Tell Me You Want Me: Fire Me Up, #2

By Julie Prestsater

Leap, Rachel. Leap. Just breathe and enjoy the moment.

- - - 

Owen is a heart-breaker. A wham-bam-you-can't-stay-till-the-morning kind of guy. The forever man-whore. There was a time when you could say I was the female equivalent, but not now, not after witnessing Liz finally getting her happily ever after. Seeing Ryan and Liz together over the last several months makes me believe I can have that someday. Makes me want it. Crave it. Need it.

But I'm not so stupid and drunk on the thought of love to think it could happen with Owen. The guy is incapable of seeing anything past the first date. In fact, if I go out with him tonight, I can almost guarantee it will never happen again.
Hmm.

Now that I think of it. Maybe scratching that itch isn't such a bad idea after all. It's not like I don't know what I'm signing myself up for. One night. That's all it will be. Then I can find the man who will give me my happily ever after.

- - - 

Tell Me You Want Me is the second in a four-book series called Fire Me Up—a sweet romantic comedy series about a group of sassy neighborhood women who have a serious love for steamy romance novels and sexy firemen. Lucky for them the local firehouse is just a few steps away and is in no shortage of hot firefighters to fill their wild imaginations.

The Fire Me Up Series continues with two crossover romantic comedy novellas as these characters meet those in Melanie Shawn's Hope Falls world. You don't want to miss Hearts Afire and Love Remains.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julie Prestsater
• Release date: Mar 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393907534

Julie Prestsater

Julie Prestsater is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who writes both adult and young adult romantic comedies. Julie is a high school educator by day, and a writer by night. When she's not writing, she can be found out and about with her family, reading, and watching football. As a reading intervention specialist, she prides herself on matching her students with great books to encourage them to become life-long readers. The Double Threat Series So I'm a Double Threat, #1 Double Threat My Bleep, #2 Double Time, #3 Double Threats Forever, #4 The Double Threat Box Set Before Someday- Part One: The Wait, #5 Before Someday- Part Two: The Moment, #6 Before Someday- Part Three: The Hold, #7 Before Someday- Part Four: The Forever, #8 Before Someday- Alex Tells All, #9 The One for Me- Ben's Story (coming someday in the future) Losing It: A Collection of V-Cards The Against The Wall Series Against The Wall, #1 Between The Sheets, #2 Straddling The Edge, #3 Playing Chase, #4 Against The Wall: The Complete Series The Fire Me Up Series Tell Me You Love Me, #1 Tell Me You Want Me, #2 Hearts Afire. #1 (Fire Me Up-Hope Falls crossover) Love Remains, #2 (Fire Me Up-Hope Falls crossover) Tell Me You Need Me, #3 (Coming later on) Tell Me It's Forever, #4 (Coming down the road) Standalone Titles Without You More Than a Friend Request You Act So White Visit Julie on Twitter (@juliepbooks), Facebook.com/juliepbooks (search for Double Threat Novels or Julie Prestsater --send her a friend request), and check out her website (juliepbooks.com).

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Copyright © 2020 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 book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book 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 CookieLynn Publishing Services

Cover Design by Sommer Stein with Perfect Pear Creative Covers

Cover Photo: © Irstone | Dreamstime.com

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

Dedication

For all the amazing firefighters in Lake Elsinore, California who saved the Hill of Death and kept my old neighborhood safe. Thank you a million times and more.

Chapter One

RACHEL

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I can’t believe you had me pick you up ten minutes away from your house, Owen says after we transfer a few things from my car to his truck.

I click my seat belt into place. "One: my nosy neighbors would spot your Autobot, oversized truck in a second. Two: if we met there, I’d run the risk of one of them seeing me parked on the street. And three: I couldn’t walk up there with all this shit."

"You might have meant the Transformer comment to be a dig, he says, but I take it as a compliment."

A lopsided grin plays on his lips and before I can stop myself, I imagine a million and one ways to kiss it off of him. Lick it off. Bite. Maybe all three.

And speaking of all this shit, what the hell? he says, glancing back at the two tubs I had him place in the backseat.

"And... I continue, you asked me for help, so don’t question the way I do things."

He turns his head my way, flashing that grin again. My brain turns into dizzy swirls of lust. If I were one of those little stickers on Facebook, little hearts would be dancing above my dopey face.

Point taken, he says, focusing on the road again. I bet your classroom is all organized, plastic totes labeled from floor to ceiling.

You might have meant that to be a dig, but I take that as a compliment.

Touché.

If he only knew. My classroom is immaculate, organization straight out of an Ikea catalog. But I won’t be sharing that detail with Owen.

