tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65482240000571921552024-02-19T10:17:20.595-05:00Bru's blogUpdates and ramblings from contemporary M/M fiction author Bru Baker.Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.comBlogger100125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-66543503887818146952019-01-03T11:28:00.000-05:002019-01-03T11:28:01.416-05:00Starting 2019 with a bang!If you follow me on social media you probably know that 2018 ended with a big rain-on-your-parade holiday fizzle. I've had some pretty serious health problems that have sidelined me, but I'm not going to let them keep me down.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLTmWcd7Zfe0BNFlYZHR_oTv-xZJAre1yhMeOCVVTyNuDUoB3iLToDHFc2NVtx9yDFa2vQoLAy0gMX6-hzx9hx9uV5Ww6cGE6LiBzvE1UpcK6VktUF7PISRknQRTpJ3Y-6-VMyMH2MbFg/s1600/BadgeAotM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLTmWcd7Zfe0BNFlYZHR_oTv-xZJAre1yhMeOCVVTyNuDUoB3iLToDHFc2NVtx9yDFa2vQoLAy0gMX6-hzx9hx9uV5Ww6cGE6LiBzvE1UpcK6VktUF7PISRknQRTpJ3Y-6-VMyMH2MbFg/s1600/BadgeAotM.jpg" /></a></div>
I'm starting 2019 off on the right foot as My Fiction Nook's Author of the Month. I'm thrilled to be their writer in residence this month talking about my books, my favorite things, and a host of other topics each week.<br />
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This week we're starting with a few excerpts from my first series, Dropping Anchor, and a look at a few of my favorite things. Anyone want to guess what my favorite appliance is? You can find out in today's post over on <a href="http://www.myfictionnook.com/2019/01/author-of-month-bru-baker-week-one.html" target="_blank">My Fiction Nook</a>!<br />
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(You'll have the chance to enter to win one of my books, too!)Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-80065892628919976812018-06-06T18:24:00.004-04:002018-06-06T18:24:45.261-04:00WIP Wednesday: Christmas in Costa Rica<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw5erBCSq2V-ac__RabwRXnznpHj6vda47MxayLVVePaUA_a5mbYmZIzI5t-JfAcVW5r-437-P47iycRXWMEUDok8mIc1jJDsZBX8ZVYkl9KdZbX22AzzYG1Pt4MYqfT25bSrKU9CtgP0/s1600/20180105_080556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1600" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw5erBCSq2V-ac__RabwRXnznpHj6vda47MxayLVVePaUA_a5mbYmZIzI5t-JfAcVW5r-437-P47iycRXWMEUDok8mIc1jJDsZBX8ZVYkl9KdZbX22AzzYG1Pt4MYqfT25bSrKU9CtgP0/s320/20180105_080556.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;"> </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">© Bru Baker<br /><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">The view from the beach at our remote hotel in the</span></div>
</b><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Guanacaste region of Costa Rica. </span></div>
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Now that I've submitted it, I can give you a look into my Advent story, <i>Home is Where Your Heart Is</i>. It's a novelette set at a remote resort in Costa Rica, since that was my last sunny vacation. I had a great time basking in the sun knowing it was below zero (Fahrenheit) at home, and when the call went out for beachy Christmas romances I knew I wanted to write something against that backdrop.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK-Gd73IArZ3k-39kbfc4wOBWurO-KHWDZzHjPb2yUfJf6BC-I0skpa3T2KtFElhnKU2Rfl0rH4912BS16IuJZld6l_BRfJ9hmZp_UFxK___wXIGZm3QD_VEmI8KeWvKOe67jvrx1RIKM/s1600/20171231_173522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1600" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK-Gd73IArZ3k-39kbfc4wOBWurO-KHWDZzHjPb2yUfJf6BC-I0skpa3T2KtFElhnKU2Rfl0rH4912BS16IuJZld6l_BRfJ9hmZp_UFxK___wXIGZm3QD_VEmI8KeWvKOe67jvrx1RIKM/s320/20171231_173522.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;"><b>© Bru Baker</b><br />Low tide at Matapalo Beach in <br />Guanacaste, Costa Rica</span></td></tr>
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Meet Jared, who has been a travel manny for wealthy families for the last few years. He's in Costa Rica for a month with a family, though the parents keep themselves pretty secluded. He shares a bungalow with Lukas and Lia, seven-year-old twins from Switzerland who are equal parts adorable and annoying.<br />
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They all agree that Wes, one of the resort's chefs and the twins' surfing instructor, is awesome. He's a bit of a free spirit, but he's great with the kids and nice to look at, too.<br />
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<i>Home Is Where Your Heart Is</i><br />
by Bru Baker<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“The kids asked if we could have a picnic for lunch today. I told them I’d have to check with you,” Wes said, wiping a wet lock of hair behind his ear. It was long enough to be pulled back into a small bun while he was surfing, which Jared thought was adorable.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">He’d been making lunches at the bungalow and Jared mentally went through the contents of their refrigerator. He’d have to call Marcela or maybe order room service.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“I can do the cooking,” Wes offered. “I figured you might be tired of restaurant food by now.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“You cook?” Jared said, cringing as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He was still sleep-stupid and being woken by a gorgeous man wasn’t helping.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Wes grinned. “Actually, that’s what I do here. I give surf lessons for fun since I love being out on the water. I’m one of the resort’s chefs. I run the kitchen at the seafood restaurant.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Be still my heart</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">, Jared thought. A beautiful man who is great with kids </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">and </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">cooks? He definitely needed to ask him out.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“I’d hate to make you cook on your time off,” Jared said.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“Oh, I don’t mind. I love playing around in the kitchen.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Jared would love to play around in </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">his </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">kitchen, that was for sure.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">He oofed out a breath when a soaking wet Lia pounced, landing on his diaphragm. “Can we please? Wes said he’d make </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">rösti.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Jared shifted her so her weight was on his stomach and he could breathe. “If Wes is willing to spend more time with you chickadees then I’m up for it.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">She cheered and launched herself at Wes, who caught her and swung her onto his back while Jared took inventory of his internal organs. Lia was definitely the more physical twin. Lukas was perched on a log a few feet away, watching with quiet amusement.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“Did you know rösti was invented as an easy meal to feed farmers in the fields? That makes it the perfect picnic food, don’t you think?” Wes asked, leaning his head back to look at Lia.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">They made such a perfect domestic picture. Jared hadn’t really thought about whether or not he wanted kids, but right now he could see the appeal. He wrinkled his nose at the sappy thought and climbed out of his hammock with as much grace as he could muster.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“We’ve got lessons to do,” he reminded the kids, who both groaned dramatically. It was actually a good sign. They were comfortable enough with him to start pushing back on some of his rules, which meant they felt safe with him. Not that he was going to let them off the hook. “Nope, lessons and then lunch.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">He turned to Wes. “We usually eat around noon, does that work for you? If you need to eat earlier I can switch their day around a bit.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Wes shook his head. “That will be perfect. How about we go on a little hike? There’s a great picnic spot that’s a pretty easy climb from here.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">He nodded toward a hill that probably had a killer view of the water.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“Sounds good. Anything I can do to tire them out during the day makes the evening easier.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Wes dumped Lia on the chaise lounge on their patio, and she and Lukas obediently rinsed the sand off their feet and peeled their wetsuits off before running inside.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“Speaking of this evening,” Jared said, gathering up his courage, “it’s my night off. Any recommendations for what I should do?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Okay, he’d chickened out there at the last minute.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“There’s a club down the hill, but it’s full of resort guests. I mean--” Wes flushed and rubbed his hand over his neck. “You’re a guest. That was--”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Jared laughed. “No, I get it. I have more in common with the people who work here than the guests.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">That just made Wes flush deeper. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Jared reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “You didn’t. I’m not really a guest here. This is my job. And you’re right, spending my night at a club with a bunch of spoiled teenagers and college students doesn’t sound like fun.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“Do you like to kayak?” Wes blurted, then laughed and shook his head. “Sorry, that was random. It’s my night off as well, and I was planning to do a nighttime kayak because the moon is full. There’s a great inlet a few miles from here. Do you want to join me?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Was this a date? Or just Wes feeling bad for his blunder?</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">“I could bring a bottle of wine and a blanket and we could make an evening of it,” Wes offered. “Bon fires are outlawed because of the turtles who nest on the shores along the Pacific Coast, but we could cuddle for warmth if it gets cold.”</span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-38a24bcb-d728-8b47-557e-0826785ae27c"></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">That definitely sounded like a date. “Sounds perfect.”</span></div>
Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-53182464950989750382018-04-15T19:05:00.001-04:002018-04-15T19:05:28.342-04:00Everyone needs their own armrest avenger on a long flightI'm flying to San Francisco today to see friends before heading up to the LA Times Festival of Books later in the week. I'm on my first Virgin American flight and loving it--I have an exit row all to myself and I've just found out that my main cabin select ticket includes free alcohol, meals, and snacks.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieFBVa_VQVEDfFoGIGTjx4ADprU9pFs3NBaMm4Ak3FmUC_aAzpav-Rf7IJOnSNlydQ9mx0z55OeVqmsiDDm5-iA0yQf90ERBHE4KzXBvCBVBOaw_hg61X7qJh9NUHy9EMO2U5yvMUZNk4/s1600/20180415_183706.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="778" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieFBVa_VQVEDfFoGIGTjx4ADprU9pFs3NBaMm4Ak3FmUC_aAzpav-Rf7IJOnSNlydQ9mx0z55OeVqmsiDDm5-iA0yQf90ERBHE4KzXBvCBVBOaw_hg61X7qJh9NUHy9EMO2U5yvMUZNk4/s320/20180415_183706.jpg" width="155" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My very real socked interloper<br />on this flight to SFO.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So here I am, buzzing along through edits on Camp H.O.W.L. 3, when suddenly I see a socked foot worm its way onto my armrest. Gross? Definitely. But also hilarious, because the same damn thing happens in the opening scene of <i>Under a Blue Moon</i>, which is Camp H.O.W.L. 2. So in honor of this blatant violation of the rules of polite society, I'm going to give you half of the first chapter of the next book, which is due out in mid-June.<br />
<br />
In it you'll meet Drew, an armrest avenger who saves Nick from the same fate I'm experiencing. Alas, my conscience won't allow me to take the measures he did, so I'm just going to order another rum and orange juice and pretend it's not there.<br />
<br />
<h3>
<br />Under a Blue Moon<br /><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">A Camp H.O.W.L. novel</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Traveling never brought out the best in Nick. He was self-aware enough to realize that, and he could even pinpoint what about travel was a stressor. If he had a patient who complained of anxiety, headaches, and poorly bottled-up rage while traveling, he would help them come up with coping mechanisms for the psychological stress and figure out how to best mitigate the physical symptoms.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">But like almost all psychologists, he was a bad patient. He didn’t do his homework or follow the steps he’d prescribe for anyone else in his situation. Hence his sour mood and the blinding headache he had at the moment.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Really, though, he’d checked when March’s full moon was, and it had been at the beginning of the month. He hadn’t realized there was another one at the end and that it coincided with the day he was flying to Indiana. Astronomers called them blue moons, but he called them a pain in the ass.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Nick took a deep, grounding breath and tried to ignore the scents it brought with it. Someone three rows back had brought a burrito on the plane. Nick was pretty sure that was on the psychological checklist for sociopaths. Lack of remorse or shame? Check. Pathological egocentricity?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Check. Brings strong-smelling foods into enclosed spaces? Double check.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Planes were always difficult because of the sheer number of people who were on and off of them in a day. His sister swore by essential oils— she’d dab herself with peppermint or something else bitingly astringent before getting on a plane, overwhelming her senses with an unpleasant but at least controlled scent. His Alpha always flew with earplugs and noise-canceling headphones. He claimed that with a light-proof eye mask, it was possible to sleep on a plane and wake up at your destination, skipping the hours of discomfort in between.