Becca Dirkson

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“You’re dating a swimmer but can’t swim?” “I can now,” I said proudly. “Barely,” Ry muttered. I gasped, swinging to face him. “But you said I did a good job.” His hand was warm when it settled over my hip, his body heat seeping through the damp towel around me. “You did, baby. But you need more practice.”
Wet (Westbrook Elite, #1)
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