Tell Me You Love Me

  Tell Me You Love Me

  Fire Me Up, Volume 1

  Julie Prestsater

  Published by Julie Prestsater, 2014.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Tell Me You Love Me (Fire Me Up, #1)

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  EPILOGUE

  FIRE ME UP BOOK CLUB

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  OTHER TITLES BY JULIE PRESTSATER

  Copyright © 2014 by Julie Prestsater

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of a reviewer using brief passages.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, and real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Marion Archer

  Cover Design by Sommer Stein with Perfect Pear Creative Covers

  Cover Photo: © Irstone | Dreamstime.com

  Visit Julie on the Web at www.juliepbooks.com.

  “The perfect blend of romance, tension, and "funny" burn up the pages.”

  Raine Miller, New York Times Bestselling Author of The Blackstone Affair

  “Sweet and sassy, Tell Me You Love Me will have you grinning ear to ear one second and swooning the next. With a cast chock full of witty women and the hottest firefighters you'll ever read, you're bound to fall in love with this must read romance”

  A.L. Jackson, New York Times Bestselling Author of The Regret Series.

  “Tell Me You Love Me is the perfect cocktail of hot firemen and sassy women. The story sucks you in and keeps you reading until the very last word. Julie Prestsater knows how to get my heart pounding with just the sound of boots striking the pavement.”

  Gretchen de la O, Author of Prototype and The Wilson Mooney Series

  “Tell Me You Love Me is a sexy, sweet fun ride with characters that feel like your closest friends.”

  Renee Carlino, USA Today Bestselling Author of Sweet Thing

  “Julie Prestsater has a way of writing characters that you can relate to with humor and compassion. Her books are page turners that make you not want to put down. Tell Me You Love Me is no exception. Fantastic!”

  M.R. Joseph, Amazon Best Selling Author of The Shore Series

  “I have no doubt the firefighters of Valley Creek Drive will be heating up book clubs around the world and producing some smokin' hot book boyfriend fantasies as this series plays out!”

  Slick Reads, Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews

  DEDICATION

  For my CVD ladies

  If only we were as bold as the women in this book

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lizzy

  “Hurry up. We don’t have all day.” He stands about thirty steps ahead of me with his fists digging into his hips.

  My nostrils flare, my heart beats faster, and it takes everything I have not to tell him to just fuck off. Instead, I think of that one comedy about turning forty when the husband and wife are lying in bed talking about the ways they’ve contemplated murdering each other. Well, I’m far from forty and the thought has crossed my mind. More than once.

  “I’m coming,” I tell him, completely out of breath. Walking the Hill of Death wasn’t really what I had in mind when I woke up this morning. But this man, my husband, had other ideas. He coaxed me awake with a lingering kiss to my lips whispering sweet nothings about getting in a good workout this morning. I had no idea he was talking about hiking. I thought I was going to get a round of hot love making out of him. Or, at the very least, a morning quickie. I guess I wouldn’t classify our sex life as hot or even making love anymore. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Hell, I can’t remember the last time I had sex, hot or otherwise, from this man—it’s been that long.

  When I finally reach him, I get pissed off all over again. He sprinted up this damn mountain, but doesn’t even appear affected. No hitch in his breath. No red in his face. He’s barely broken a sweat, while I’m dripping like I’ve just played four periods in the NBA playoffs.

  “Elizabeth.”

  I hate it when he calls me by my full name. I feel like I’m being scolded.

  “Are we going to do this or what? If you want to lose the weight, you’re going to have to do more than just crawl up this fucking hill. God, I’m out here sweating my ass off trying to support you and you’re not even trying.”

  Sweating his ass off, my ass. If he wants to know what it’s like to sweat his ass off, he should come and stick his hand down my crack.

  Even while he pisses me off, my throat still tightens at his accusations. Taking a deep breath, I try my hardest to fight back the tears surging to my eyelids. I refuse to let him see me cry. I can’t let him know he’s getting to me. It will only make it worse and he’ll think I’m weaker than he already does.

  “Look, I’m trying. I really am. I’m just not in shape like you are, but I will be soon.” I wipe the sweat from my brow and step around him, continuing up the hill to our home.

  The rest of the way, we push up the hill in silence. I dig my feet in, feeling the burn in my thighs and my calves. They are so tight I know I’m going to be sore for days. But it’s worth the pain. He knows I’m really trying and he doesn’t make a peep to tear me down like he did earlier. Thank God.

  Both sides of my conscience battle it out inside of me. One part of me wants to run up to my bedroom and pack my bags as soon as I cross the threshold of our front door. It’s common sense and self-preservation to flee when you’re under constant attack. I know I shouldn’t stick around. This isn’t what I signed up for. The constant sneers and jabs at my weight. But I also know this isn’t what he signed up for either. I’m not who he married. He didn’t wed a size sixteen woman with a flabby ass and a double chin. He married a size six who rocked a bikini with luscious curves in all the right places.

