Don't Let Go Of Me [ Jasper Hale ]

3 || Figuring Things Out

"Beautiful," Paul complimented with a proud smirk.

"I'm still winning, Lahote."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Don't go acting cocky just yet," he said, retaking his stance. "So, what did your pale face boyfriend say when you told him you were hanging with me today?"

"I didn't." Another disc soared across the lawn, again it was turned into smithereens.

Paul lowered the gun, turning with a raised brow. "So where does he think you are?"

"Does it matter? It's my birthday, and that comes with special perks." She yanked down the lever, not waiting for him to reposition. Surprisingly, Paul managed to shoot the target without missing a beat.

He smirked. "I win."

"Show off." Mirabelle's phone suddenly went off. Fishing it out of her back pocket, the caller ID was revealed to be her sister. "Bella?" she answered.

"Where are you? Jasper said you went somewhere and he hasn't seen you since."

"I'm fine. I'm with a friend. We're just celebrating a little."

"I think you should come back," her twin insisted.

"Don't worry about me, Bells."

"Jasper told Alice you were acting weird earlier. What's going on, Mira?"

"I'm fine," Mirabelle stressed through gritted teeth, about ready to crush the cellular device in her increasingly tightening grip. Bella's words, Jasper's incessant worry, just everything wrapped in this one phone call was fanning a flame that threatened to burn everything around her. "It's my birthday and I'll celebrate it however the hell I want. I'm not some little kid that needs you guys hovering!"

"Mira-"

Mirabelle hung up before Bella could get another word in, shoving the phone back into her pants with an indignant huff. Paul whistled lowly, silently questioning her with a raised brow. Mirabelle shrugged indignantly, taking the gun back from Paul. "Don't ask."

"I won't while you've got a gun in your hand," he said.

Mirabelle smirked, falling back into a stance. "Pull!"

* * *
The two stayed at the range for another hour before it started pouring. Paul took them to a friend's house to get some dry clothes and wait out the heavy rain. As soon as he parked his bike beneath an old pine standing tall beside a quaint cabin, he pulled Mirabelle by the hand, leading her over muddy puddles and up a slippery slope. He stopped them just outside a screen door, warm orange light splintering through its wired weaving. A look of hesitation crossed Paul's tanned features.

"Um, this is Sam and Emily's place. Emily is Sam's fiancee," he clarified needlessly, gnawing his bottom lip as he tried figuring out the best way to say whatever was on his mind.

Mirabelle watched him impatiently. "Dude, my tits are freezing and my toes are getting frostbite."

"Just try not to stare." He turned back around and pushed through the entrance before she could ask what he meant. Mirabelle stepped in right behind him, trying to keep her wet boots on the welcome mat to avoid making a mess in the lovely home. To her right was an open threshold giving view to a small living room area and a short hallway. The front door leading into the sitting area was open, bathing the rest of the house in silvery light and the smell of fresh rain and crisp evergreen. But what overcame all senses was the overwhelming aroma of freshly baked muffins and cookies. Mirabelle felt her mouth watering when Paul subtly nudged her arm, giving an amused look.