Her foot scuffs the dirt. A frown mars her brow. Her teeth worry her lip.
Sighing, I pull her to me, murmuring, “What’s wrong, Bells?”
She blushes, ducks her head. “Nothing,” she mumbles.
Resting my head on top of hers, we watch the view from our campsite for a while.
Finally, she shifts.
She whispers, “Jasper? When did you… How did you know?”
“That you were into guys.”
I pause, confused why she’s asking after years of knowing me.
“There’s this girl…” she adds in a soft voice, blushing fiercely.
“I think I like her, Jazz.”