  What I wouldn’t do to see her in the mirror again.

  But then again, I didn’t pledge my love to an idiot advertising executive who cares more about his clients than his own spouse. I didn’t marry a jackass who only wanted me when he needed to parade me around like a damn trophy at business meetings where people looked down on me for being a stay at home wife. Shit, I could be doing the same thing he and his partners are doing. I earned my degree, too, but instead of using it to become a librarian, we decided I should stay home and take care of the kids. The kids that continue to be non-existent. I can’t bring myself to stop taking my pills even though h
e thinks I have. I can’t imagine bringing innocent children into my world right now. It just wouldn’t be right.

  Another part of me wants to do whatever I can to make it work. I keep telling myself that once I lose the weight, everything will get back to normal. He’ll love me again. Cherish me. Make my heart skip a beat like he did in college when I met him our freshman year.

  A chuckle rises from my belly. I should know better. The problems started long before I gained my first pound. Well, shit. Maybe it’s because of the problems that the first pounds came in the first place.

  I’m just about to jump in the shower when he comes into our bathroom. Startled, I drop my towel exposing my soft body to him. His eyes rake over me from head to toe before they meet my eyes. I watch for a reaction as I grab for my towel to cover myself. The look in his eyes says it all. He is horrified by what his wife actually looks like. As I swallow down the bile threatening to rise up my throat, it dawns on me, he’ll never love me the same again.

  All I’ve ever wanted was to be loved, but if this is what true love is...I’m not so sure I want it anymore. It also makes me wonder if any of my memories of our once happy marriage are even real. Maybe I just conjured up the fairy tale in my head because I wanted...no...needed it so much. Who the hell knows?

  “Molly just called to remind you about your book club meeting this afternoon.” He turns away. “I told her you’ve never missed a meeting and I doubt today would be any different.”

  The door shuts behind him before I let a smile creep across my lips. Instantly, the hurt from this morning flees my mind and I feel nothing but giddiness. I have a book club meeting today, and let’s just say it’s not your everyday book club.

  Sure, my husband may never truly love me again...but who needs love when you’re about to get an eyeful of hot firemen?

  * * *

  “I didn’t miss them, did I?” I ask, as soon as I plant my ass on one of the picnic benches next to my girls.

  Molly passes me a water bottle. “No, they aren’t due for another ten minutes so you can relax,” she says, with a wink.

  My throat burns with the unexpected taste of strawberry cream vodka. “Why am I not surprised?” The girls crack up as I take another sip. “Is this straight alcohol?”

  “No,” Rachel says. “She squeezed some fresh lemon juice into it.” She smiles wildly and I glance at her drink noticing her half-empty bottle. “It’s just like lemonade.” She flutters her brows while she shakes her drink at me.

  “Nice.” I lean back into the bench seat and release a long breath of air. I take a long pull of my strawberry lemonade concoction, feeling somewhat guilty because it’s not even noon yet.

  “One of those kinds of mornings, huh, Liz?” Rose always catches on when I’m having a bad day. She’s still nursing wounds from a breakup that happened a year ago. She was with her ex, Jason, for two years before he called it quits just before their wedding day. She needed to get away from her small hometown where everyone knew her as the jilted bride, so she came to sunny Southern California and hasn’t been back since. She may be over a thousand miles away from her family, but I like to think our neighborhood of tight-knit friends makes up for it...if only just a bit.

  “You could say that.” I don’t mention the details. I don’t have to tell them my husband is being a jerk again. They know how he is. They’ve seen it. The last time we had a neighborhood barbecue, I had to stop Molly from punching him in the face when he took my dessert plate out of my hand and replaced it with a piece of watermelon. I thought I was going to die of embarrassment. I did my best to laugh it off, but my girls didn’t let it go. They wanted him hung from his balls for that stunt. It wasn’t the first time and probably won’t be the last.

  My ears perk up at the sound of husky male voices and the slap of boots on the pavement. It always happens like this. Because we’re on such a steep slope, we can always hear them before we see them.

  Molly sits up a little straighter, a wide smile plastered across her face. Her dimples dig deep into her cheeks and she glows like it’s Santa about to slide down the chimney with a sack full of toys. But this...this is so much better. On second thought, Molly’s wild imagination probably has one of the hotties parading up the hill right now sliding down her own personal chimney sooner than later.

  “Ready, girls?” she asks. As if she needs to. We’ve been doing this for the last year. Our book club meetings consist of gawking at the guys from the local fire station. It started out that way, anyway. We all moved into the new housing community at the same time. My husband, Jace, and I live two houses down from Molly, who is the oldest of the group at forty. Flirty and forty, as she puts it. Poor thing was widowed when her husband was killed in action in the Middle East. While she’s the life of the party most times, I know she still hurts inside. She keeps herself busy teaching classes at the local university.