We ride up the steepest road in the neighborhood in silence. The Hill of Death is a good stretch, so every so often, I steal a glance in his direction, admiring the sheer beauty of this man. The girls call him a meathead because he’s this big, hunky guy, but I think there’s so much more to him. Don’t get me wrong. Do I love drooling over his muscles? Yes. Absolutely. But I also love looking into his sparkling blue eyes and mentally fanning myself every time he winks at me. The only bad thing is, he winks at all the girls. Too bad he doesn’t do something just for me.

As we pass my street, I’m grateful I don’t see Liz on the road. Surprises are exciting; it’s the planning that’s a total stress machine. I keep thinking our cover will be blown. The Neighborhood Watch is more like TMZ. Everyone’s more interested in being the first to scoop some juicy gossip rather than being a vigilante crime fighter.

Now that I’ve made it past the block paparazzi, we have four hours to get everything ready and wait.

How did Ryan find this place? I ask as Owen parks along a road at the very top of our community. Our street used to be the last on the hill until the builder decided to buy more land and add more homes. These are bigger and a lot more expensive. Not that I wouldn’t mind living in one.

On my own.

I went straight from my mom’s house to the college dorms, and now I live with my brother and his family. I can’t imagine what it would be like to live alone. Then again, if I was going to get a house like these four-thousand-square-foot beasts, I’d imagine it would be to settle down and have a family. A husband. Two kids. A dog. Maybe a cat. Let’s not forget that white picket fence.

When I reach for the handle, I’m surprised to see Owen already on my side of the truck. He swings the passenger door open and holds out a hand. I stare at the ropes of muscles in his arms that don’t even have to be flexed. It takes me a second to focus, but I accept his offer for help.

It’s a long way down, he says. You’ll get used to jumping out of this thing.

Get used to it?

I wonder if he needs my help with anything else I don’t know about.

My feet hit the ground with a thud. Placing a hand on my hip, I stare at him, questioningly. Really? How many more friends do you have who need help with a marriage proposal?

He chuckles, holding his hands in the air in surrender. Oh, only one, Rach. The rest of us aren’t ready for our funerals.

A wedding is not a funeral. I give him a quick punch in the arm before he can move out of the way.

Ouch, he says, rubbing his arm like a baby. "A wedding is like a funeral. It can be considered the death of your freedom, the death of your bachelorhood, the death of sitting on the pot without someone walking in to talk about a fucking grocery list."

You guys seriously watch too many movies on your down time at the station.

Why do you have your panties in a bunch? It’s not like you’re ready to walk down the aisle of death either.

Why would you say that?

Honey, you’ve gone on more dates than one of Heidi Fleiss’s girls.

I gasp, and he winces.

Sorry. Bad analogy.

Without thinking, I go to punch this big-mouth in the arm again, but this time he catches my wrist in his hand. I glance up at him, his body towering over me as he steps into my space. I can feel his heat all the way to my core.

The hair stands up on the back of my neck, electricity sparks all over my skin, sending tingling feelings straight toward the motherland where my thighs meet.

I have to shake my head to clear the lust-induced fog. 

You just called me a... high-priced hooker. My voice trembles as I get lost in his eyes. The hold he has on me could set off fire alarms in the whole city.

Like I said, bad analogy. I’d never set out to intentionally hurt you, Rachel.

Oh, I’m not hurt, Owen. It would take a lot more to hurt me than jabbing at my dating habits. You have me feeling all sorts of emotions but hurt isn’t one of them.

He’s the first to look away when he releases my hand and steps back. We better get going or it won’t be ready in time.

Thankful for the change in subject, I watch him as he retrieves the two plastic totes and locks his truck. I try to take one from him, but he shrugs me off. He starts making his way to the trail, and I follow, admiring the way his tight ass flexes with each stride in front of me.

When I catch up, I can’t help but break the silence. Ryan is going to propose to Liz. It’s almost unbelievable. The thought gives me my own set of butterflies. I can only imagine how she’s going to feel when the man she loves drops down on one knee and pops the question.

Why can’t you believe it? I’ve never seen two people more in love. They’re perfect for each other.

It warms my heart to hear him talk about our friends being in love. Yeah, they are.

About a mile from the street, we finally reach the clearing Ryan described to Owen. It’s gorgeous. I turn around, taking in the sights as I scan from the ground to the tops of the trees. Sunlight peeks in through the branches and leaves, creating a kaleidoscope effect on the ground. The light catches beautifully on the patches of grass, little pebbles, and a big rock that looks like a perfect place for picnics.

This is incredible. I can’t take my eyes off the scenery, already picturing what we’re going to do with all the décor I brought. Liz is going to flip her shit when she sees this.

