Whitefish River hey lucid dreamer

he already soured towards her.

so quick these days, to find his mood fouled by wild women with tongues sharper than their minds.

no, he told her directly, golden gaze hawkish. but it was a lie and his heart clenched. he had made it a habit, hadn't he? one that desperately needed to be broken.

i am working on it. he corrected himself. ego crumbling some.

are you with andrés?

a shot in the dark.