  Rachel, a kindergarten teacher, lives with her brother and his family at the top of our development. We’re the same age, but somehow she seems a lot younger than twenty-six. Maybe it’s just Jace who makes me feel like I’ve lived a hundred years.

  And Rose...she’s the baby of the group. She lives alone in a nice condo at the bottom of our community. She might be the youngest, but I admire her the most. She’s Miss Independent, doing her own thing and she doesn’t have to answer to anyone. Not coming from the best of backgrounds, she’s worked hard to make a stable life for herself and boy is she out to prove she can make it on her own. She’s doing a damn good job of it running a well-respected after-school mentor program for at-risk teens.

  We all hit it off at a meet-n-greet the builder put together before getting the keys to our new houses. We clicked immediately when we discovered we’re all in the education field. We also bonded over sexy romance novels, over Ethan Blackstone and the knowledge that no other man in the world could make smoking cigarettes sexy. And only a British man of the Gandy Candy variety could make you cum in your panties without even touching you, murmuring a string of words like, “I love your cunt, baby.” I still have to fan myself when I think of Lady Raine’s tales.

  Then came the never-ending lists of book boyfriends, glasses of wine, and the vow to be lifelong friends. That vow of friendship was further ingrained in our minds when Rose discovered “the lookout” on a run one weekend morning.

  So for the last year, barring any natural disaster or national emergency, the girls of Valley Creek Drive have been meeting at The Lookout for our official Fire Me Up book club meetings. Molly came up with that name because, of course, these “hot pieces of firefighter man meat” fire us up. We can’t argue with her there.

  The Fire Me Up book club meets mostly on a Saturday or Sunday, but sometimes Fridays. While we’ve never come out and said it, we’ve completely planned our dates around the guys’ workout schedule. I laugh at the thought. If my asshole husband only knew what I’ve been doing, he’d “shit twice and die” as Molly Ringwald once put it.

  “Ladies, I now call to order the book club meeting of the hottest chicks on the hill,” Justin calls out, as he comes into view. All six foot four inches of him—nothing but sweaty, glistening hard muscles filling out his gray uniform shirt. I love it when they wear the T-shirts. Don’t get me wrong, the full armor of the yellow jacket is hot as hell, but nothing brings out the definition of his body quite like a clingy tee.

  “Hey, boys.” Molly is the first to say something. She always is. It’s been a year. You’d think Rachel, Rose, and I would be able to keep our tongues in our mouths and actually speak a coherent thought, but it takes a while for the novelty of these gorgeous firemen to wear off, if at all.

  “Lovely to see you again, Molls.” Justin drops his oxygen tank next to her and leans down to kiss her on the cheek. His thick black hair comes forward and brushes against the side of her face. She reaches out and presses her hand to his hard chest as he does. Damn, that woman has elephant-sized balls. Some might call Molly a cougar, and with Justin around,
that’s a title I’d gladly take. But Molly doesn’t bite. She’s adamant about keeping our friendships with the guys just that, friendships. Not to mention, she thinks she’s just plain too old for him.

  I say who the hell cares how old he is. The guy is so hot he should come with a warning label. His light brown almond-shaped eyes are courtesy of his Korean mother. His dad is from the south, and Justin sure does give off that southern gentlemen vibe. He’s sweet as a Georgia peach and if I were Molly, I’d sure as hell partake in the steady flow of his juices. Staring at him, I sigh, and in my mind, I’m wiping the hypothetical drool from my mouth.

  “Air packs today?” Rachel says, using the firefighter terminology they’ve taught us. “You guys must be ready for a drink.” Twice a month, the firehouse conducts their PT by sending the guys on hikes up the Hill of Death. Our community sits on a steep hill and the firehouse is at the bottom. The girls and I, except for Rose, live at the top. Halfway up is The Lookout—a small picnic area where the ladies and I congregate to get our fill of hot guys.

  And partake in serious book discussions, of course. Cough.

  In the beginning, I swear we were like teenage girls. The guys would hike on by with a quick wave in our direction as we sat still and giggled like crazy when they were finally out of earshot. As time went on, Molly started packing a cooler filled with snacks and water. One day, she offered Justin a drink and all is history. Now, we’re all good friends. Well, we have an understanding. We bring them water and they let us stare at the fine specimens of man that they are.

  “Yeah, we almost had to go full gear, but it’s too hot out here, so we dumped the jackets and hoses.” He downs his water as Rachel starts passing out bottles to give to the others. It’s barely spring and you’d think it was summer it’s so hot out, but Southern California can be a bitch sometimes. We never know what the hell we’re going to get in the weather department. One day it’s a scorcher, the next it’s drizzling with a chill.