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Nick called bullshit on the last part. There was absolutely no way a werewolf could sleep on a plane. Maybe if he was flying with no one on the plane but his Pack. Maybe. But sitting in a vulnerable position among a bunch of strangers? And worse, human strangers who boarded a plane with their AXE Body Spray, flowery fabric softener, and pungent burritos? Granted, they couldn’t know how those strong scents assaulted a supernatural nose, but surely even humans thought that stuff stank.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">His seat shook as the person behind him moved around, and a second later a socked foot emerged between the seats and propped itself on Nick’s armrest. Nick gritted his teeth and fought the urge to whirl around and bare shifted fangs at the person. At least the foot didn’t smell, but still. Common decency.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">He was never flying with an airline that didn’t give you seat assignments again, no matter how outrageous the baggage fees were on other carriers. He normally boarded shortly before the flight attendants closed the doors, but on this airline he’d been assigned a boarding position, and if he hadn’t boarded early, he’d have been stuck in an even worse spot than he was in now. At least the seat next to him was empty.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">He’d taken the window because it was the farthest he could get from the other passengers, and thankfully the person who’d sat in his aisle had left a seat between them. With any luck it would stay empty.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Nick leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, but that only magnified his other senses. He could hear the baggage handlers tossing suitcases into the cargo hold underneath them and the low hum of the pilots running through their preflight checks. A kid a few rows back needed a diaper change, and someone else was watching one of those annoying BuzzFeed videos without headphones.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">His flight from Denver to St. Louis had left so early that his fellow passengers had been blissfully quiet. Most had slept. He’d stuffed his earbuds in and listened to Morrissey wail about toxic relationships and the failings of the human condition to while away the two and a half hours.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">This flight was barely an hour in the air, so with any luck he’d make it to Indianapolis before his migraine made his head explode. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“Sorry, just sliding by,” a voice said, and a moment later someone dropped into the seat next to him. He heard a hiss and a squeal from the row behind them, and when he cracked open an eye, he was gratified to see a laptop bag sitting on top of the armrest-stealing foot.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">The bag lifted and the socked foot disappeared abruptly amid angry muttering from the girl it belonged to. Nick wondered if offering the man a high five would be considered rude.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“Sorry,” the man mouthed when Nick turned to him. “That was probably rude, but oh my God, who does that?”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">The man gestured toward the armrest, and Nick half fell in love in that moment. He’d done it on purpose! And he was gorgeous, Nick realized as he took in the man’s strong jaw and broad shoulders. His cheeks were flushed like he’d had to run to catch the flight, and holy hell, between that and the bedhead, the effect went straight to Nick’s groin.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“Sociopaths,” Nick mouthed back. “Same people who bring Chipotle on the plane.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">The guy laughed, revealing a set of perfect teeth and the beginnings of laugh lines crinkling around his eyes.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“I’m Drew.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">He leaned in but didn’t offer Nick his hand, which was a mercy. It was a basic Were instinct to avoid carrying a stranger’s scent, but humans didn’t know that was the reason he always recoiled from what they saw as a friendly handshake.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Not that Nick’s wolf would mind carrying Drew’s scent. It was intoxicating. Warm and soft but not overwhelming. Natural, without the harsh chemical tang most deodorants and soaps carried. So few humans opted for unscented products. It was a shame, because a person’s natural pheromones were almost always more alluring than whatever artificial fragrance they cloaked them with.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“Nick.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Drew settled back into his own seat, leaving the armrest between them clear. The drumbeat of Nick’s incessant migraine quieted a notch, buffered from the rest of the plane by the oasis of Drew’s delicious scent.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Drew buckled his belt and grinned at him. “Are you a plane talker or a plane ignorer? Because I can do either.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Nick laughed. “Usually an ignorer, but I can make an exception for an armrest avenger.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Drew glanced down at the empty armrest. “I shouldn’t have done that.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“You most definitely should have, and I’m glad you did.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“No, I could have caused a Lisfranc fracture if it hit in the right spot. I treated one last week caused by something lighter than my laptop.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Drew looked distraught, like maybe he was going to check on the intruding foot, and a wave of possessiveness washed over Nick. He didn’t want Drew chatting anyone else up on the plane, even if it was just to make sure the owner of the socked foot was okay.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Nick leaned out of the cocoon of Drew’s scent and took a breath, trying to subtly search for the smell of pain that would accompany a broken bone. Someone in the row behind them had opened a bag of</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Twizzlers, but that was the extent of the olfactory feedback. Definitely not injured.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“She’s fine.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Drew blinked at him, and Nick backpedaled. Shit. What the hell was he doing? How was he going to teach wolflings how to manage themselves in public if he was stupid enough to scent the air in front of a human? God, the moon was really messing with him today. His nana had always said blue moons brought good relationship luck, but he wasn’t feeling particularly lucky—or relatable—today.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“Uh, like, broken bones hurt, right? And she didn’t cry out or anything, so I’m just assuming....”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Drew flicked a gaze back to the armrest, leaning in toward Nick again. “And how do you know it’s a she?”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Because he’d been able to smell it on the foot. He’d picked up the sweet, cloying scent of hormonal birth control.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“Uh, the sock was pink?”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">It had been gray, but he was praying Drew hadn’t noticed that.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Drew gave him a sharp look but shrugged and eased back into his seat. “No harm no foul, then. I’d hate to break my Hippocratic Oath the day before starting a new job. It would suck to make it through six years of junkies and hypochondriacs with a clean record and then fuck up right before starting my own practice.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">The tension building in Nick’s shoulders eased. Occam’s razor never failed. People wanted to believe the easiest explanation, even if it contradicted what they’d seen with their own eyes. “So doctor, eh? I</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">figured, since you called it a Lisfranc fracture instead of just saying you could have broken the top bone on her foot.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“There isn’t just one bone on the top of the foot.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“Of course there isn’t. Like a quarter of the human body’s bones are in the feet.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Drew raised a brow. “Let me guess. You’re a podiatrist?”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Nick choked out a laugh. God, he couldn’t imagine a Were in a job like that. Surrounded by smelly feet all day? No. “Psychologist, but my anatomy professor was particularly obsessed with feet.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“That sounds more like something that would have come up in your clinicals,” Drew said, and Nick bobbed his thigh out to touch Drew’s as they laughed. The touch was electric, and Nick’s stomach dipped like the bottom had dropped out of the world.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">A moment later it happened again, but he’d shaken himself out of his flirting haze enough to realize it was the plane, not some erotic connection between the two of them.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">The PA crackled on. “Sorry folks, we’re in for a rough ride. Flight attendants, please take your seats. The weather pattern we were keeping an eye on has shifted. We were trying to stay to the north of it, but it’s on the move. We’re doing everything we can in the cockpit to get out in front of this storm, but it looks like we’re stuck with her for the moment.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">There was a beat of silence before a flight attendant picked up.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“We will do our best to resume drink service as soon as the captain gives us the all clear, but it’s a short flight to Indy and we may not be able to. We do apologize for the inconvenience.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">The plane dipped and jolted again, and several people screamed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“The captain has turned on the seat belt sign, so please make sure your belt is securely fastened. At this time we ask that you return all loose items to their spot under the seat in front of you.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Nick opened the shade on his window, exposing violently hued clouds and rain streaking across the surface of the glass. Lightning forked across the sky, and the plane seemed to vibrate with the almost</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">instantaneous thunder.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Drew’s breath fanned across his cheek as he leaned over Nick to get a better view. “Damn.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">The plane jolted again, and someone a few rows behind them started crying. Nick’s ears popped, which must mean they were descending.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“Folks, air traffic control is closing the Indianapolis airport due to hail and some movement in the clouds over there. We’re being diverted to Chicago. We’re about two hundred miles out from O’Hare, so we’re going to start preparations for landing. We should have you on the ground in twenty to thirty minutes.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Thunder rocked the plane again, and there was a long beat of silence before the flight attendants started moving carefully around the front of the cabin.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“We do apologize for the inconvenience, but we’re told this is our safest option, so it’s the one we’re going to take. Once we’re on the ground in Chicago, agents will meet the plane to help get you to your final destination. If Indianapolis is your final destination, there will be more information about when that airport will be open to air traffic again once we land.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Drew grimaced and moved back out of Nick’s space, and Nick slid the shade shut, blocking out the storm. “Headed to Indianapolis or just passing through?” he asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“Final destination, unfortunately. I was supposed to be picked up at the airport by my new boss.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“Me too.” Nick tapped his fingers on his thighs, restless. “So this ‘movement in the clouds’ thing the pilot was talking about—that was a veiled reference to tornadoes, right?”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“Not so veiled, but yeah. I take it you’re not from the Midwest?” Drew seemed wholly unconcerned, which itself was a bit concerning. Were tornadoes that common here? How could he be stuck on a tin can in weather like this and not be worried? “No. You are?”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“I’ve lived in St. Louis most of my life. Left for college and my residency but ended up back there.” A soft smile curved across Drew’s lips. “My family, we’re close. And that’s where they are, so it’s where I stayed. But to answer your question, this weather isn’t anything to be too concerned about. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">God, what had he gotten himself into? He’d only done a cursory amount of research on Southern Indiana. It got less snow than Denver but had the same wild swings in temperature. He’d read it was humid in the summer, which would be interesting. The brochures had all promised air- conditioned cabins, and he hadn’t read much further than that.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“Sounds like we might be stuck in Chicago for a bit.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">As long as Drew was stuck with him, Nick could think of worse things. He didn’t technically have to be at Camp H.O.W.L. until the staff meeting on Sunday night, which gave him all of tomorrow afternoon to figure out how to get to camp from Chicago.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">“I bet we won’t get out of O’Hare till Sunday. There are probably delays all over if the weather’s this bad.” Drew raised an eyebrow suggestively and Nick’s pulse jumped at the blatant invitation.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Yeah, he could work with this.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: 400;"><i>Under a Blue Moon</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: 400;">Bru Baker</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></h3>
Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-29497979533045421322018-02-21T11:13:00.001-05:002018-02-21T11:13:12.739-05:00#WIPWednesday Return to Camp H.O.W.L.<div class="tr_bq">
It's been an egregiously long time since I posted a #WIPWednesday, but in my defense, it's because I've been too caught up writing to remember to do it. So that's something, right? </div>
<br />
