Hidden in the Stars (Falling Stars #2) Read Online Free Page A

It was also easy to find a high school age girl in my building to sleep at my apartment with Lucas.
    After waitressing for a little over a year, a co-worker, Anna, mentioned an opening at Lux Hedonica. Not fully understanding what burlesque and cabaret was at the time, I figured it was another strip club. I tagged along one afternoon when she applied and watched the girls practicing on stage. At that moment, I fell in love with the costumes, songs, and dancing. I inquired about being on stage and was referred to Thom, the owner. After singing and being shown a few dance moves to repeat, I was hired as a backup. So, I would waitress at the strip club and during the afternoons, rehearse with the dancers at Lux. When one of the girls quit, I got to take her spot. For six years, I've been an active entertainer at Lux.
    "Yeah, yeah, yeah, that's what you always say." She gives me a knowing smile. "How are things with Kelvin?" She leans forward, placing her elbows on the counter.
    "He's eighteen. How do you think they are going?" I snort, and take another drink from my glass.
    My brother, Kelvin, came to live with me four years ago after my mother and father were killed in a car accident. Aunt Charlene tried to convince him to stay with her, but after his second attempt to run away to California, she let him have his way.
    Lucas and I welcomed Kel with open arms, but I was definitely afraid of having a five-year-old and fourteen-year-old boy under my care. It's not like I made a bunch of money. Thankfully, my social worker found this two bedroom apartment, available to the housing authority, and was also able to help with assistance.
    "So, he's still adamant about going to work full-time instead of college?" Sid asks with a sigh.
    "Unfortunately. He thinks he needs to 'earn his keep' around here." I shake my head. "I wish he would take the tuition assistance we can get and go to college. He's too smart to get stuck washing dishes and bussing tables." I drain the last of my wine and place the empty glass on the counter.
    "Time to finish the laundry?" Sid's lip curls in disgust.
    "Yep." I nod.
    "I hate the creepy basement laundry room." She shivers, emphasizing her statement.
    "It's better than the laundromats around here." I raise my brow.
    "Good point." She grabs the basket of clothes and walks toward the door. "Cross your fingers that Mick the Dick isn't down there," she calls over her shoulder, reaching for the doorknob and peeking out.
    Laughing at the nickname she's given my creepy, perverted, but harmless neighbor, I exit the apartment with laundry soap and dryer sheets in hand.
    "Though, he is the only guy who's hit on me the entire time I've been here," Sid mumbles.
    "Stop it," I say, cutting off the conversation before she can even get started.
    Sid may be bold and outspoken, but she holds an underlying insecurity: her weight. Being five-foot-four and roughly one hundred and seventy-five pounds—not that she would ever tell me her exact weight—she considered herself short and fat. Fact is, Sid's a curvy girl. But what she fails to see are the way men and women both eye her curves. Her rounded hips and butt draw almost as much attention as her double D chest. At least fifteen pounds alone was due to her cup size. She is a short, old school Hollywood starlet reincarnated as a computer and graphic art nerd.
    "What? It's true. Your creepy neighbor is the only one who has hit on me," she snorts. "With you around, I can't get any attention."
    "Didn't I tell you to stop?" I shove the laundry soap into the middle of her back.
    "Ow, that hurt. I could've fallen down the steps." She sticks her bottom lip out.
    "We aren't even to the stairs yet, drama queen," I laugh.
    "Close enough." She shrugs, raising her chin.
    We reach the stairs and descend to the laundry room level. As if we're on a spying mission, Sid tiptoes into the room, practically pressing her back against the wall.
    "It's clear," she shouts, dropping the basket in