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Brock stared at her for a couple of heartbeats. “Wanna tell me what’s up?”
“Looks like you’ll have some guests during your vacation. I hope that’s okay.” Note to self: Call three best friends. Otherwise, they, along with the rest of America, would find out Gin had a “boyfriend” the instant the morning paper landed on their perfectly manicured lawns.
“Fine. The camp house has plenty of bedrooms. Speaking of which, will you be sharing Brett’s?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“Like hell it’s not!” The crackling sound of ripping Velcro echoed as he pulled opened the front flap on his race uniform. “What’s going on with you two?”
“We…uh…are seeing each other.”
“I gathered as much. Since when and more to the point, why?”
He pointed to his face. “So I’ve been told.”
“Get over yourself Brock. Y’all are identical twins. It stands to reason if one of you looks good, so does the other.”
“But that’s were the similarity ends.” He stepped closer to her. “I’m not a playboy banging every girl in sight. He’s gonna hurt you.” He lifted his hand as if he wanted to touch her cheek, then decided against it, rubbing his mouth instead. “Then I’ll have to kill him,” he mumbled.
“What was that?” She heard him clear as a bell and bit back a grin.
He sighed in steamy frustration. “Ginny Lynn, you know how Brett is. Why are you getting involved with him?”
She put her hands on her hips. “It’s not your concern.”
“Sure it is. I love you like a sister so I’m not afraid to tell what you already know. Brett is immature…”
“Out for a good time.”
“A heart breaker.”
So are you. “Listen to me, Brock Bronner.” She jabbed his chest with her pointer finger. “Just because he’s a player, doesn’t mean I can’t date him. I’m due for some fun and if your brother wants to throw a little my way, let him.”
He grabbed her hand and flattened her palm to his chest. Her breathing stopped as warmth flowed up her arm, heating every cell down to her tiptoes. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
She blinked. Once, twice, three times. It was too easy to get lost in his dark brown eyes of his. “I do,” she whispered, pulling her hand from his hard pecs, but he didn’t let go. They stood toe to toe, but he towered a good five inches over her. His grip tightened as he captured her other hand, too.
“I get it. You’re a big girl, but promise me I’m the first person you’ll come to when you need something.”
“I promise. Can I go now, boss?”
“I’m not your boss.”
“What are you?” She lifted a brow when he hesitated. “It’s not a trick question.”
© 2010 Casey Crow • email@example.com • Photography by Toni Riales Photography