They come here all the time, Owen says. "This is their spot." He fakes putting his finger down his throat, as if to gag.

Stop being such a guy and let’s get started. I pretend I don’t notice the hint of a smile playing on his lips as I step around him and attack the bins he set down as soon as we got here.

I pop the lids off and take a look inside. Then, I do a once over of the area, just to make sure I have everything I need.

Did Ryan really think you were going to handle this on your own? I mean, really? Why didn’t he just call one of the girls? Why in the world would he leave this big lug in charge of getting everything ready for his proposal?

Owen scratches the back of his head. Hell no. He knew I’d call you for help. He didn’t want to ask Molly because she can’t keep a secret for shit, and Justin had some work to do this morning, so it looks like it’s just you and me. We can handle it.

Finally, we agree on something.

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OWEN

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Damn this woman. She’s going to kill me if she keeps bending over. This is the third time she’s laid it all out as she digs into her plastic totes to shuffle stuff around, and each time she does, her sweet ass just begs to be touched. I want to dig my hands into her hips and pull her against my body. I have this unwavering need to know what it feels like to touch her, really touch her.  

Let’s start with these. She holds up strands of lights.

Fuck. I hope she didn’t catch on that I’m checking her out. She’s naturally beautiful. If she wears any make up at all, I’d be surprised. Her honey-blonde hair usually falls past her shoulders in waves, but it’s pulled up right now, with small strands hanging down and framing her face. I’m guessing she’s about five-six, lean as can be, but not too thin. She looks soft in all the places I’d want to touch her, but there’s no doubt she hits the gym. Her arms and legs have some definition. I haven’t figured out the color of her eyes. I haven’t been close enough. Yet.

Stop, Owen. She’ll notice if you gawk any longer. And that wouldn’t be a good thing.

Apparently, she’s kind of interested in me. Maybe? Hell, I don’t know. The guys have mentioned it a few times, but I try not to pay attention. I’m six years older than this woman. I’m in my thirties for Christ’s sake. She’s still in her twenties, playing the field and living up the single life. She’s not ready to settle down with this old dude. Not that I’m ready to settle down either. I’ve tried that already... three times, and that shit doesn’t work.

Although, as shitty as my relationship history has been, I’d consider going down that road again, with the right woman. But with this one... no. She’d chew me up and spit me out, just like she has with all the others. Been there. Done that. Not interested.

Hello! Earth to Owen, Rachel calls out. I can’t hang these on my own.

Right. Gotcha. I take the strands of solar twinkle lights from her and pretend I haven’t been staring at her ass.

Together, we hang the lights from low branches circling the parameter of the clearing. I stand on the rocks and place them in a secure spot while she feeds me more line. When it gets dark out, this spot is going to look even more beautiful than it does during the day. Ryan has a solid plan.

When we’re done with the lights, Rachel tosses me white paper balls in various sizes that she calls Chinese Lanterns. She instructs me to hang them on the branches, too, with at least one of the little solar lights inside.

This is the hardest part—to get the lanterns exactly where she wants them without falling on my face. I’ve never been one to have excellent balancing skills, especially with her nagging me and making me relocate several of the odd paper lamps.

Seriously, what’s the difference between where I just had it and the two inches you just had me move it to? It might not have even been two inches.

There’s a huge difference, she says. Every inch counts. Before she can take it back, she starts laughing.

That’s what she said, we both say together with a long chuckle.

Okay, back to work, she tells me. We’re running out of time. The lights took longer than I expected.

What’s next? I ask.

Flowers.

I look around. We’re in the wilderness. There are already flowers here. Not many since it’s winter, but I see a few buds.

Oh, stop it, she says, somehow knowing what’s going through my mind. Those little weeds don’t count.

She hands me two bags of rose petals. One has white petals, the other has pink. No red? I ask.

Nope. Liz isn’t a fan of red roses. They remind her of blood. I don’t know why, it’s just this weird thing.

Weird is right, I say, digging my hand in the bag and tossing a bunch of petals.

What the hell are you doing? Rachel shouts, and the bag jolts from my hand. She snatches the fallen sack off the ground, shaking her head. Must I teach you how to do everything? She laughs. Grab a handful. She holds out the bag and I dig in. Now, don’t just throw them like you’re tossing out the first pitch at a major league baseball game. She cups her hand under mine. And now I know what’s it’s like to feel her, her soft touch against my rough skin.

Son of a bitch.

It’s not enough.

I want more.

You have to let them drop from your fluttering fingertips as you spread them around.

She pulls my hand from side to side, the petals falling from my grasp. Each one wisps away gently as they scatter rather than landing in clumps like before.

Good job. Keep doing that. She releases my hand and digs into her own bag. Instantly,