Eyes fixed to the television, Aaron and I are literally on the edge of our seats as the trademark silhouette of a music scroll and a singer flashes behind the glittering words Original Star. Generic rock music whips over the credits and the crowd goes wild as pop sensation Skylar Finch blows kisses from the stage, her auburn locks and creamy skin shining like a Hollywood siren. She's escorted arm-in-arm by legendary American rocker Hudson Wilmer, lead singer and guitarist of Waters Edge, and pretty boy singer Zach Mason.

The three judges glide down the stairs to the judging table. Zach springs into the right chair and spins around to the front row of screaming girls, grins cheekily and spins back toward the stage. Sandy hair sweeps into his baby blue eyes, as if to give him a reason to sweep it away again. The girls in the front row are bordering on hysterics.

Hudson sits on the other end. His tattoos, piercings, eyeliner, and gritty hair—which is chin length on the right and buzz-cut on the left—look out of place beside the glam couple beside him. And the way he smiles, he might be having regrets about signing on for the show.

Aaron shakes his head. Okay, Hudson is cool, but I seriously question if I can be in a competition with that Zach kid as a judge.

I smile. Dont worry, theres a fair chance you wont be.

He sends me a dark look, then frowns at the screen. Is that Zach kid even a celebrity?

Unfortunately, yes. In Australia, anyway.

Aaron grunts, takes a swig of beer and a bite of pizza, while I curl up at the other end of the sofa, settling in for another two hours of suspenseful torture. As Dan Groen appears center stage excitement buzzes through me. I am finally about to see the bands and singers who have made it into the final twenty-four. But Dan rambles on with the introductions, the voting system, then announces a surprise performance at the end of the show by the entrant who polled at number one.

Damn. That surprise performance must have been pre-rehearsed at the studio, which means that band number one already knows theyre in prime position. And its not us.

Aaron and I share a downtrodden look.

Thats one less spot, then, I say, shrugging.

Aaron grunts again.

I smile to myself, realizing that Im probably going to be hearing a lot more grunts tonight. But that doesnt mean that every time Dan speaks Im not eager to hear the verdict. Any moment now

Cut to an ad-break, one that goes for a full five minutes! Aaron and I both groan, but we stare at the advertisements, waiting in hope.

In the hours since I left work we have been glued to Aarons laptop, watching our position shift upwards to number twenty-five. One position higher and we would be in the final twenty-four. It was almost enough to make me forget the Nathaniel incident, which Ive still refused to discuss. At five pm the polling vanished from the screen. Aaron looked as if he was about to have heart failure as he leapt from the chair and yelled at the laptop, Come on! This was followed by a string of expletives that were pretty creative when combined in that particular order. Id sat at the kitchen table, watching his impassioned plea for the voting malfunction to fix itself. It was only when Id burst out laughing that he seemed to realize what he was doing, turned, and broke out into a sheepish grin. Voting continued for another two hours in top secret mode, and Im pretty sure that Aaron has been pulling his hair out ever since.

Its now 7:40pm and the show is back. Me? Im bouncing on the edge of the sofa as the first demo plays on the screen. Okay, so the first and last spots are gone. Only twenty-two to go

Agh!

Three more demos and another ad-break and Im hardly bouncing at all. Nine more demos of exceptionally good bands and soloists, along with three more ad-breaks, and Ive stopped bouncing altogether.

Arms wrap around me and Im pulled backwards, falling into a wedge between the sofa and Agent Randalls hard body. I fit perfectly beside him. Then I remember the deal—the waiting. I think of Nathaniel. I push myself up.

Eve, stay, please, he murmurs behind me.

Fine. I nestle back into his waiting arm, which snakes down my waist. He rubs his stubbly chin against the top of my head, giving me a reminder of who Im leaning on, but I cant afford to be too comfortable. What happened to the no contact agreement?

Im preparing myself.

I shift onto my side so I can see him properly. For what?

He brushes a kiss down my cheek, making me sigh in an embarrassingly happy way. For when we lose. I seem to recall you were looking forward to the idea. Changed your mind? He smiles, knowing damn well that I havent, because my mouth is following his, even as he backs away.

I think Ill be sitting up now, I mumble, grappling for the back of the sofa and jumping into my corner. He shakes his head, and I know its not the bank ad he finds entertaining.