I'm working on Camp H.O.W.L. 3 right now but I figured dumping you right into book 3 without giving you a taste of book 2 wouldn't be fair. So today's #WIPWednesday is an excerpt from <i>Under a Blue Moon</i>, which is book 2 in the Camp H.O.W.L. series. You'll still get to see bits of Adrian and Tate, but the main characters are Drew and Nick, both of whom are new staffers at Camp H.O.W.L.<br />
<br />
They have instant chemistry, but Drew is human, which throws up some red flags for Nick, who's a werewolf. Of course, he'd known Drew was human when he'd slept with him the night before...but he hadn't realized they'd be working together.<br />
<br />
In this excerpt, Nick has just arrived at Camp H.O.W.L. and is heading to his first staff meeting. He's nervous about meeting everyone and still a little hung up on the amazing guy he'd had a one-night stand. They hadn't even exchanged numbers, so of course Drew is the last person he'd expect to see at Camp H.O.W.L.<br />
<br />
If you haven't read book 1 yet, you can pick it up <a href="https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/camp-howl-by-bru-baker-8876-b" target="_blank">here</a> in ebook, print, or audio!<br />
<br />
Enjoy!<br />
<br />
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<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
Once in a blue moon, opposites find they’re a perfect match.<br /><br />Nick Perry is tired of helping people with their marriages, so when a spot opens up to work with teens at Camp H.O.W.L., he jumps at it. He doesn’t expect to fall in lust with the dreamy new camp doctor, Drew Welch. But Drew is human, and Nick has seen secrets ruin too many relationships to think that a human/werewolf romance can go anywhere.<br /><br />Happy-go-lucky Drew may not sprout claws, but he’s been part of the Were community all his life. He has no trouble fitting in at the camp—except for Nick’s stubborn refusal to acknowledge the growing attraction between them and his ridiculous stance on dating humans. Fate intervenes when one of his private practice patients threatens Drew’s life. Will the close call help Nick to see a connection like theirs isn’t something to let go of?<i><br /></i>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>_________________________EXCERPT____________________________</i></div>
<i><br /></i>
<i>Under a Blue Moon</i><br />Camp H.O.W.L. book 2<br />
Dreamspinner Press, release date June 2018<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br />It was smart, isolating the camp on a parcel of land surrounded by public parklands. Nick bet if he looked at the land records he’d find the national parkland had been donated by a wealthy family, with the camp itself being left as private property. Hidden on thousands of acres, people would have eventually forgotten the entire tract wasn’t public land. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Anyone who stumbled on Camp H.O.W.L. now saw miles of fencing and warnings about not picking up hitchhikers. The camp was officially a private program for troubled teens who needed nature therapy. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
He hadn’t come across a wolfling yet, but dinner was just ending. They’d still been in lockdown when he and Harris had arrived, and now he could hear the muffled chaos of a large group of teens talking and eating in the mess hall nearby. He’d already looked over the roster of kids in his cabin—all boys. They were breaking him in gently, because God only knew what a cabin full of teenage girl drama would be like. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The infirmary was one of the few buildings on campus that didn’t have a view of the lake. Every light blazed like some sort of homing beacon. Did they always leave it lit up like that, or was it for his benefit? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Nick lifted a shoulder and sniffed at his shirt, reassuring himself he’d changed out of Drew’s dirty one at the cabin. He’d stuffed it in his suitcase after unpacking—lying and telling himself he’d stashed it there so it didn’t get mixed in with his laundry and not in a lame attempt to preserve the remnants of their scents mixed together. </blockquote>
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He jogged up the cedar stairs and into the building, following the quiet hum of conversation through the small lobby and deeper into the darkened hallway. There was an empty desk—reception, he guessed—and few small exam rooms with the doors propped open. A staircase led upstairs, but the voices were coming from farther back. He emerged onto a large screened-in porch, joining a group of about ten people who were milling around with plates of food. </blockquote>
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Anne Marie snagged him immediately. “Welcome, Nick. We usually eat in the mess hall before the meeting, but today was a little hectic with the storm cleanup. The mess sent over some food, and we were just finishing up. Help yourself if you’re hungry.” </blockquote>
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His stomach was too tied up in knots to eat, but he knew he’d regret it later if he didn’t try to force something down. It wasn’t like he could make a Taco Bell run at midnight if he got hungry. </blockquote>
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The dinner laid out on the table didn’t look like something that had been pulled together for a last-minute meal. There were platters of roast beef sandwiches on thick slices of brioche, several types of salads, and some sort of soup that smelled mouthwatering. Spicy and sweet. </blockquote>
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His pulse quickened as he took another breath. It wasn’t the soup. </blockquote>
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He was wearing one of his own clean shirts, but Drew’s smell was unmistakable. He’d spent last night trying to memorize it to give himself something to think about on his lonely nights at camp. Nick turned around and scanned the room, looking for the source of the smell. Anne Marie was talking to Kenya, and the rest of the staff was clustered in groups of threes and fours, chatting. Harris was nowhere to be seen, but he’d told Nick he had mess-hall duty, so he was probably still there keeping an eye on the wolflings.<br /> There weren’t any other familiar faces, and Nick forced himself to take a calming breath. Clearly he was losing his mind. </blockquote>
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Nick helped himself to a plate and a sandwich and wandered over to the edge of the porch. The infirmary might not have a view of the lake, but it had its own pond out back. Water burbled down a pebbled wall, and he could smell the citrusy tang of the lemongrass growing in pots along the edge. It blended nicely with the sharp smell of the evergreens that blanketed the forest. The entire setup was peaceful and relaxing, which made sense. This was an infirmary, after all. Weres were immune to most diseases and infections, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t break bones or injure themselves in the same ways humans did. They just healed faster—especially in an environment like this. </blockquote>
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“It’s a wonderful place to spend an afternoon reading,” Kenya said, joining him. “The pond has koi in it, and when it gets a little warmer, we’ll bring out hammocks and chairs so everyone can enjoy the pond. Though I suppose that might change. Diann kept the pond and the porch open for anyone, but it’s not actually meant to be a public space. The camp doctor lives upstairs, so this is really an extension of his home.” </blockquote>
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Nick hadn’t realized the doctor lived there, but it made sense. The stairs he’d passed probably led to an apartment. The doctor needed to be available at all hours to care for sick wolflings, and living above the infirmary would make that easy. </blockquote>
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“I think you’ll like him,” she said, gesturing over his shoulder toward the hallway. “You two are about the same age, and he’s got a great sense of humor.” </blockquote>
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The spicy-sweet smell intensified, and Nick turned around, panic building tight and hot in his throat. It couldn’t be, could it? </blockquote>
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But it was. </blockquote>
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Drew stood in the doorway, freshly showered and dressed in a Camp H.O.W.L. T-shirt that was just a little bit too big. It dipped below his collarbone, exposing a love bite Nick had left there last night. It was only visible for a second, disappearing behind the sweater Drew pulled over his head before stepping onto the porch. </blockquote>
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“Sorry for holding you up,” Drew said, slightly breathless. “I wanted to wash the plane off.” </blockquote>
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He’d probably wanted to wash the scent of a werewolf off too. Nick had done the same as soon as he’d gotten into his room, even though smelling a human on him wouldn’t have caused any problems. Not like the scent of a foreign wolf would in a new den.<br /> Drew’s hair had been mussed by the collar of his sweater, and he absently ran his hands through it to tame it, a motion that looked so practiced Nick doubted he knew he was doing it, let alone how sexy it was. </blockquote>
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“Already wearing the merch, Dr. Welch?” someone called from a chair a few feet away.<br /> Drew laughed. “Like it’s a surprise, Scott. I think this one is yours, isn’t it? I recognize the ketchup stain under the O.” </blockquote>
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“Why aren’t you wearing mine?” a tiny blonde sitting on the arm of an easy chair called out. </blockquote>
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“The one you sent had literal sparkles and ended under my nipples, Kaylee. I’m saving it for a special occasion, obviously.” </blockquote>
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The thought of Drew in a skin-tight belly shirt made Nick shiver. What the hell was going on? Was this actually happening or was he having some sort of stress-induced hallucination? If it really was Drew—and his nose was telling him it was—then why was he acting like he knew every werewolf in the room? How was he even in the room? This was a Were camp, and the last time he’d checked, Drew was decidedly lacking in an inner wolf. </blockquote>
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“Everyone sent Drew an article of clothing that carried their scent so he’d smell like Pack when he got here,” Kenya explained, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “We figured it would be easier for the wolflings to accept a human if he smelled like he belonged here right from the beginning.” </blockquote>
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It wasn’t just a scent thing. Drew acted like he belonged here, too. He was completely at home, joking around with everyone like they were old friends. Hell, he wasn’t even wearing shoes. The sight of his bare toes poking out from the hem of his jeans was so domestic it made Nick want to pounce and claim him right there on the floor. The thought made him scowl at the bare wooden planks like they’d offended him. Even though he’d been fantasizing about finding Drew all day, seeing him here was nightmare. Nick didn’t want a relationship with him, not a real one. And now that they were coworkers, they certainly couldn’t be fuck buddies. </blockquote>
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Kenya turned to face him, and Nick realized he hadn’t said anything since Drew had walked in. </blockquote>
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“That isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” she asked sharply. “Drew being human?” </blockquote>
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As a coworker? No. But as a huge complication in Nick’s work life? Yes.</blockquote>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-33a8411d-b912-b114-a48a-0f916f7c7e1c"></span>Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-26095923944715674282017-12-02T14:15:00.000-05:002017-12-02T14:15:09.478-05:00Holiday treats for your sweet tooth<br />
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<a href="https://www.bru-baker.com/holidaynovellas" target="_blank"><img alt=" Holiday romances" border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="560" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWjyBMB4DVcr99Dsom9k3_M87t4L4zVKFg7LEfGP9o6kOEBEcuIUAhCTKRr4K_mnCZP2iJPTW0dV3GOygVcQi4V_RRed_RYZHTmqCnW62nDDLZDmig2ltbPfa8n5qH0eb18OC4SNV-4HU/s400/Cozy+up+with+a+holiday+read.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Thanksgiving is behind us and we're coming up on that holiday sweet spot--early enough in the season we're still feeling warm and fuzzy, before we've been exhausted by holiday shopping and baking and what can seem like an endless parade of parties and family visits.<div>
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Or maybe that's just my introvert showing. </div>
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At any rate, it's time for sweet holiday treats, classic movie marathons, and best of all, cozy holiday stories! It's no secret that I love writing holiday stories. My first book was a short in the Dreamspinner Press Advent Calendar collection in 2012 (<i><a href="http://getbook.at/Traditions" target="_blank">Traditions from the Heart</a></i>), which means I celebrated my five-year publishing anniversary on Dec. 1. Hard to believe I now have 20 books out with Dreamspinner! (And <a href="https://www.bru-baker.com/holidaynovellas" target="_blank">five of them</a> are holiday stories!) And how fitting is it that book 20 was also a holiday short story for the Advent calendar? It was so awesome to have my 20th book come out on the 5th anniversary of my first release. *g*<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnd2dFbOsLeddwimUWLybF9xr9eXmoCe6xwGD_ZDwYZxZFUrxAfqeR3ee0a9sf1hNYo_6dUL6rYqHRcv306pv3PPSM9Pfg5AepyNzHv6sUDXIxtncJ6ZWsCzsIrZC0iLxf6HBkhVn9nYw/s1600/Craft+store+owner+Grant+has+always+been+a+sucker+for+a+pretty+face%252C+and+that+goes+double+for+a+pretty+face+with+an+adorable+sidekick.+When+seven-year-old+Aubrey+has+her+heart+set+on+taking+Grant%25E2%2580%2599s+already-full+ho.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="560" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnd2dFbOsLeddwimUWLybF9xr9eXmoCe6xwGD_ZDwYZxZFUrxAfqeR3ee0a9sf1hNYo_6dUL6rYqHRcv306pv3PPSM9Pfg5AepyNzHv6sUDXIxtncJ6ZWsCzsIrZC0iLxf6HBkhVn9nYw/s640/Craft+store+owner+Grant+has+always+been+a+sucker+for+a+pretty+face%252C+and+that+goes+double+for+a+pretty+face+with+an+adorable+sidekick.+When+seven-year-old+Aubrey+has+her+heart+set+on+taking+Grant%25E2%2580%2599s+already-full+ho.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> <a href="http://getbook.at/Homemade" target="_blank">AMAZON</a> <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/homemade-from-the-heart-bru-baker/1127562905?ean=2940158981197" target="_blank">BARNES AND NOBLE </a> <a href="https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/homemade-from-the-heart-by-bru-baker-9097-b" target="_blank">DREAMSPINNER</a> <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/homemade-from-the-heart" target="_blank">KOBO</a></span></div>
