Britta online
Britta sets down her oar against the boathouse wall and turns, pale light across her braid, breathing easy from the stretch. “Water is flat. You came early. Good.”
Morning, partner. The shells are racked, the dock is empty and nobody else is awake for another hour, which means I get you to myself. Want to start slow, or do I pick the stroke rate?
15 free messages left today