Original Star returns. Relief. Another seven demos later—some good, some average—and Im slouched in my seat, my legs dangling over Aarons and onto the coffee table. Hes grunted countless times at the results and, truth be told, I can barely look at him. He wants this competition so badly. Im nervous for him as well as for me. Although, come to think of it, he does seem rather fond of losing now that hes started his innocent seduction tactics a few minutes ago.

Alright, Australia, its time to reveal the top three spots, Dan calls to the audience. As the crowd shouts out a jumble of names, Dan smiles into the camera. Who do you think it will be?

Probably not us, Aaron mumbles to himself.

We share a Well, we gave it a go, look and shrug.

I did warn you I was jinxed, I say.

Youre right. I should have listened. He rolls his eyes.

Told you.

A hush falls between us as Dan opens the card of parchment for the top three finalists. His eyes light up at what he sees. Unfortunately, Dan never reads the card aloud, because he says, We will reveal all after the next ad-break, folks! Stay tuned!

The audience groan, Aaron grunts, and I sigh.

Its official. I hate ad-breaks!

Hey, Eve? Aaron says.

Yeah? I say tiredly, staring at the screen.

Maybe we were meant to make it on our own. You know, find a record label that fits us. Now that I think about it, we have rushed into this music thing pretty fast.

Ha, I say, half-smirking. Youre worried about rushing the music?! In less than a week weve had a fling thats already been and gone!

About that. Ive come to realize that losing the final twenty-four might not be such a bad thing.

And why is that?

No more waiting.

I keep my eyes glued to the television. Hes said the very thing Ive wanted to hear, but now its like there is no turning back. I should be strong. The waiting plan is solid, reasonable, considering the amount of time weve known each other. Im close to confessing, I want you. But Im scared. This could turn out horribly.

How do I say that?

His large feet uncross, rub together, and re-cross on the coffee table. My eyes dart across to him and back to the television, but I can still picture all of him, still relaxed across the sofa, except for his mouth which has formed a hard line.

Oh. Hes waiting for my response.

I I cant speak.

Dan Groens smile beams across the screen. Hes outside, walking down a city street, his voice slightly puffed as he says, Get ready, folks. We are about to spring an unsuspecting visit on our top three act. Who will it be, nobody knows? Except me. He points secretly at the camera, then to the next street corner.

The sofa dips and Aaron sits beside me. He leans forward, intrigued by the revelation that the Original Star host might come knocking at our door. A camera is following Dan down a street. The host turns into a driveway with a picket fence and a weed infested garden. Its not ours.

I slump back against the sofa, while Aaron remains hunched forward, rubbing his steepled hands against his mouth. Whether hes actually watching the show or not, I cant tell, but I have an urge to run my hand down his back to see what happens. Im about to do just that when I catch sight of the television.

No sooner than Dan knocks on a yellow front door, a guy in his early twenties swings it open, smiling from ear-to-ear. He has a baseball cap, his blonde hair slicked back underneath. Theres some bling in his ears, and a tattoo at the base of his throat saying: Touch me. His jacket is oversized making his skinny jeans look disproportionate, but the crowd in the studio scream wildly. The guy has that clean-cut face that makes tween girls want to cry with giddiness. He has the opposite effect on me. There is something nauseating about him. Aaron is inclined to agree, given the sour grunt aimed at the television.

Rayne Wright, exclaims Dan, you are our number three man! Welcome to Original Star!

Thank you, thank you, thank you! yells Rayne, bouncing onto the porch, picking up the shorter Dan and twirling him around, much to Dans delight. The two men slap each other on the back, then a flock of Rayne lookalikes fly out onto the porch, swamping him in hugs and adoration—three younger teenage brothers dressed in virtually the same gear, and his mum in glitzy makeup and a tight dress that she pulls off with youthful flair.

Dan tilts the mic towards Ms. Wright. How do you feel about your boy, here, becoming the next singing sensation?

She glances at Rayne, strokes her hair and grins, I knew he had it in im. Always knew my boy was somethin special, ever since he was a preschooler. Truly loved music.