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<br />What I'm reading</h3>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieYRWwyTPJm0NwzQG2GscIzTDa7Lb0wYrynGuAVdHgECaio1O_mRFj3ixIJe5uGQKFtdO8-1jNY74B2ykEEC0RIaUfdmy1nCjwwm-583g3i43NkNXBgA0eTP8Gn7gOYnhou47Z7TUMxOc/s1600/eighth+night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="230" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieYRWwyTPJm0NwzQG2GscIzTDa7Lb0wYrynGuAVdHgECaio1O_mRFj3ixIJe5uGQKFtdO8-1jNY74B2ykEEC0RIaUfdmy1nCjwwm-583g3i43NkNXBgA0eTP8Gn7gOYnhou47Z7TUMxOc/s200/eighth+night.jpg" width="132" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Eighth-Night-Caraway-Carter-ebook/dp/B0776MT93X/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1512232579&sr=1-1&keywords=eighth+night" target="_blank">AMAZON</a> <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-eighth-night-caraway-carter/1127395444?ean=2940155021704" target="_blank">BN</a> <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-eighth-night-2" target="_blank">KOBO</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU8qPhlcBmdI_0FfhLuvy-cUob3c8TuUuIuYqPXJjt0H_t0lIsCmcfCWib0p2wLrFCX4q2RTmBD2GlJaPCwk1rf7hkjJhmtAioH5kMHOxw9Xtg8Cdt70L3alfPDNsIV7lS-CotGDNscKE/s1600/dickens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="329" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU8qPhlcBmdI_0FfhLuvy-cUob3c8TuUuIuYqPXJjt0H_t0lIsCmcfCWib0p2wLrFCX4q2RTmBD2GlJaPCwk1rf7hkjJhmtAioH5kMHOxw9Xtg8Cdt70L3alfPDNsIV7lS-CotGDNscKE/s200/dickens.jpg" width="131" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Can-Kiss-My-Dickens-ebook/dp/B077T28XMY/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1512231857&sr=1-1&keywords=christmas+can+kiss+my+dickens" target="_blank">AMAZON</a></td></tr>
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<br />I've been working feverishly on <i>Under a Blue Moon</i>, the sequel to <i><a href="http://mybook.to/CampHOWL" target="_blank">Camp H.O.W.L.</a>, </i>and now that it's safely in the hands of my editor at Dreamspinner I can gorge on some holiday reads. </div>
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I've already read (and LOVED) the holiday offerings from <a href="https://www.facebook.com/CarawayCarter" target="_blank">Caraway Carter</a> and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/hunterfrostMM" target="_blank">Hunter Frost</a>. They're both feel-good reads that are a little outside the traditional holiday story. </div>
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We'll be working on getting our Christmas decorations up in the Baker household this weekend, and I always make a batch of peppermint bark to sustain us. I bought the expensive stuff for years until I realized how easy it to make yourself. Though now we probably eat way too much of it through the holiday season. *g* Once you make this for friends I promise it will be what they ask you to bring to holiday parties forever after. It looks impressive and tastes great, and you don't have to tell them it's dead simple to make!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6DRW2LzxyDmvbuPwUU9lmXACEMRpTswA7FH6PsKm-_Cy6eUcKChnGgHhCyIzi27OsLuWzkbBKqGyJSxQIwyjNkG5mgb6hmuJtxLqPE4nruMdvAEFRTirICaSpP49A58Z247YXBgA_i8/s1600/Bru%2527s.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6DRW2LzxyDmvbuPwUU9lmXACEMRpTswA7FH6PsKm-_Cy6eUcKChnGgHhCyIzi27OsLuWzkbBKqGyJSxQIwyjNkG5mgb6hmuJtxLqPE4nruMdvAEFRTirICaSpP49A58Z247YXBgA_i8/s640/Bru%2527s.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-68769766614723733852017-06-21T10:34:00.000-04:002017-06-21T10:34:18.963-04:00WIP Wednesday: Christmas in June<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikclx3x4GZmqYAnOTeiTXy0GsJl5-Kb_-cU9yY9NkpTGy5z8x55zhTQJAC_XBexwOB1NqaAqGUE7j_Xu6o-RlUyPpnLyUT_jKhGu8oJEtBcFnlVk2FlXmRmeN9Wx4Gg6rOz7VCk7h_96w/s1600/snowglobe.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikclx3x4GZmqYAnOTeiTXy0GsJl5-Kb_-cU9yY9NkpTGy5z8x55zhTQJAC_XBexwOB1NqaAqGUE7j_Xu6o-RlUyPpnLyUT_jKhGu8oJEtBcFnlVk2FlXmRmeN9Wx4Gg6rOz7VCk7h_96w/s320/snowglobe.png" width="320" /></a></div>
If you follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/bru.baker79" target="_blank">Facebook</a> you know I've been in a self-imposed holiday music hell for the last week or so as I finished up my Dreamspinner Press Advent submission. I'd been working on it on and off for months and found I needed to buckle down and focus or I'd never make the deadline.<br />
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My kids were beyond tired of Christmas pop, so they were thrilled when I picked them up from camp yesterday blasting the <i>Hamilton</i> soundtrack. That's right, my Advent draft is finished!<br />
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I'm so excited to introduce you to Grant, Josh, and Aubrey in today's excerpt. As you can see (that's them in the snowglobe), Josh and Aubrey are ridiculously adorable together, so I'm sure you can sympathize with how irresistible Grant finds them when they walk into his art studio looking for Christmas craft lessons.<br />
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Audiobook news</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrBbO1zI24NKjSLFFoEwulhkYs_w_2Z1c4pxx12kjXyIR9XO3XnxLZxqO9WsEa5q_f7mrFJk4Fuzqo6HNPTJbA9fTRVpeiQ08PdUZN_xLTI5IGi8Vh1X0argLlaDGmANSwEFui3Yv-EiE/s1600/TDD+audio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrBbO1zI24NKjSLFFoEwulhkYs_w_2Z1c4pxx12kjXyIR9XO3XnxLZxqO9WsEa5q_f7mrFJk4Fuzqo6HNPTJbA9fTRVpeiQ08PdUZN_xLTI5IGi8Vh1X0argLlaDGmANSwEFui3Yv-EiE/s200/TDD+audio.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Between that and the <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Tall-Dark-Deported-Dreamspun-Desires/dp/B071GV8BCT/ref=tmm_aud_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Tall, Dark, and Deported </a></i>audiobook coming out on Monday, it's been an exciting week for me--and it's only Wednesday! Dorian Bane does an amazing job on it, so I hope you'll l<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Tall-Dark-Deported-Dreamspun-Desires/dp/B071GV8BCT/ref=tmm_aud_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">isten to the sample</a>. I love the way he makes Crawford and Mateus come alive and infuses both of them with so much personality. This is my first title to be released in audiobook and I thought it would be weird to hear my words but it was so much fun to listen to. (And now that I don't have to listen to holiday music in the car on my commute, I can listen to the entire thing today when I head in to work later! *g*)<br />
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Excerpt</h3>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_xMEAOQ37uutZRBGGkyxNjTcwRSHEqJBAbSyrkZCQqAYGYd8w91rCD-T9Pue42qtepjqVhGTIZZvhnh3068kXAGPNCZ4JTBVs33fqnSNdmWwI7mdBA6ysKTfN6I4NpDvm2tmHr2mFLk/s1600/20161210_143623.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_xMEAOQ37uutZRBGGkyxNjTcwRSHEqJBAbSyrkZCQqAYGYd8w91rCD-T9Pue42qtepjqVhGTIZZvhnh3068kXAGPNCZ4JTBVs33fqnSNdmWwI7mdBA6ysKTfN6I4NpDvm2tmHr2mFLk/s320/20161210_143623.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The wreath Thing 2 and I made last Christmas.</td></tr>
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And now, enjoy some crafty Christmas fun with Josh, Aubrey, and Grant from my latest WIP. Grant is talking Aubrey through making an ornament wreath (see the picture) while Josh listens. He's been flirting with Josh for several lessons and decides it's time to double down on his innuendo...even though he's pretty sure Josh is straight.<br />
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❄❄🎄❄❄</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Grant rooted around in the basket and found the set of glittery rub-on letters he’d put in earlier. “You said you were giving the wreath to your aunt, right Aubrey?” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Aubrey shifted her focus to him without missing a beat. “My Aunt Jo.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, if you think she’d like it we can monogram the wreath with her initials. I think it would look great with the frosted ornaments you’ve picked out.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Aubrey squealed. “She’d love that!”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Okay. Well, once we get your wreath glued together we’ll put these letters on the three ornaments that are in the center. What do you think? Top or bottom?”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Josh made a choking noise from the next table where he’d sunk into a chair with his coffee. Grant looked up, startled, and then caught the accidental innuendo. Instead of backing away from it as he should have, he dug in deeper. “If it was for me I’d say bottom. It’s my favorite position for things like that. It’s always better on the bottom.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Josh’s coffee sloshed when he put it down abruptly, spilling over his knuckles as his coughing fit continued. Grant didn’t know if that was a good thing or not, but at least he’d tried.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I want to put them at the bottom,” Aubrey said, blessedly oblivious to the undertones. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Monograms are the things with the letters from her name, aren’t they?”</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Aubrey’s wreath was all arranged, so Grant turned on the glue gun to warm it up. He’d gone with an assortment of bright colors for his, laid haphazardly. It was a big contrast to Aubrey’s carefully laid pattern of understated colors. They looked great next to each other. He’d have to take a photo for the studio’s Instagram when they were done. And maybe a few with Aubrey and Hot Divorced Dad for his own personal scrapbook of students with their art.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You can do monograms two ways. You can do the first letter from her first and last name only or you can add her middle initial, too,” he told her. Josh had recovered from his coughing fit and was watching them with a veiled expression, his long legs splayed as he lounged in a chair that was meant for someone much smaller than him. Grant’s knees were practically touching his ears, so he could sympathize.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Aubrey studied her wreath. “It would be nice and centered if we do the one with three.”</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">The kid had great instincts. Grant hoped she’d become a regular, and not just because Josh came with her. He didn’t know if she had any natural talent for drawing or painting, but her eye for color and design was well beyond her age. He’d bet that carried over into artistic talent, especially given how well her father could paint.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“We’ll do three, then. You’ll need to find her initials in capital letters.”</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Aubrey talked to herself as she chose the letters. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Josephine Clarke.” She frowned and looked over her shoulder at Josh. “What’s her middle name?”</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Lynn,” Josh said without hesitation.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That must mean this aunt was his sister. Between the shared last name and his certainty about her middle name, it made sense.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hmm.” Aubrey dug through and found an L. “Mom’s middle name is Lydia.”</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“And mine is Leonard,” Josh said.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Aubrey giggled. “So you all have the same monogram?”</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Josh’s ex hadn’t changed her last name? Didn’t women usually do that after a divorce? And her name started with J, too? They’d probably had one of those weddings with their initials engraved on everything. It would have been cute. Grant kind of hated her for that.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The light on the glue gun clicked off, signaling it was ready to use. Was Aubrey ready to handle it on her own? Grant flicked his glance from the glue gun to Josh, who shrugged.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“She’s used one before, but I don’t know how closely Jill supervised.”</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So the ex’s name must be Jill. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Josh and Jill. It’s too adorable to hate them. Ugh.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’m allowed to hold the pieces together,” Aubrey said. She waved a hand dismissively. </span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You have to put the glue on.”</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 2.148; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well that settled that. </span></blockquote>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-2e916f87-cb0a-a8e6-f125-7f31f01233bb"><div>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
</span><span id="docs-internal-guid-2e916f87-cb07-fb6e-3711-a67889b19d47"></span>Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-32195721325846931982017-03-29T08:00:00.000-04:002017-04-05T18:36:29.331-04:00WIP Wednesday to celebrate the upcoming release of Tall, Dark, and Deported!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicS6Dn8lVU3j8FuUHzFywJC0SsBTKLUzQfpz5WhDRVfpos7WGG_cP7Bg-8cNHVgOOwsIGY0EMiobdocL1Ksx0D8AG1coh4NQzalQQFdD1LFWU2PmtzbpEGwzPdNMyqyflQ91PmuA3m4FQ/s1600/TallDarkAndDeported_FBbanner_DSP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicS6Dn8lVU3j8FuUHzFywJC0SsBTKLUzQfpz5WhDRVfpos7WGG_cP7Bg-8cNHVgOOwsIGY0EMiobdocL1Ksx0D8AG1coh4NQzalQQFdD1LFWU2PmtzbpEGwzPdNMyqyflQ91PmuA3m4FQ/s320/TallDarkAndDeported_FBbanner_DSP.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
It's almost release day for <i>Tall, Dark, and Deported, </i>and I admit I've been spending most of my time writing blog tour posts instead of working on a WIP. I'm going to share a favorite scene from the book for #WIP Wednesday instead.<br />
I hope you'll join me at my tour stops for a few video readings, a killer recipe for homemade hot pretzels, and a tongue-in-cheek look at what an author does on release day, just to highlight a few. *g*<br />
<br />
<h2>
