LA PUSH RESERVATION

He pressed his hand against hers and put his other low on her waist. "There's only one way to find out," He retorted, matching her coy gaze.
"How old are you?" He asked suddenly.

"Well, I look like I'm 15, right? But I'm 19."

He snorted, pulling away to grab a bright red apple out of the fridge, "I was guessing more 13 or 12, but 19 will do."

She glared at him, smiling crookedly again. "Well, how old are you, big guy?" She asked playfully, taking his apple, tossing it into the air and catching it.

"Well, I look about 25, but I'm actually 18," He said. "If it weren't for my damned heritage, maybe I'd look like a real boy," He batted his eyelashes as if he was imagining dreams beyond impossible.

"We're all damned by this curse." Kara said, almost angry. "It sucks never being alone with your thoughts.. Your mind's always open to everyone..."

"Who does?" He responded. "Have you ever really been at peace? If you have, I'd like a piece of that pie," He mumbled the last part to himself.

"Nope. Everytime I want to be alone, my thoughts are invaded by Leah, or Sam or Quil..." She turned to stare out the window at the amazing view. "Sometimes I feel like I need to drive a million miles away just to think..." She said, her voice drifting off.

He shrugged, "They don't care about what I think. Most of them don't even recognize me as part of the pack. Not only have I lost all contact with the outside world, the only people I can turn to don't even like me," He grumbled uselessly.

She fiddled with the tab on her new soda. "The other members of the pack barely talk to me. The only actual friends I have is you and Genevieve."

"Who said I was your friend?" He joked.

She stuck out her bottom lip, pretending to be sad. She looked around the room again and saw an acoustic guitar. "You play?" She asked, walking over to look at it.

He cut her off before she reached the guitar, taking two steps forward as to ward her off. "That's off limits for those who do not wish to die within the walls of this house. It's my baby."

She backed off with her arms raised. "OK, OK... I guess that answers my question."

"That's what I thought you said," He grinned, falling backwards into his folding chair and putting the acoustic in his lap. Brayden placed his fingers on the frets and used his thumb to strum downward. "G Chord," he said, raising his eyebrows flirtatiously.

Kara sat down, interested. "So you just put your fingers on all those little dots and strum?" She asked, pretending she didn't already know that.

"On the strings," He corrected, moving his fingers down into an A7 Major chord, flicking each string one by one as he strummed.

Kara listened intently to the music that came from the instrument. "How long have you been playing?" Kara asked, still transfixed by the music.

"Since I turned ten," He admitted, switching up chords and adding a soft riff. He repeated the two chords again and tacked the riff to the end. He repeated it twice before feeling self conscious.

Kara swayed her head back and forth to the music.

He abruptly stopped playing, tracing his thumb along the thickest guitar string, making a soft hum. He stared at her, his dark coal-colored eyes not looking at her, but past her. His mind was somewhere completely else. He traced the string across the radius of the sound hole, his jaw shifting audibly. Brayden looked down to the guitar again, plucking a continuous riff. He closed his eyes halfway and worked simple chords, his bangs falling into his eyelashes and cloaking his gray irises from her and the world. He stopped playing again, looking up at her reaction.

She smiled at the sweet melody he was playing and met his gaze when he looked up. "You're good." She told him, grinning.

"It's not that hard," He admitted. "Once you get a hold of it, you can do basically anything." Brayden paused, his eyes flickering suggestively, "Depends on how bad you want it."

"I wish I could play like that." She said, staring at the wooden guitar, admiring it. He kept it nice and brand-new looking.

Brayden put his guitar so it was propped against her chair and he leaned forward on his knees. He shook out his hair so it kept out of his eyes. "You don't seem nineteen," He said, the slightest bit of accusatory edging in on his tone. "You're like..." He searched for appropriate words to describe the impression she'd made on him. "Sometimes you're like the little sister I never had. It's hard to believe you're older than me," He admitted.