Rayne is tearing up as they escort Dan and the camera crew into the house. Rayne is asked to perform his demo, and so he sits at the small keyboard in the minimal living room and plays a melody that repeats many times over, almost the entire song. But his voice is magic: pure and smooth and very R n B. Hearts must be falling in love with Rayne Wright all across the nation.

A small interview begins with the Wright family and my eyes fall to Aaron.

He hasnt moved at all.

There havent been many times in my life when Ive actually felt my heart throbbing in my chest, but when it has Ive imagined it striking my ribcage because it is so engorged with emotion. I felt it when my parents died, when I pulled out of the music degree, when Jeremy struck me and stalked me, and when Nathaniel and I were hanging from the bridge. Only a few momentous occasions.

Like now.

Taking a deep breath, I sit up beside him. He almost glances across at me but decides to cast his gaze at the front door instead.

Ive upset him. And all it took was silence.

I stroke the back of his hair. He immediately sits up, rigid. Im not sure if its out of anger or surprise, but I whisper, Aaron. Are you sure you want this?

He looks over his shoulder at me, his gaze unwavering. Yes.

I breathe, as if to speak. Again, I cant think of a single word. We stare at each other, the television an annoying blur to what is possibly a life-altering moment, and then Im in his arms, pulled onto his lap, still deciding whether we should wait. There is one more spot yet to be announced on Original Star, but more than that, Im scared Im about to get my heart broken, that I might be jumping into the biggest mistake of my life. And then theres Nathaniel, untouchable Nathaniel, who I must let go.

In the most tender way, Aaron rubs his thumb over my jaw, and I feel as nervous as if I was about to walk down the aisle. He frowns slightly. Im not sure you do, though.

I bite my lip, then throw my hands in the air. I do, but I dont. I want you to be ready. I want to be ready. I think we should wait.

Wait for what? Were out of the competition, Eve. Theres no deadline anymore. You can distract me all you want.

And you said, not more than twelve hours ago, that you werent ready for a relationship, and I understand why. I try not to mention his brother directly, but with the way his eyes cast to the floor we both know Im talking about Damien. But theres another reason Im pushing back tears. Do you know how hard it is for me to trust anyone after Jeremy?

Im not Jeremy.

I know that. And what scares me more is that I actually trust you. Thats a big deal for me. I dont want to lose that just because we moved too fast.

How many people do you think begin relationships or elope after one or two dates?

I shrug, seeing his point. A lot, I imagine.

Exactly. He grabs at my talking hands and holds them to his chest.

But were not eloping, I clarify, in case hes inadvertently proposed and I missed it.

No. He smiles, then kisses me softly.

Okay, I mumble through another kiss. I swing one leg on either side of his thighs and snake my hands through his hair, making myself at home. His eyes fill with mischief before the tip of his nose travels down my throat, breathing in whats left of my floral perfume. Light kisses tingle my skin as his lips explore the small dips above my collarbone. He kisses my lips, his tongue soft but insistent against mine. I push off his shirt, breaking the kiss to disrobe him of his shirt. His hands tangle in my hair and slide to my face as his lips press down upon mine, as if he can never be close enough. And I want him closer. I do.

His large hands skim my waist and yank at my sweater, sweeping it to the floor in seconds. A draught flows over my chest as he unhooks my bra. I push him back toward the cushions. One laugh-grunt later and he is flipping me beneath him, trailing warm fingers from my throat and down my chest. He snares my bra along the way, his mouth replacing where the lace had been. Aaron looks over my body in a way that makes me whimper in anticipation.

I forgot how much he liked that particular sound, because he growls low and catches my mouth with his, claiming it with a fervor that I match. Another whimper from me, and he spreads my jean-clad legs with his knee. He is breathless, his eyes slightly hooded as he rests his weight above me.

Knocking. At the door!

I spring up, bumping my forehead into Aarons jaw. We both groan, holding our aching parts, then share a look of astonishment as we glance at the screen and back to each other.

Damn. Our wooden door is on TV, along with the white Grecian pot on the porch, draped in ivy and roses. And now I can hear them, the camera crew, and the American accent of Hudson Wilmer outside.