Tour stops:</h2>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: black;">March 25:<b> <a href="https://mmgoodbookreviews.wordpress.com/2017/03/25/tall-dark-and-deported-by-bru-baker-blog-tour-guest-post-excerpt/" target="_blank">MM Good Books: A primer in our favorite category romance tropes</a></b></span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: black;">March 29: <a href="http://kimmerseroticbookb.wixsite.com/kimmerseroticbb/single-post/2017/03/29/GUEST-POST-Bru-Baker-of-Tall-Dark-and-Deported" target="_blank"><b>Kimmers Erotic Book Banter: Why Crawford and Mateus's story makes good fiction but bad reality</b></a></span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 0.5in; white-space: pre-wrap;">March 30: <a href="http://openskyebookreviews.com/bru-bakers-tall-dark-and-deported-guest-post/" target="_blank">Open Skye: Meet Mateus and Crawford</a></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: black;">March 31: <a href="http://www.myfictionnook.com/2017/03/blogtour-and-release-day-review-tall-dark-deported-by-bru-baker.html" target="_blank">My fiction Nook: Video reading</a></span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: black;">April 1: <a href="https://alphabookclub.org/2017/04/05/tall-dark-deported-bru-baker-guest-post/" target="_blank">Alpha Book Reviews: Top 10 things authors do on release day</a></span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: black;">April 3: <a href="http://www.thenovelapproachreviews.com/guest-post-tall-dark-and-deported-by-bru-baker/" target="_blank">Novel Approach: The Auntie Anne's copycat recipe you never knew your life was missing</a></span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 0.5in; white-space: pre-wrap;">April 4: <a href="http://lovebytesreviews.com/2017/04/04/guestpost-incl-reading-bru-baker-tall-dark-and-deported/" target="_blank">Love Bytes: Video reading (featuring those delectable pretzels)</a></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: black;">April 5: <a href="https://scatteredthoughtsandroguewords.com/2017/04/05/bru-baker-on-writing-books-and-her-latest-release-tall-dark-and-deported-author-interview/" target="_blank">Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words: Interview</a></span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">April 6: Boy Meets Boy: Video reading</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 0.5in; white-space: pre-wrap;">April 6: Kimi-Chan Experience: LA Times Festival of Books and what's next</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></blockquote>
<br />
And now for the promised excerpt: <span style="color: #00000a; text-indent: 0.5in;">Mateus and Crawford met only hours ago, but they're already married. It was a ploy to keep Mateus from being deported, but Crawford is finding it has some bonuses for him, too. Namely, making his ex-husband and co-worker Davis cattily jealous. </span><br />
<span style="color: #00000a; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlKvbdV29b-3Uhu6HbTp75Mzeo2qiu2GmwWfdMT-goItc05Xsa9va1W6jzKy8ULuWVo_noY_ns7d-_I_FlNlpIUr5TC9K3qHAuDswnrE4SCzq87fGK1POJgCAxuOZUlzdjqY48wXwMx8g/s1600/TallDarkAndDeportedFS_v1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlKvbdV29b-3Uhu6HbTp75Mzeo2qiu2GmwWfdMT-goItc05Xsa9va1W6jzKy8ULuWVo_noY_ns7d-_I_FlNlpIUr5TC9K3qHAuDswnrE4SCzq87fGK1POJgCAxuOZUlzdjqY48wXwMx8g/s320/TallDarkAndDeportedFS_v1.jpg" width="194" /></a></div>
<h3>
<a href="https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/tall-dark-and-deported-by-bru-baker-8257-b" target="_blank">Tall, Dark, and Deported</a>, <span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Release date: April 1</span></h3>
<br />
“I had no idea you were getting married,” Davis said when he finally tore his eyes away and looked at Crawford. His cheek twitched, just like it always did when he was annoyed, but that was the only giveaway to show he wasn’t as enthusiastically pleased as his tone suggested. Davis always had been excellent at reading situations and acting exactly as he should. “And that you were bringing your new husband along to Vancouver.”<br />
<br />
“They were just married today,” Michelle said helpfully.<br />
<br />
The twitch grew more pronounced. “Is that so?” he asked, giving Crawford a speculative look. “Well, then, I must agree with Michelle. We insist you take the penthouse suite. And you’ll join me for dinner tonight, won’t you? I was planning to dine here at the hotel with some of the management staff, but since this is a special occasion, I think that can wait. We can have the concierge secure a reservation somewhere appropriately festive.”<br />
<br />
Crawford’s mouth fell open, but before he could let loose a scathing retort—leave it to Davis to make Crawford’s remarriage all about him, Jesus—Mateus spoke up.<br />
<br />
“That is so kind of you, but I have plans for my husband tonight.” Mateus’s voice was like velvet, making it clear that those plans he so glibly referenced were definitely not for public consumption. He ran a proprietary hand up Crawford’s back and down his arm, twining their hands together.<br />
<br />
Davis visibly flinched, his eyes widening. “Tomorrow, then. I insist. My treat, to celebrate. It really is amazing to see Crawford married again,” he said, his composure returning with his smirk. The look he gave Crawford was speculative, like he could see right through him. He’d always been a lot better at reading people than Crawford had. After all, he’d correctly sized Crawford up as a chump, hadn’t he?<br />
<br />
“Ah, I don’t know if I’ll be done with him by then, but I don’t want to keep him from his work. I suppose I can share,” Mateus purred.<br />
<br />
Davis colored a bit at the insinuation that he was nothing but a coworker. “I do wonder why you chose to get married right now,” Davis said, a gleam in his eye. “The timing is a bit curious. I mean, you hadn’t said anything about your husband-to-be in any of our conference calls, and then you get married the day you’re going to see me?” He turned to Mateus and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Surely you know who I am. I can’t imagine Crawford hasn’t told you about me.”<br />
<br />
Crawford felt like he was in the middle of a tennis match or a particularly vicious argument on some <i>Real Housewives</i> spin-off. He knew he should intervene, but he couldn’t seem to make himself speak. It would be so easy to smile and shrug Davis off, claiming they were tired and needed to get up to their room. It would be totally plausible that newlyweds would want alone time, but it was also mortifying that the clerk and the entire lobby would assume he and Mateus were going upstairs to have sex.<br />
<br />
“Oh, he has,” Mateus said, his smile still firmly in place. He squeezed Crawford’s hand. “Shall we go up, <i>meu amor</i>?"<br />
<br />
<div align="justify" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.03in;">
<br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><a href="https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/tall-dark-and-deported-by-bru-baker-8257-b" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank">Dreamspinner Press</a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Tall-Dark-Deported-Dreamspun-Desires-ebook/dp/B06XKQTRKF/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1490042206&sr=8-1" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank">Amazon</a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/tall-dark-and-deported-bru-baker/1125870288?ean=9781634776837" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble </a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Bru_Baker_Tall_Dark_and_Deported?id=BrQHDgAAQBAJ" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank">Google Play</a></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><a href="https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/tall-dark-and-deported-by-bru-baker-8257-b" target="_blank">Dreamspinner Press</a> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Tall-Dark-Deported-Dreamspun-Desires-ebook/dp/B06XKQTRKF/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1490042206&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Amazon</a> <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/tall-dark-and-deported-bru-baker/1125870288?ean=9781634776837" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble </a> <a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Bru_Baker_Tall_Dark_and_Deported?id=BrQHDgAAQBAJ" target="_blank">Google Play</a></span></span></div>
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</style>Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-70151865906711397442016-12-07T10:50:00.003-05:002016-12-07T10:52:27.466-05:00WIP Wednesday: Something a little differentToday for #WIPWednesday I'm changing lanes a bit and sharing something from my first foray into lesbian romance. (No worries if that's not your genre--we'll be back to gay romance next week with more from my werewolves, Tate and Adrian!)<br />
<br />
Not only is it a lesbian romance, it's a Regency historical, which is also something new for me. It's a novelette, so it was a low-stress way for me to dip my toe into both genres. I had a blast with it and it has been well received, so it likely won't be my last. *g*<br />
<br />
This is also my first time self-publishing something, so I don't have my usual channels to get the word out about a new release. (If you have any tips, drop me a line!)<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<br /><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hearts-thaw-Bru-Baker-ebook/dp/B01NAFKLNS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1481125500&sr=8-1&keywords=heart%27s+thaw" target="_blank">Heart's Thaw</a></h3>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "century schoolbook l" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 100%; text-indent: 0.2in;">Release date: Dec. 4, 2016</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMipSLOdHe2BNEvc0yE-HtWJBwefMpx472wUb_Creu-NrNwisvJkGHeUNPYChtzQN9-c6PQjbZkqyRZenaNizz5nytblp9xU-I-SCEdo1H0fFq2KbrkCCsSiFZj63EeBjlNmYenvgwh5I/s1600/heart%2527s+thaw+for+blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMipSLOdHe2BNEvc0yE-HtWJBwefMpx472wUb_Creu-NrNwisvJkGHeUNPYChtzQN9-c6PQjbZkqyRZenaNizz5nytblp9xU-I-SCEdo1H0fFq2KbrkCCsSiFZj63EeBjlNmYenvgwh5I/s320/heart%2527s+thaw+for+blog.jpg" width="199" /></a><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">Calliope snickered, earning herself a dark look from Helena that only served to make her laugh harder. It really was quite amusing. On her end of things, at any rate.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">“I told you not to bait him, but you did it anyway,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, hoping the restriction would help her gain her breath and stop chuckling.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">Helena’s lips pursed but she didn't respond to Calliope’s taunt. It was something Calliope could get used to, and a fresh gale of laughter threatened.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;"> But Helena’s reflexes were still her own, afflicted as she was, and Calliope barely had time to duck before a riding boot went soaring over her head, smacking into the wall behind her with a loud thump.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">“Do you want to rouse Baron Thane?” Calliope asked, lifting an eyebrow challengingly.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">Helena’s teeth clicked together as she bit back a retort, her blue eyes cold as steel as she glared out from under a wispy fringe of long, blonde locks that had escaped their binding and framed her face. Smooth, soft cheeks that were usually rouged and powdered when Calliope saw them twitched with the effort of her restraint. Her lips had been bitten to a fetching cherry-red, pressed into a pout that looked more seductive than quelling.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">Calliope straightened her back, unsuccessfully trying to school her features into a look of regret. How long had she fantasized about this? Having Helena beat down her door at all hours, hair in wild disarray and eyes sparkling with lust?</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">Of course, in the fantasies, things went a bit differently. Fantasy Helena was there because she truly desired Calliope, not because an angry incubus had bespelled her with a curse that she trusted no one other than Calliope to help her lift. In her fantasies, she and Helena shared long, intimate chats tangled up together in the bedclothes, enjoying the afterglow.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">More importantly, in the fantasies, Helena wasn't half-mad with panic. She barely looked like herself, her hair mussed and falling from the meticulous braid that Calliope knew Helena's maid twisted it into nightly. Helena looked like a caricature of herself standing there in her plain night shift, her chest heaving and cheeks flushed from her frantic dash from her own quarters to Calliope’s.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">She also looked a good five years younger. Calliope had never seen Helena without the careful coif and artfully applied paint that Helena usually wore like armor. Standing there freshly scrubbed and clad in plain cotton that didn't look any fancier than what Calliope herself was wearing, Helena could have been mistaken for one of the chamber maids.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">Except for her sharp tongue. That was definitely the same. The story Helena had just woven in her usual soft, lilting tones—marred by a gratuitous use of profanity and several completely unnecessary affronts on Calliope’s intellect and general person that assured Calliope that Helena was indeed herself—seemed too far-fetched to be believable.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">In fact, had Calliope not been with Helena when the two of them had come upon a comely young gentleman in the woods during their late afternoon ride, Calliope wouldn't have believed her.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">But Calliope remembered well how eagerly the man bid for Helena's attention, and how shocked and angry he had been when he had been primly rebuked. He had the look of someone who'd had never had his advances rejected before, and given his ethereal beauty and fine linens, Calliope thought he probably hadn't.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">Helena hadn't held her tongue then, either. By the time she'd finished dressing the gentleman down for having the gall to speak so frankly to someone of Helena's station, the man's face had practically been puce.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">Calliope had thought it a trick of light when his features changed, but one look at Helena's terrified face had put paid to that. Somehow they'd had the luck to stumble across an incubus, and Her Ladyship, daughter and only child of the Duke of Keering, Helena Alexandra Gertrude Heart, had mortally offended him.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">He'd flashed to Helena's side before Calliope could even pull the dagger she wore at her belt whenever they left the safety of the estate, but he didn't strike. He merely whispered something to her, something that had Helena's face draining of what little color it had left.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-indent: 19.2px;">
