Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(24)

I lick my dry lips and clear my throat. “How much easier will it even be to get a job in a club?” I ask Camila. Those have to be hard to come by too.

Camila perks up now that I’m entertaining her idea. She points at John and waves her finger like ohh ohhh. “John, you must know someone who’s hiring.”

“No more than you.” He slouches further and spins a peppershaker.

“Hey.” She snaps her fingers. “Thora needs help, and you know everyone at The Masquerade, Bellagio, and Cosmopolitan.”

My eyes grow big. “Really?” I figured out that John likes to listen to himself talk. But I didn’t realize that he was Mr. Popular. At the blackjack table, those frat types never showed up, but a group of elderly women did, and they bantered back and forth with him for a solid two hours. Even sullen and surly, he’s somehow incredibly endearing.

“No,” John snaps, like his cousin is lying. “That’s a complete gross exaggeration, Camila.”

She gives him a look and shifts her gaze to me. “He’s a social butterfly and refuses to acknowledge it.”

“I’m not a fucking butterfly,” he says under his breath. Louder, he snaps, “I hate everyone. Sure, I have people’s numbers, but only because they hang around and talk and talk and won’t shut up. I’m not a cardboard cutout that says: please dump your life story on me. But people fucking do it anyway.”

“Now you’re exaggerating,” Camila retorts. “Your pessimistic, cynical-self talks more than everyone else. And you like when people listen to you complain.” She points at him again. “The point is that you must know someone looking to hire a female acrobat.”

He shakes his head vehemently for maybe a full minute before he says, “Yeah, probably.”

Camila throws her hands in the air like she just ran through the finish line of a 5k. “So you’ll help, Thora?”

I realize now that my stomach has been coiling. If he’s willing to help me, I’ll stay. The thought hits me at once. It’s another bout of hope, something that makes this decision a bit easier. Not by much. But I’ll take anything.

The table vibrates.

Any news? – Shay

I ignore that text too.

When I look up, John is scrutinizing me and the phone. He takes pity on me, sighing into a full-on groan. “Fine,” he says, “I’ll make a couple calls.”

My body swells, and my eyes burn with tears. “Really?”

“Please don’t cry,” he grimaces.

I smile instead. “Thank you…so much.”

“You can stay here until you find a place,” Camila tells me with a wink.

Maybe I am lucky after all.

I pick up my phone as it buzzes once more.

Sis, did you make it? – Tanner

I can’t fathom opening these floodgates of disapproval. If I tell Tanner, he’ll tell my parents. Lying to them hurts less. I’ve never done it before, but I just want to be the kind of daughter they’re proud of. Not the one they cringe about when someone brings me up. Is your daughter in college?

No, she dropped out.

I don’t want to saddle them with judgment from their peers.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” John asks me seriously. He must see me hesitating, staring at the phone like it holds my future. “Once I make the call and get you in, I don’t want you to flake. Last thing I need is to owe some asshole club manager a favor.”

I let my heart guide me.

“I’m sure,” I tell him.

I’m all in.

I text my brother. Yeah. I landed the role.





Act Eight



Only a week into my job and the manager of Phantom has already badgered me twice about amplifying my sex appeal on the aerial hoop, dangling from the ceiling.

My act, apparently, is too tame for the Vegas nightclub. But if I shake my ass anymore, I might as well walk down the strip to a triple X joint. Honestly, they probably pay better.

I knot the straps around my long knee-length coat, hiding my costume: a black corset, matching underwear, and fishnet stockings. I wobble in my five-inch silver stilettos as I depart from the club. I try to comb my fingers through my tangled dirty-blonde hair that poofs around my oval face.

Last time I tried to hang from the hoop, my hair in a bun, the manager cursed me out and called me Virgin Mary. Unfortunately the nickname has stuck around the workplace. But I’d rather not be fired in my first week, especially since John stuck his neck out to help me.

The upside: I’m in the air ninety-nine percent of the time at Phantom. And one of the girls gave me the address of a gym with circus apparatuses. I’ve signed up for a couple classes. Maybe I can strengthen my skills while I’m here.

And a plus has been the location. Right in the heart of The Masquerade. I only have an elevator ride down to The Red Death, where I plan to meet up with Camila and drink to surviving my very first week in Vegas.

Just as I exit the elevator, my phone rings. I read the caller ID: SHAY.

I’ve been screening his calls more than usual this week. I shelter my anxiety and slip into the nearest hallway bathroom, pressing the phone to my ear. “What’s up?” My eyes flit to a couple girls who fix their makeup by the mirror.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says. “I get why you’re lying to your parents because they’d flip their shit. But you’ve already told me the truth, so what the hell, Thora?” I hear the sound of a bouncy ball being tossed at a wall.