Aaron leaps up and grips his ruffled hair, then thinks to smooth it for the cameras. He scoops up his shirts and is dressed in seconds. Me? I dont know where to start. Im braless, topless, and my hair feels like a wire ball hanging down my back. Aaron is on it, dressing me, shoving my arms into my bra and the sweater back over my head. But as he dips his hands in his water glass and smooths his fingers over my hair I stare up at him, dying to know if this is it, if this is the moment were over.

His deal had revolved around the competition—no distractions from the songwriting and rehearsing. Im the biggest distraction of them all, apparently.

Were on hold again, arent we? I say.

His mouth tightens.

The door bangs again, and Hudson calls out, Ardent Strangers, are you in there?

Aaron squeezes his eyes shut, rubs them, then stalks toward the door in all of three strides. I never see the door open, I only hear it a second before I slam my own bedroom door and slump behind it, breathing hard as I stare around my mess of a room.

Ive abandoned Aaron in our big moment. But I cant be out there with those cameras and Hudson Wilmer Rock God extraordinaire, not while Im a crying mess.

Hudsons voice sounds from the next room, We only seem to have one half of Ardent Strangers, boys and girls. Aaron, dont tell me you and Evangeline have had a lovers tiff?

Lovers tiff? The guy might be joking, but he also might be psychic.

Aaron mumbles something, and my stomach churns as I picture a surly looking Aaron pretending that nothings amiss. The vindictive part of me thinks he deserves a little payback. For all his talk of not wanting to wait, in the end he put a music show before me.

I wipe at my eyes and groan. He might have been the one who decided to enter the competition, but I had agreed.

I groan again. This is his dream. Do I really want to trample on somebodys dream? Especially Aarons?

(But he did trample all over my heart.)

Now where has Evangeline fled to? asks Hudson.

Excuse me a moment, Aaron says.

Footsteps thud against the carpet, moving closer.

We seem to be having some technical problems, boys and girls, Hudson says grumpily. Is she in there?

On the other side of the door, Aaron grunts in an affirmative way. The door pushes against my back, opening an inch. Eve, are you coming out? he murmurs.

I dont know what I expected him to say, but I thought it might be sorry.

I bang my head against the door. It closes shut. Aaron is gone.

A guitar strums from the next room. Then I hear it, our demo song played solo. Aarons voice sounds through the walls, a little rougher and earthier than Im used to hearing. I feel as if Im responsible for the care of that voice, and at the moment it sounds like Ive mistreated it just like my piano.

I jump up and stumble to the mirror atop my tallboy. My eyes are shiny pools of deep blue, my dark eyelashes wet. I look too pale, my blush streaked with tear lines. My hair is in matted tangles—a result of Aarons kisses earlier. Kisses I no longer have.

Picking up the nearest t-shirt I press it over my face, dry it, and dust on some blush and lipstick, praying its enough. Honestly, I look a little feral, but I dart through the door, barely taking in the camera guy and the boom guy extending a large microphone towards the sofa where Aaron is singing. Alone.

Hudson breaks into a smile at the sight of me. The camera flicks to me as I rush to the sofa and snatch up my guitar from its usual spot. But Aaron doesnt look at me as he sings the end of the first verse, and hes the one person I need to see. He begins the interlude before the chorus. Its an eerie melody on its own, until I strum my guitar in an accelerated beat over his and the music bursts to life. I throw out my voice, scared that if I dont it wont come out at all. Im running now, Im running now. Im running low. Im running low.

I will find you, he sings, looking up at me for the first time, a dark promise in his eyes. To all the world it must look as if hes acting, playing out the stalker element of the song, but I know its part of our unfinished argument, that hes as hurt by it as I am.

For a second, I forget to sing. Aaron frowns slightly, but follows my lead as I add an extra four beats so I can come in on time. I belt out the high part, I cant run anymore. I can only slam the door. As I meet Aarons eyes and become trapped by his intensity, my voice turns breathless, But its not enough. You will always find me.

I will always find you, he sings, his rich voice hanging in the air.

Silence presses around the room. Aaron and I are still staring at each other. Hudson finally steps between us, facing the camera, and Aaron gives me a grateful nod.

You see that? Hudson points from the camera to Aaron and me on the sofa. Now thats what good looks like, people!

