Dance With Me (With Me in Seattle #12)(6)

Jax takes my hand and spins me to him, then lifts me and sets me down again. God, the music feels amazing.

I’ve missed this. Dancing for the fun of it. For the love of it.

The song finishes, but we continue through two more.

When the final song ends, I’m panting, my hands planted on my hips.

“I’ve only been out of the game for two weeks.”

“That’ll do it,” he says, passing me a towel to wipe the sweat off my face. “You’ll get it back quickly.”

“I hope so.” I sigh and immediately start to stretch. I don’t want to cramp up. “But it’s okay if I’m not tour-ready for a while.”

“I agree. I’m glad you’re taking some time off.”

I nod, but I don’t know that I’d call what I feel glad. There’s relief there, for sure. Always mixed with some guilt.

Jax gathers his things and kisses my forehead. “I have to get to class. Do you need anything, little girl?”

I grin. He’s called me little girl for years. “No, I’m good.”

“I’ll call you later.”

He waves, and then he’s gone. I start to march up the stairs to take a shower, but the doorbell rings.

“Did you forget something?” I call out with a smile and jog over to the door, opening it without looking through the peephole.

Only it’s not Jax on the other side.

It’s Levi.

Levi from that night several months ago. The best sex of my life, Levi.

What the hell is he doing here?

“Hello, Starla.”

“Well, shit.”





Levi

“This is heavy as fuck,” I grunt as I help my brother Wyatt push a wrought iron bench across the concrete of his pool area. “Why did you pick out the heaviest stuff they had?”

“I didn’t pick it out,” he says. “My gorgeous wife did.”

“Figures.” Wyatt motions for me to stop. I stand and prop my hands on my hips, surveying the area. Despite the size and sheer weight of the new pool furniture, I have to concede that it looks nice. “Where are the cushions?”

“Back here.”

I follow him around the side of the house where the cushions are stacked and waiting to be placed. By the time we haul them and get them set up, we’re both panting.

“Even the cushions are heavy,” Wyatt says with a laugh. “The store offered to deliver and set up, but it’s just patio furniture. How hard can it be?”

“Hard enough to pay the store to do the work.” I shake my head and wipe my brow with the handkerchief I keep in my back pocket. “You owe me a beer.”

“I can pay that debt.”

I follow him into the house and sit at the kitchen island. Wyatt grabs two bottles of beer from his beverage fridge, pops the tops, and passes me one.

“Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome.” I take a pull on the beer. It’s cold and refreshing on my dry throat, so I take another drink. “Where is Lia?”

“She’s in L.A. for a couple of days, going over marketing plans for her new makeup line.”

“Good for her.” I’m proud of my new sister-in-law. What started as a hobby—showing women how to apply their makeup on YouTube—has grown into millions of fans and a seven-figure makeup deal. Lia’s living her dream.

“It launches just before Christmas.”

“Excellent timing. Not that I know how the retail world works, but Christmas has to be a good time.”

“Agreed.” Wyatt smiles and drinks his beer. “How have you been?”

Exhausted.

“Busy,” I say instead. “It seems the good people of Seattle enjoy ripping each other off.”

I am a detective in the property crimes division of the Seattle Police Department.

The shit I see on a daily basis would make anyone lose their faith in humanity.

“Job security, right?”

“I suppose.”

“You don’t love this new job.”

I sigh and shrug a shoulder. I transferred to this division about two years ago. “There’s an opening in homicide. I’m thinking of throwing my hat in for it.”

“Homicide.” My brother raises a brow. “You’ll be all gray by the end of the year.”

“Funny.” I stand and pace his kitchen, thinking it over. “I think I need a new challenge. I’ve been interested in homicide for a long time.”

“Well, I hope you get it, then.” His eyes tell me there’s something more.

“But?”

“You already live and breathe the job,” he reminds me. “Homicide would be more.”

“Depends on how many people turn up dead.”

“You know what I mean.”

I stand with my back to him, looking out his front windows toward the house across the street. The house Lia lived in when Wyatt met her.

There’s a car parked out front, making me frown. “I thought that house was empty?”

“It usually is,” he confirms. “But Natalie Williams is letting Starla stay there for a few months.”

My gaze whips to my brother’s, and he cringes.