<span style="font-family: Century Schoolbook L, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">She and Calliope had fled, of course. And even with his preternatural grace, the incubus hadn't been able to catch them as they'd galloped away on their mounts, two of the stables' most reliable and fleet-footed steeds. Calliope had assumed they'd escaped him, but apparently she'd been wrong. Perhaps he hadn't given chase not because he knew he couldn't catch them, but because he'd already exacted his revenge. Not that Calliope could get Helena to tell her exactly what the spell was. She'd said only that she it was base and abominable and that she needed Calliope to help her break it before the effects became permanent.</span></span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
You can find out what happens by picking up <i>Heart's Thaw</i> for .99 cents on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hearts-thaw-Bru-Baker-ebook/dp/B01NAFKLNS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1481125500&sr=8-1&keywords=heart%27s+thaw" target="_blank">Amazon</a>!Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-28222129882532228862016-11-16T12:50:00.002-05:002016-11-18T12:27:55.774-05:00WIP Wednesday: Meet Adrian, an adorable fail!wolf<div class="tr_bq">
Last week I shared a snippet from <i>Camp H.O.W.L. </i>so you could meet Tate, a Were psychologist who works as a camp counselor helping teenagers who need to learn to master their Shift. This week I'm introducing you to his toughest challenge yet--Adrian, the 27-year-old son of the Portland Alpha who never hit his Werewolf puberty. Weres Turn when they're nineteen, so when that year came and went, Adrian and his family adjusted to the news that he was human.</div>
<br />
Until his 27th birthday rolls around and he finds himself hitting Were puberty--in the middle of a crowded city street. Adrian's pretty much the definition of a fail!wolf. I can't wait for you to get to know him! *g*<br />
<br />
<blockquote style="line-height: 1.903909090909091; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<h3>
Camp H.O.W.L.</h3>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Adrian stopped at the crosswalk and took a sip of his coffee as he waited for the light to change. He nearly heaved when the bitter liquid spilled across his tongue. He’d ordered this drink dozens of times and it had always been sweet and smooth, nothing like this awful concoction. The taste of burnt coffee lingered in his mouth, held there by a syrupy residue that he could feel like a weight against his tongue.</span> </blockquote>
<blockquote style="line-height: 1.903909090909091; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He licked against his teeth, trying to rid his tongue of the sensation. This entire day had been a nightmare, and he’d only been up for an hour. Even the hot shower he’d taken to try to loosen his tensed muscles and ease his headache had been a disaster. The hotel must have been having water pressure problems because the rain shower head had been anything but relaxing. The water had hit his skin like tiny missiles, leaving him feeling tender and raw afterward.</span> </blockquote>
<blockquote style="line-height: 1.903909090909091; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The light changed and Adrian moved across the wide street with the smattering of people who’d been waiting near him. The man nearest him must have had his Bluetooth headset turned up to eleven--Adrian could hear every word. He glanced over, surprised that the nicely dressed businessman wasn’t more concerned about privacy. From what Adrian had heard, it sounded like the man was listening to an audiobook or pod cast that was describing a sex scene in lurid detail. No one around them looked the slightest bit scandalized, which made Adrian reevaluate some of his assumptions about Indianapolis. The book would have raised some eyebrows even in his liberal hometown of Portland, but it got nary a sideways glance here in the Heartland.</span> </blockquote>
<blockquote style="line-height: 1.903909090909091; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Adrian brought his foot down hard on the curb and almost went sprawling, but the businessman he’d been watching grabbed him by the elbow and kept him on his feet. Adrian’s satchel swung forward and slammed into the man, the impact knocking one of his earbuds out.</span> </blockquote>
<blockquote style="line-height: 1.903909090909091; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Adrian’s face flamed when a long, loud moan split the air, but no one noticed. The businessman gave him a concerned glance once he’d steadied Adrian on the sidewalk, but Adrian waved him off with a quick thanks. The book continued to play, muted slightly when the man tucked the earbud back into place.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote style="line-height: 1.903909090909091; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Adrian stopped short, stepping to the side when another group of people went by. No one had heard. That’s why they hadn’t reacted. Because the man had been listening at normal volume, and even when the earbud had fallen out, no one had heard because it hadn’t been audible.</span> </blockquote>
<blockquote style="line-height: 1.903909090909091; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
</blockquote>
<blockquote style="line-height: 1.903909090909091; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Except </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">he’d </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">heard.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote style="line-height: 1.903909090909091; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Adrian rubbed his hand across his face. What was going on? He was used to seeing his Packmates react to to things that were outside the register he could process, but he’d obviously never experienced that himself.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote style="line-height: 1.903909090909091; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He'd never given much thought to what Were senses must be like. Sure, he'd seen his sister flinch when fire alarms went off, or noticed how irritable his family could get when they were in a loud, crowded restaurant. But mostly, the Weres he knew adapted to their heightened senses.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote style="line-height: 1.903909090909091; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">That couldn't really be what was happening, though. He didn't know anyone who had Were senses but not the ability to Shift. Not that he personally knew anyone born to Were parents who was a human—like him. But still. No one hit Were puberty at twenty-seven. Did they?</span></blockquote>
Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-21072496789747536542016-11-02T09:00:00.000-04:002016-11-02T09:00:36.713-04:00WIP Wednesday: Introducing Camp H.O.W.L.It's been forever and a day since I had a WIP to share with you, so I'm really excited to be back today with a WIP Wednesday from my current manuscript, Camp H.O.W.L.<br />
<br />
I'm starting NaNoWriMo off strong with help from Tate and Adrian, two werewolves in their late twenties who are spending some quality time together marooned in the middle of the forest with a bunch of teenage werewolves who are adjusting to their werewolf puberty.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, so is Adrian. A quirk of his genetics prevented him from maturing into his wolf when he was nineteen, as almost all Weres do. He'd accepted his fate as the lone human in his pack, but his twenty-seventh birthday changed that. And now he's going through werewolf puberty, with all the embarrassments and frustrations that entails.<br />
<br />
His mortification only escalates when he arrives at Camp H.O.W.L., which is basically a high-end boot camp where baby Weres learn control, and finds that his assigned counselor is hotter than the sun.<br />
<br />
Tate has been helping teens master their urges for years, but Adrian is a new and unexpected challenge. Today's WIP Wednesday showcases just exactly how exasperating his job shepherding the Werewolf elite's brats into wolfdom can be. *g*<br /><br />
<br />
<h3>
Camp H.O.W.L.</h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“For
the last time, Ryan, we aren't keeping you prisoner here. You are an
adult, and if you choose to leave we can't stop you.”</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
They
really couldn't. The kids Tate worked with at Camp HOWL weren't
prisoners—they were Weres who were adjusting to their wolves.
Technically, since the change came on the first full moon after a
Were's nineteenth birthday, they weren't really kids, either.
Everyone at the camp was a legal adult, but it was often difficult
to tell from the way they acted. Camp HOWL catered to the elite in
Were society. A month at the camp cost more than a year's tuition at
most colleges. He'd heard rumors that some parents signed their kids
up as soon as they were born and started making paying the exorbitant
fee in monthly installments nearly two decades before their precious
little wolfling would ever set foot on the manicured grounds.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
It
wasn't the raw juice bar or the Pilates machines that kept the kids
from leaving camp, though. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Every
single one of them knew they'd be roasted by their Alpha if they
walked away from the camp before the counselors released them.
Guarding their secret from exposure was every wolf's highest
priority, even these stuck-up, pampered pseudo-adults. And if any of
them thought they knew best and tried to leave, well, that was
between the Weres and their packs. In his seven years at the camp,
Tate had never seen a Were leave before they graduated. There had
been a few close calls, but all it had taken was a few words with the
recalcitrant Were's Alpha to turn things around. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
He
had Ryan's on speed dial, since it was his job to know how to spot
trouble and Ryan had walked through the camp's gates with trouble written all over him. Tate hoped it wouldn't get that far, but it was a nice ace
up his sleeve. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Ryan
had his phone in his hand, his fingers clutched around the nearly
indestructible case most kids arrived with. They weren't fashionable,
but the wolf-proof titanium was a necessity while the young wolves
learned how to deal with their heightened strength and volatile mood
swings. </blockquote>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYkgdbHq_CV25g82G411cQh5HCLQNDlyBY1GLHxmFZYCtTCw2EdvJywBhAYcYtFFTF0sXc3T2SInS2VyXgQoSVQEkZRJ-BeFGbj2EbcBl5Xoz3Yjd6XVG-fV49so0WdfWErtsFnwM-ZvM/s1600/uber.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYkgdbHq_CV25g82G411cQh5HCLQNDlyBY1GLHxmFZYCtTCw2EdvJywBhAYcYtFFTF0sXc3T2SInS2VyXgQoSVQEkZRJ-BeFGbj2EbcBl5Xoz3Yjd6XVG-fV49so0WdfWErtsFnwM-ZvM/s320/uber.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.pexels.com/photo/uber-smartphone-iphone-app-34239/" target="_blank">Pexels</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“I
called an Uber,” he sneered, his gaze locked on Tate's in a blatant
challenge. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Tate
held his hands up, placating the teen. “That's your call, man,”
he said, trying his damndest to project an air of calm detachment.
Ryan's senses weren't honed enough yet to pick up on Tate's racing
heart or the faint tang of salt in the air from the cold sweat that
had broken out down his back. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
He'd
called an Uber. Jesus Christ. Some day these kids were actually going
to kill him. An emotional, angry baby Were in an Uber? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Luckily
they were miles and miles from an Uber driver, and that was assuming
Wade Watkins could get his scuffed-up Ford F150 to start in the wet
autumn chill. A kid like Ryan would probably take one look at the
dented, rusted out truck and turn tail and run.</blockquote>
Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-82215267305643229452016-04-06T08:26:00.000-04:002016-04-06T08:26:32.138-04:00WIP Wednesday: Fresh out of the shower with Connor and JakeIt's been quite awhile since my last #WIPWednesday post! I've had some health issues that forced me to take a step back from my writing for awhile, but I'm back with a vengeance now. I'm a month and a half into my two-month treatment, and I'm finally starting to feel more like myself. And that means I'm back to writing. There were even a few hairy weeks there where I wasn't drinking coffee...what a relief to be past that dark time! *g*<br />
<br />
I'll be at #RT16 next week (YAY!) so right now I'm in the midst of packing and gathering up all the awesome swag I'll be taking. Keep an eye out next week for a chance to win one of the messenger bags I'm giving away there. (And if you're attending #RT16 in Vegas next week, come find me! I'll have messenger bags, travel mugs and a bunch of other fun stuff.)<br />
<br />
Last week I submitted my novella <i>Better than Okay </i>to my publisher. I spent the week at Universal with Thing 1 and Thing 2 (and no Hubs, so frazzled isn't a strong enough word to explain how stressed I was...) and only barely made my deadline. I always overestimate the amount of time I'll be able to write while on vacation, which when you're talking about running herd on a 9 year old and a 6 year old at a theme park, is pretty much zero. But I did manage to finish up Connor and Jake's story, and I'm sharing some of that here with you today for #WIPWednesday.<br />
<br />
This picks up just after Connor and Jake have come home from a night out at a karaoke club and indulged in some fun times in the shower (one of my favorite places for sex scenes...).<br />
<hr />
<h3>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifD-xcQJpORKsFWlVXCcSXXmszpklsnfWUaO5VEtuONupnKgRpuHqCFRIxLv0nf515VVAQmIanq8C1wbz-v8plZHDvooqF4dJYBYxrZAkAPkQoorW6a_k0oPI14KxlNDSzWzjebADViXc/s1600/man-979980_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifD-xcQJpORKsFWlVXCcSXXmszpklsnfWUaO5VEtuONupnKgRpuHqCFRIxLv0nf515VVAQmIanq8C1wbz-v8plZHDvooqF4dJYBYxrZAkAPkQoorW6a_k0oPI14KxlNDSzWzjebADViXc/s320/man-979980_1280.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://pixabay.com/en/man-male-model-person-young-979980/" target="_blank">Credit</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</h3>
<h3>
<i>Better than Okay, </i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> release date October 2016</span></span></h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The shower spray had gone a bit tepid, but Jake didn’t care, too consumed with nipping and biting at Connor’s lips. It had been awhile since they'd indulged in playful kissing. When he’d finally had his fill of Connor’s mouth, he moved on, mapping the contours of Connor’s face with tiny, closed-mouth kisses that made Connor laugh. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“We’ve wasted enough water for the night, don't you think?” </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Jake chuckled at Connor's admonishment, pushing up off the shower floor and holding a hand out to help Connor up as well.