Looking down at my guitar I give a small laugh, while Aaron grunts lightly. But I feel like its impossible to lift my head. Not only is it hard to look at Aaron again, I think Ive gone a little camera shy. Discovering that fact comes at the worst possible moment, for Hudson holds out his hand and I nervously shake it. His grip is hot as he guides me to my feet, directly in front of the cameras. Hudson might be in his early thirties, but small lines crease his eyes as he gives me a smile that makes my cheeks heat.

Evangeline, a pleasure Hudson says, as he leans down and kisses the back of my hand. Theres no question that Im blushing. From embarrassment, mostly.

Aaron grunts in the background. At least hes not totally devoid of emotion for me.

Hi, I say, remembering to look at Hudson and the camera.

Hudson smiles at me, a genuine smile that is meant to ease my nerves. He holds his earpiece for a moment, then sighs. Normally, I wouldnt be one to bother with gossipy questions, but I have two of them.

Oh?

Firstly, there are many out there who are curious about your band name, Ardent Strangers. He seems to notice that Ive gone deathly pale, because he directs the rest of the question to Aaron, who rises from the chair. Is there any truth to the name when it comes to the two of you?

Im surprised when Aaron clears his throat. One, this is Aaron, confident in practically everything—except for now. Two, hes actually going to give an answer. Considering Evangeline and I met early Monday morning and its now Wednesday night, I think we can safely say that the Stranger part is true.

I feel like Ive been slapped.

The Stranger part is true? Thats all I mean to him? Wonderful.

That long, eh? says Hudson, stepping back in amazement. Three days and youve managed to form a band, enter this show, and move in together. Thats impressive, man. He slaps Aaron on the shoulder. Not that I blame you, though.

I smile tightly. Definitely blushing. I look to Aaron for help and see his fist clench. This is getting personal.

But Hudson is on a roll Reminds me of when I was in Vegas and woke up to this cute brunette. The amount I spent on that ring was blatant robbery, but sometimes youve gotta take a chance. Takes balls, and I can tell you two have got ba— He never does get to finish that sentence, the one about balls, because he is clutching his earpiece again, and the camera crew are chuckling quietly. Hudsons handsome face turns sour. He turns to me. As for the other question Evangeline, I hope you dont mind me asking you this, but— He winces and I find myself doing the same. Theres been a lot of speculation today about whether you are the Evangeline Nathaniel Blake has been searching for.

I want to cry right there. I think he can see that, too, but he holds his earpiece, undoubtedly following the line of dialogue being fed to him. The website has been flooded with theories, saying that you fit the description of the girl in question. Same age, long black hair, slim build—which I say is not giving you justice. He clears his throat, as if hes been told off again. So, is it true? he asks, while sympathetically patting me on the shoulder.

Me? Her? I laugh once. My eyes are about to tear up.

I can still see the pain on Nathaniels face before I fled from him today. I deserted him. Now Im pretending that Ive never even met him. He deserves better than this. If hes watching this, he must hate me.

Aaron looks past Hudson. His eyes darken, as if telling me to say nothing. For the first time Aaron speaks directly to the camera. Lets make one thing clear. Evangeline and I never signed up to be gossip fodder on some trashy reality show. We signed up for a music competition, or at least thats we thought. One more personal attack on Evangeline and we walk from the show.

Well said, Randall. Hudson nods, and I wonder if hes thinking the same thing about himself. He holds his earpiece and plasters on a smile.

The camera guy is grinning ear-to-ear, and Aaron looks ready to punch him.

We look forward to seeing you perform at the first live show on Sunday night. Hudson spreads his arms, clasping Aaron and me on the shoulders. If its anything like tonight, it should be interesting.

Thanks, I mutter.

Aaron rakes his hair back, peeved. We are nothing like the previous contestant, Rayne Wright. We have to look like the most ungrateful winners in the history of winning. But right now I couldnt care less. I want them out of my house—and Aarons house.

The camera light flashes off and Hudson relaxes, taking his earpiece out with relish. I think hes going to squish it, but then shoves it into his jeans. As the crew exit the house, Hudson turns to us, leaving a gaping distance between Aaron and me. I long to close the gap, but Im too overwhelmed to move.

Evangeline, Im sorry. That was rough, says Hudson, plucking a cigarette from his jacket. And not my idea.

Aaron grunts.

