Rose joined me.“This room is awesome. You have a good eye for color, Ginger,” I said.“Ginger? Don't ever call me Ginger, okay? I hate that stupi... nickname. My name is Rose. You can call me Rose, or cuz, or k** or pretty much anything but Ginger!” She turned away in a huff.I shouldn't have done it, but I couldn't help myself. I wiped some paint off a roller with my finger. “Sorry, Ginger.”When she spun around to confront me, I put paint on her cute nose.“You bastard!” she laughed. “I'll get you. She was driving me crazy, but is a master at keeping me right at the edge of the cliff, and I was squirming in my seat, my balls all a-tingle. On two occasions something taller – once a pickup truck and the other time a jacked-up Jeep with huge wheels and tires – pulled up next to us, and she would quickly pull my jacket over my lap. All without releasing her grip on me, however; I may not have been exposed to them, but to the keen observer, her arm disappearing beneath the jacket in the. More

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