just to make sure we had food to eat and a roof over our head. A car accident finally took their lives and left me at the mercy of the world. 

If it wasn’t for my best friend, Rich, I’d probably be panhandling for spare change on the side of the road on the days I didn’t work. It would have been the only way I could afford the ridiculous amount of rent charged for the shitty two bedroom apartment we lived in on the bad side of town. It wasn’t even a real two bedrooms. The layout was more of a loft or efficiency type structure with paper-thin sliding walls that created the illusion of privacy.

Five minutes passed as I indulged in suffering through my one-man pity party. Finally having completed my panic attack, I turned to gather the books that were scattered across the floor in order to restock them and get back to the front counter.  Picking up the small paperbacks, I glanced at the titles and chuckled:

Doing the Duke.

Boinking the Billionaire.

Riding the Rock Star.

Plundered by the Pirate.

Corralling the Cowboy…

Giggles erupted in my chest and spilled out over my thin lips. In need of a good laugh, I opened up the Billionaire book to a random page.

“He set his rock hard cock against my fleshy petals and pushed against me forcing a guttural moan from my throat. His thick width drove itself between my swollen, slick…”

Ok, wait – that was actually kind of hot.  I glanced around to make sure nobody was looking and opened the book again.

“…pounding
into me, twisting me tight and ready to snap.  I could feel the hot, liquid surge of my orgasm spread itself over the hard, veined surface of his…”

Holy shit! 

“…take
me harder!  He pounded into me, the hard thrusts pushing me up the bed, my breasts bouncing freely – taunting and teasing his hot, wet mouth.”

I don’t know what happened. Within seconds, I was sweating buckets and ready to grind myself up against any available person or surface just to finish off what the book had started. In fact, I hadn’t felt this way since the few moments before I decided to kick it with Billy Jenkins in the back of his Ford. Billy walked away with a good time. I walked away disappointed and no longer holding onto the holy grail of female romance characters: My virginity and the ill-seated belief that sex would ever be any good. 

Since that disaster, I’d tried having sex with other men only to find them putzing out after ten minutes, lighting a cigarette and asking me if I’d had a good time. I thought that was how it was supposed to go.

According to what I was now holding in my hand, I’d been wrong.

“Jane! There are customers ready to make their purchases! Get your butt back to the counter…”

Ever the professional, Brad rounded the corner, his beady eyes blinking in anger. I was a suddenly a kid with her hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar – except this time it contained slick folds and hard wet…

“Why are there books all over the floor? I swear, Jane, if you weren’t so knowledgeable about the books in this store, I’d fire your butt for all the time you waste messing around. Sometimes, I don’t know if you’re worth the money I pay you. Now get out there and help those customers!”

My eyes bugged out and I watched Brad waddle away.  “I can’t even eat on what you pay me!” 

Reaching over myself, I was about to chuck the billionaire up his oversized ass, but then I remembered the thick, hot length waiting for me inside. Changing my mind, I brought the book back down, held it to my chest, and after looking around once more, shoved it in back of the stacked books with the promise that I would return.

Stepping over the other titles strewn haphazardly on the thinning carpet, I went in search of the wayward customer who was no longer standing at the counter patiently awaiting my assistance. Corning a large stack of books, I didn’t see the small, grey-haired lady until it was too late, and by then, she was knocked to the ground by my supersized breasts. The ten books about cats that she’d previously held in her wrinkled arms were flying through the air.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!”

I reached down to help her up. After balancing her in an upright position, I moved to pick up the cat books to hand back to her. By the time I looked the itty-bitty demon in the eye again, she was staring me down like I’d just run over her puppy – on purpose. Twice.