You think Im pathetic, dont you? he says to Aaron. You know what? You might be right. Or this is just a pathetic gig. Tell you what, if you guys can make it to the top ten, Ill take you on the Waters Edge world tour. I owe you after that performance. How do you feel about being one of our supporting acts?

Aarons raises eyebrows, as if he doesnt believe a thing.

Go on tour with Waters Edge! That would be beyond anything I could imagine. Actually, Im with Aaron. Was Hudson even serious?

You dont think I wont? says Hudson.

Put it in writing and I might, says Aaron, almost smiling.

Alright. He taps on his phone, asks for our emails, and before we know it we each have a message stating the deal, along with Hudsons contact details.

Im in awe. I think Aaron is plain stunned as he stares at his phone. This is his dream staring straight up at him. Its mine, too, but it doesnt quite feel right.

Well, better go, Hudson says. Ill be betting on you. I like your style, he says, pointing back and forth between Aaron and me.

I shake my head, laughing. Thanks.

Aaron grasps Hudsons hand. Yeah, thanks.

As Hudson pulls the door shut Aaron is staring at the kitchen, and when he turns my way his smile drops completely. Thats the effect I have on him now. Perfect. I have a feeling were about to have The Talk again. Hes going to tell me that were over again.

I rush to my room and slam the door. In seconds, Im under the covers of my bed.

Eve? he says through the door. Eve, please?

If I answer, Im going to regret it.

Fine. Ill talk, you listen. But he says nothing. I roll onto my back, wondering if hes walked away. I hear a bump at the bottom of the door, and see his shadow blocking the light on the other side. His voice is quieter, rougher, as he says, When I came to Melbourne last week I was having the absolute worst week of my life. Damien meant everything to me. I was his big brother. I was supposed to protect him. I even left a prestigious job so I could be by his side. But I couldnt save him in the end. And the irony of it all is that you, Eve, you are the best thing thats happened to me in. Well, possibly ever, and I cant even let myself enjoy it.

A minute passes and his words circle my head. The best thing thats happened to me. I could say the same about Aaron.

I dont want to lose you, he breathes.

At what has to be the most romantic thing Ive ever heard, I sob once and leap out of bed, ready to tell him the truth. But as I open the door the front door slams shut. Aaron is nowhere in sight.

What if he never comes back?

My phone glints at me from the coffee table. I snatch it up and begin a text: I dont want to lose you either. Come back. Please.

I scroll through my contacts and find Aarons new number. I hit send, then slump onto the sofa. As fate would have it, Im sitting on the right side—Aarons side. I snuggle into the corner and clutch his pillow, hating that it smells faintly of his aftershave, subtle and clean. It makes me miss him more. Amazing, since Ive only known him a few days.

The heater rattles behind me, but the house is too quiet. The television is on mute. Original Star is still on, the stage alive with a four-piece band who are doused in smoke and lights. The bands name Fatal Attack appear at the bottom of the screen.

So, this is number one. And they look professional.

I turn up the volume and hear a fast beat pulsing beneath gritty chords. This is exactly how a music show should be—unlike the poor treatment Original Star had given us. Thinking about our disastrous segment—the interview, my late appearance, Aaron defending me—makes me queasy. I might never see that stage, except on TV. But the show has moved on. Fatal Attack are taking charge of the stage as if theyve been playing there for years. The drummer is lost beneath his long hair as he pounds his kit. The bass player and lead guitarist are off to the side of the stage. The audience in the front row grab at the guitarists legs and they smirk at each other, as if this is the sign that theyve made it. But its the guy with the short blond hair and trendy utility jacket who makes it all come together—the lead singers voice is hard-edged and raw as it cuts over the music. He has that conviction that sets him apart from the more amateur singers who had polled lower. Yep. The guy is good. Really good.

My phone beeps and vibrates. I snatch it up, sure that it has to be Aaron.

A text from Penny. All of my shifts at the café have been suspended so I can do the competition. My inbox receives another twenty texts and emails congratulating Aaron and me. I type back a text of thanks and hit Send All, then throw my phone down on the sofa.

Another beep.

I watch the end of Fatal Attack, unable to check if the text is from him. The show ends. The phone glints at me again. I snatch it up and find a text from Aaron: Give me a few hours. Talk in the morning.

My heart drops. I feel as cold as his words.