He reached behind himself, turning the spray off with a flick of his wrist. Connor was already out of the tub, and Jake grinned as a hand shoved a towel inside the curtain. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“Back there, at the club, were you OK? It seemed like—” Jake began, as he stepped out of the shower, but Connor stopped him by flicking his own wet towel out, catching Jake across the torso. Jake took the motion as the challenge it was, rubbing the faint sting away as he tore off after a completely naked Connor into their bedroom. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
There wasn’t anywhere to go in the small confines of the room, and Jake caught him easily, tackling him and pinning him to the bed. The springs made a loud protest, and they stilled their motions, waiting to see if Gavin would notice and yell at them to be quiet. When no loud bangs on the wall or shouts resulted, they resumed their tussle, struggling for dominance as they rolled around on the generously sized bed.
The match was over as quickly as it started when Connor managed to wedge a sharp elbow against Jake’s groin, exerting just enough pressure to prove he had the upper hand. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Jake surrendered, flopping onto his back, his head propped up by the mound of pillows. Connor collapsed next to him, arms folded behind his head as he studied the ceiling. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“At the club?” he prompted, and Jake was tempted to tell Connor to forget it, that he’d rather spend his time screwing than talking. Then again, that was what they normally did, and Jake couldn’t help but worry that attitude was to blame for the uncomfortable moment they’d had at the club. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“The song,” Jake said, wondering how the hell he was going to explain it without sounding like a sap. “I'm being serious, Con. It just seemed like the stupid song we had to sing upset you.” </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Connor captured the hand Jake had thrown the pillow with, pressing a soft kiss to the palm.
“And I’m seriously telling you not to be serious,” Connor said. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Jake was silent for a moment, studying Connor’s eyes, their blue depths darkened with arousal and crinkling around the edges like they did when he was amused. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“But—” </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“For Christ’s sake, Jake,” Connor huffed, dropping his hand and rolling to his back, resuming his survey of the ceiling. “I know what you meant. I just don’t feel the need to make this a thing. Everything's okay. We're okay.” </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Jake’s silence filled the room, and Connor gritted his teeth, turning over again to face him. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“Let's not ruin a good night, alright? I'm tired, you're tired—let's just go to sleep.” </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Jake was quiet for another few seconds, wondering if he should pursue things or just let it go. He'd been doing a lot of that lately. It was infinitely easier to shut up and pretend everything was fine than to argue with Connor, especially since he saw so little of him lately. The remnants of his buzz and the languid contentment of satisfying sex evaporated. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“Okay,” Jake muttered, swallowing his irritation as best he could. It helped when Connor curled around him, skin still slightly damp from the shower. Jake relaxed into the loose embrace, falling asleep before he could second-guess things anymore.</blockquote>
Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-30306379196396477402016-01-27T13:24:00.001-05:002016-01-27T13:24:27.528-05:00#WIPWednesday: Noah lands himself in the ER--and Rory agrees to nurse him back to health<br />
Before I introduce today's #WIPWednesday snippet of <i>You Otter Know</i>, I wanted to share Hans Hirschi's <a href="http://www.hirschi.se/blog/review-king-of-the-kitchen/" target="_blank">amazing review of <i>King of the Kitchen</i></a>. He is a dear friend and a wonderful writer, and his opinion means so much to me. Thank you, Hans! (And everyone: Hans has <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ross-Deere-Handy-Hans-Hirschi-ebook/dp/B01AKF94J2/" target="_blank">a book coming out tomorrow</a>--I'll be picking it up, and you should, too!)<br />
<br />
Even though I missed my deadline for the anthology, I'm still plugging away (slowly) at <i>You Otter Know. </i>Since it will be a stand-alone release and won't have to conform to the shifter anthology's rules, I'm probably going to change a few things. I like the idea of Noah and the other lifeguards being shifters, but I have some ideas about how that's going to play out differently now that I don't have any specifications to meet. Plot twists and shenanigans ahoy! *g*<br />
<br />
Today we peek in on a conversation between Rory and Jared, who's one of Noah's closest friends at the resort, while they wait in the Emergency Room after rushing Noah there with a broken hand. Rory's crush is only going to get worse...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<hr />
<h3>
<i style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0px;">You Otter Know</i></h3>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcz1Y2E-RKZowQ8LuGL0NXcRqGXiwyqDk4N-jrjtkBdH2zlQkqkHtkdrQF5TiFrgV1WwUjDUeH3rujovcRvIuHR5fxiEL53HrkNLxBmsu7md8oBCOO0i4vwQlVWiAUsULyHD3tDn3QAQ/s1600/3967872842_0789dd4866_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcz1Y2E-RKZowQ8LuGL0NXcRqGXiwyqDk4N-jrjtkBdH2zlQkqkHtkdrQF5TiFrgV1WwUjDUeH3rujovcRvIuHR5fxiEL53HrkNLxBmsu7md8oBCOO0i4vwQlVWiAUsULyHD3tDn3QAQ/s320/3967872842_0789dd4866_z.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Photo credit: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/41178161@N07/" target="_blank">Rosser321</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It’s only for a </span></span></span><span style="color: black; line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">few days</span></span><span style="color: black; line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">.”</span></span></span></span></span><span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: black; line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“A
</span></span></span><span style="color: black; line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">few
days</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">?”
Rory’s voice cracked, his tone full of incredulity.</span></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A
weeks, tops</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">,”
Jared said reasonably, gesturing toward the </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">e</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">mergency
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">room
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">doors
Noah had disappeared behind twenty minutes earlier.</span></span></span><span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Jared,
he</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>br</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>oke
</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">his
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>hand</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">.
That’s not going to be better in </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">a</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">few
days</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">.”</span></span></span><span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“No,
but </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">his
roommate is visiting family this week, and I don't think Noah should
be on his own. He'll be all zoned out with pain killers and he'll
need help with stuff.</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">”</span></span></span><span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Why
can’t he stay with you?” he whined, knowing full well that Jared
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">was
in a tiny cabin at the back of the property that</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
didn’t have room for everyone who already lived there, let alone a
guest. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">He'd
wondered why Noah wasn't out there in one, too. Noah was the only
lifeguard who stayed at the resort on the staff floor instead of in
one of the cabins.</span></span></span><span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Rory
–"</span></span></span><span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Rory sat heavily in one of the garish orange plastic
chairs, holding his head in his hands. Noah’s injury had been, at
least in part, his fault. It was amazing, the fact that Noah had made
it through the entire summer </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">rescuing
children with stupidly heroic looking dives </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">and
hadn’t gotten injured </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">at
the pool</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">.
No, he’d gotten hurt when a group of teenagers had been manhandling
Rory on the </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">lobby</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">,
tossing him around within their circle while Greg had been </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">off
doing whatever it was he did when he was shirking work</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">.
Rory had been about to break Jolie’s cardinal rule and take off his
costume head when Noah had appeared, jostling through the crowd of
teenage boys to push them off Rory. One of them had taken a swing,
and Noah had ducked, coming up with a punch when another had tried to
kick Rory, only to have </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>that
</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">teen
sidestep, resulting in Noah’s punch landing against the same lamp
post that Rory had walked into earlier that summer.</span></span></span><span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Fine.
But first thing Monday morning, I’m going to lodge a complaint
against that lamp post. It’s clearly a menace. I’m going to make
sure </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">the
resort</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
has it removed.”</span></span></span></blockquote>
</div>
<div align="center" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-6666826726319578722016-01-20T12:17:00.003-05:002016-01-20T12:17:30.353-05:00#WIPWednesday: Mina gets the inside view on Rory's crushSo I didn't manage to get <i>You Otter Know </i>done in time to submit for the anthology it was targeted at, but I do love the idea, so I think I'm going to keep plodding along on it when I'm not working on other projects. Rory and Noah are too cute to abandon. *g*<br />
<br />
One of the other projects I've been working on is updating my website. I've finally gotten it looking the way I like, so go check it out if you get a chance! I haven't gotten preorder links for <i>Some Assembly Required </i>up yet, but I'm off from the EDJ tomorrow so that'll be Thursday's project. Go take a look: <a href="http://www.bru-baker.com./">www.bru-baker.com.</a><br />
<br />
I'm dealing with some major health issues right now, so I may miss a #WIPWednesday here and there. If you're interested in keeping up with how tests and whatnot are going, I whine fairly often <a href="http://www.facebook.com/bru.baker79" target="_blank">on Facebook</a>.<br />
<br />
Since I'm feeling guilty about that, you get a little bit longer #WIPWednesday today. Mina is Rory's top confidant about his crush on Noah, since Rory's best friend Greg hates Noah and refuses to talk about him. So here's a little chat session between Mina and Rory. *g*<br />
<span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span>
<hr />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<h4>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>You Otter Know</i></span></span></span></h4>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I’ve
seen the way you look at him,” Mina said, waggling her eyebrows as
she held the </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">shirt</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
for Rory to </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">ease</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
into.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />“Who,
Greg? Everyone looks at him like that. He’s unfit for most social
situations, which is why I couldn’t believe it when Jolie assigned
him to be a handler. I figured he’d </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">hired
as a bellman</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">,
or maybe be one of those guys who carry those sticks to pick up
garbage.”<br /><br />Mina rolled her eyes, brushing her hand over the
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">khaki</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
fabric </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">of
Rory'a park ranger costume </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
to smooth out the wrinkles. She frowned at a spot of dirt, grabbing a
lint roller to clean it up. Rory and Noah were both assigned to the
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pup
Den</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">,
the </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">resort's</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">day
camp where parents could drop their</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
children </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">off
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">for
the afternoon. Rory would be reading </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">child-friendly
books about conservation and forest ecology</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
while Noah led </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">swim</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
lessons.<br /><br />“No, Noah. You moon after him when you think he’s
not looking,” she said, squinting critically at his left </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">shoulder</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
before dabbing at it with the lint roller.<br /><br />“I do not </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>moon
</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">after
Noah.”<br /><br />Mina pursed her lips, sending him a challenging
look.<br /><br />“Alright, maybe I moon a bit. But it’s just </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>looking</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">.
You can’t blame me for that. I’d look at Jared, too, if I didn’t
think you’d do something evil like replace the lining of my costume
with sandpaper.”<br /><br />Mina grinned. “Itching powder would work
better.”<br /><br />“Is there really such a thing?” he asked,
cocking his head.<br /><br />“As itching powder? Yes. But that’s not
the point. Why don’t you just ask him out? I know he’s single.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Rory
wasn't so sure. “</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">He
and Jared were talking about </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">going
out</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
with </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sophia
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">last
week, </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">and
Noah was talking about her being all over him down at the lake. I'm
not so sure he's single</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">.”</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mina
made a dismissive noise. “The girl from the front desk? She's all
over all of the lifeguards. I doubt it meant anything. A bunch of
them went for a midnight swim last week or something and had a big
party down on the beach. Jared said they've all known each other for
years. And you've seen how they all are—they're always all over
each other. It's hard to tell who's dating who.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Which
wasn't a big tick in the single column, but that wasn't even the
biggest issue. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Did
you ever </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>see
</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">S</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ophia?
If that’s his type, I don’t fit it remotely. You know – blonde
hair, peachy skin, </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>breasts</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.”<br />Mina
grinned.<br /><br />“I don’t think he’s that picky.”<br /><br />“Well,
thanks for </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>that</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">,
Mina. ‘Oh, go for Noah, Rory. He’s not picky. I’m sure he’d
settle for even a hopeless case like you.’”<br /><br />“Who’s a
hopeless case?”<br /><br />Rory and Mina both jumped at Noah’s voice,
whirling around guiltily.<br /><br />“You are, you </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ass</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.
We’ve only got five minutes before we need to be at the </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Den,</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">”
Rory mumbled, grateful beyond measure when Mina placed the costume’s
head over his, conveniently covering his blush.</span></span></span></div>
Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-54163157627546441522016-01-13T12:18:00.000-05:002016-01-13T12:18:07.115-05:00#WIPWednesday: Pigtail pulling (or otter tail pulling?) with Rory and NoahWe're back with Rory, Noah and their cast of friends at the resort again this week in the tentatively titled <i>You Otter Know. </i>Tempers can run high when you're as good as marooned on an out-of-the-way family resort, forced to spend all your time together whether you're working or not. Or at least, that's what Rory tells himself about the insults Noah throws his way. On the other hand, it could be a case of pigtail pulling. Or in this case, otter tail pulling? *g*<br />
<br />
<br />
<hr />
<h3>
<br />You Otter Know</h3>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.17in;">
<span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">It
must be your face,” Noah said, studying Rory with mock-seriousness
as he gesticulated wildly with a carrot stick he’d taken off Rory’s
tray. “Your ears alone are a crime against nature. Must create a
lot of drag in the water.”</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“I
didn’t </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><i>want
</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">to
be a lifeguard, Noah,” Rory snapped, snatching the carrot back. He
hadn’t wanted to be a character actor either, but Rory didn’t
mention that. He’d hoped for a job behind the scenes, maybe as a
stage manager or technical </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">director
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">for
the shows the resort put on three times a day. Those jobs had already
been filled by the time he put in his application, though.</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“You'd
fall over if you had to life the backboard,” Jared teased. “Not
to mention trip over your feet while you were patrolling the
poolside. I don't know how you stay up in those costumes, given how
many times I've seen you fall over your own feet out of them.”</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“Like
what you do is so hard.” Greg rolled his eyes, ignoring Rory’s
glare when he helped himself to the remaining half of Rory’s
sandwich. “You just walk around yelling at kids who run by the
pool. Oh, hey, remember that time you choked on your whistle because
you almost swallowed it?”</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“Once!”
Noah yelped, lips twitching despite himself. “That happened once. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I
didn't choke, I just gagged. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">And
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">being
a life guard is </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">
a hell of a lot more involved than leading someone around. Not that
you’re any </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><i>good
</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">at
that. You walked Rory into a post last week. I saw it on
YouTube.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.17in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Greg
bristled, distracted enough by Noah’s taunt that he didn’t notice
when Rory reclaimed his sandwich.</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.17in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“It’s
harder than it looks!”</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.17in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“Right,”
Noah drawled, lazily flicking his hand at Rory, who self consciously
raised his own fingers to cover the bruise on his cheek that had
faded to a sickly green.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.17in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“That
lamp post was new,” Greg said hotly.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.17in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“Because
the resort routinely adds built-in lamp posts overnight?” Mina
asked, arching a brow.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.17in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 0.19in;">“Just
shut up, all of you,” Greg muttered.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.17in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“As
fun as this has been, my lunch is over,” Rory said, standing
abruptly. He tossed the remains of his sandwich onto Greg’s tray,
ignoring Mina’s groan of disgust when Greg picked it up and started
eating it.</span></span></span></div>
Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-63064248431590816912016-01-06T10:23:00.003-05:002016-01-06T10:26:44.483-05:00#WIP Wednesday: New year, new manuscript! Meet RoryHappy 2016! I swear the years are passing faster and faster as I get older. My kids are growing like weeds and our schedules seem to grow every year, no matter how much I resolve to do <i>less, </i>not more. Right now we're gearing up (literally, OMG this shit is expensive) for two hockey tournaments in different states and the Girl is already antsy for the start of soccer season. *sob*<br />
<br />
I'm also filling out my writing schedule for 2016. First up is a new adult novella about a group of college students who are spending their summer working at a wilderness resort themed around bears. Rory, our adorable main character, spends his days running arts and crafts stations around the resort and two thirty-minute shifts a day in costume as a giant otter. He has a lust-hate relationship with one of the lifeguards, Noah. As their pigtail pulling progresses, Rory finds out that he's not the only one who spends part of his time as an otter. It's just that Noah's pelt isn't a costume. That's right, I'm writing shifters! *cough* This was definitely something directly inspired by my recent vacation to a certain themed resort with my kids. No sir. */cough* Its working title is You Otter Know, which will definitely change. Probably. God, I hope.<br />
<br />
I'll also be starting a three-book paranormal series with Lex Chase. Our first book together, <i>Some Assembly Required</i>, will be out in early February. It's a meet-cute inside an international big box home furnishings chain that just happens to be purgatory on a different plane of existence. Our new series will be just as quirky, as you'll probably come to expect from the two of us. As Lex likes to say, we shouldn't be allowed to be together without adult supervision. *g*<br />
<br />
I'm planning to finish up my first YA manuscript within the next few months and start shopping that around for a home, which is exciting.<br />
<br />
I'm also plodding along on a middle grade fantasy series that will have some LGBT characters but isn't a romance. That's quite a departure from my usual style, so I won't be sharing that one one here for #WIP Wednesdays.<br />
<br />
Here's a peek at Rory while he's on the job, doing a meet-and-greet in his otter costume. *g*<br />
<br />
<br />
<hr />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.17in;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJTMynK7BtEvC9siimcEj6UWega2DXBIxDYFrrqqJO8YXzKGpPQbdSatDnDShEqFfQEPm36i_RacKAeI7JyKlHIT1tY-6-wAl89Q25j5a8tvoVsO39ebDik5ZbPVsBkVFHfZ58EEbwofE/s1600/otter+costume.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJTMynK7BtEvC9siimcEj6UWega2DXBIxDYFrrqqJO8YXzKGpPQbdSatDnDShEqFfQEPm36i_RacKAeI7JyKlHIT1tY-6-wAl89Q25j5a8tvoVsO39ebDik5ZbPVsBkVFHfZ58EEbwofE/s320/otter+costume.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.funfolly.com/h/mascots/c2321.htm" target="_blank">Credit</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">You Otter Know</span></span></span></h3>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Rory
winced as a particularly husky boy of about six lunged at him,
curling himself around his leg. He brought a hand down, gently
ruffling the towheaded boy’s hair with his hoof, turning his furry muzzle in the direction he thought the child’s parents would
most likely be stationed so he could pose for the obligatory
photograph. He gasped in surprise as he felt something being thrust
at him, his arms coming up automatically to take the weight of a
squirming toddler.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">“Taylor,
Gracie! Say cheese for </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Mommy</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">!
That’s a good boy, Taylor. Oh, Gracie, what have you done?”</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Rory
squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the unmistakable spread of wetness
down his side. It was pretty obvious to </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>him</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">,
at least, exactly what the now screaming toddler had done. Secure in
the knowledge that the head piece hid him completely, Rory stuck his
tongue out at the </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">bedraggled</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">
woman who relieved him of the kicking girl.</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">This
job had seemed like the perfect solution to his problems when </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">he'd
seen it advertised on campus</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">.
Rory had been looking for summer employment, not being far enough
along in his degree to qualify for an internship. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The
resort was in the middle of nowhere, but it offered free room and
board in addition to a frankly ridiculous hourly wage, way more than
he could have pulled down working at a fast food restaurant or big
box store while living at home with his parents. It had seemed like a
win-win, especially when his best friend Greg had agreed to apply with him so they
could hang out all summer.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.17in;">
<span style="color: black; line-height: 0.19in;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Now,
stuffed into a god awful otter costume and besieged with small,
sticky children, it</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 0.19in;"> </span><span style="line-height: 18.2399997711182px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 0.19in;"> seem like such a deal. </span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 0.19in;">Especially right now, while Greg was loudly fighting in the lobby with Noah, head life guard, prickly bastard, and the hottest guy Rory had ever met in person. Greg was supposed to be guiding Rory around since visibility was terrible in the costume, but he was too busy inferring things that Rory definitely hoped weren't true about Noah's </span><span style="line-height: 18.2399997711182px;">virility</span><span style="line-height: 0.19in;"> and manhood. Not that Rory stood a chance of ever finding that out first hand, but a guy could dream, h</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; line-height: 0.19in;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">e thought sourly as he tromped down the concourse, letting the sound
of Greg and Noah’s raised voices guide him back to them. Mina was
going to have an absolute </span></span></span><span style="color: black; line-height: 0.19in;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>fit</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black; line-height: 0.19in;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> when
she saw the state of his costume. </span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="western" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-15813645237010010772015-12-30T10:42:00.001-05:002015-12-30T10:42:53.126-05:00#WIPWednesday: There's nothing as electrifying as sex in a storm!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1QIsbFu2EWLTiaaokFeGwoLltK3Zvc4RE3g_9ahod17ad8EqfLBg-_PK0d8hMoRUkbRnNv_7H4iTEdNuAEuwf4nFeD4hmth51XIBem7f0xp4ZHL5uTZVtBkIrIvo6hRnzQDX48xYHbSA/s1600/log-924958_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1QIsbFu2EWLTiaaokFeGwoLltK3Zvc4RE3g_9ahod17ad8EqfLBg-_PK0d8hMoRUkbRnNv_7H4iTEdNuAEuwf4nFeD4hmth51XIBem7f0xp4ZHL5uTZVtBkIrIvo6hRnzQDX48xYHbSA/s320/log-924958_1280.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://pixabay.com/en/log-cabin-barn-field-rural-924958/" target="_blank">Credit</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Today will be the last #WIPWednesday for <i>Tall, Dark and Deported, </i>which is both exciting and sad. Exciting because it means I finished my manuscript in time for my deadline and I'll be sending it off soon. Sad because I won't get to write these two beautiful men anymore. *sniffle*<br />
<br />
We'll send them out with a bang, though. A literal one--sex after being caught outside in a terrifying thunder storm. There's not much that gets the blood pumping like running for your life through lightning and hail, and once Mateus and Crawford are safe in a barn, they put all that adrenaline to good use.<br />
<br />
I'm not posting most of the scene, just the teaser to their sexytimes, but you'll have to trust me that after all the build-up and tension in the book, the climax is electric.<br />
<br />
I'll stop with the storm puns now. *g*<br />
<br />
These two have tiptoed around each other through tropes and misunderstandings, and by the time they finally get together, there's no doubt they belong together. I had an amazing amount of fun channeling all the old-school Harlequin tropes I used to love as a teenager, and I can't wait to start reading the other <a href="http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=1583" target="_blank">Dreamspun Desires</a> books!<br />
<br />
<hr />
<h3>
Tall, Dark and Deported </h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">They'd
made it a few steps before the rain stopped and the sky lightened. It
turned a sickly green, which wasn't something Crawford had ever seen
before. Apparently Mateus had, because he looped the picnic basket
through one arm and reached back with another, grabbing onto
Crawford's hand and tugging him forward as he broke into a flat-out
run. “Hurry!” he yelled, tuck<span lang="zxx">ing his head down.</span></span></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="zxx"></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="zxx">Crawford
couldn</span><span lang="zxx">'</span><span lang="zxx">t even get out
a question before he felt something sting the back of his neck. Once,
twice, and then suddenly </span><span lang="zxx">there was a deluge,
too many to count, </span><span lang="zxx">sharp pricks battering him
all over. He duck</span><span lang="en-US">ed his head like Mateus,
then used his free hand to unfurl the blanket, making a shelter for
them. He shook free of Mateus's grip and held it up over them as best
he could as they ran. The ground around them was littered with tiny
pieces of hail. They didn't look bigger than peas, but they'd felt
like boulders when they'd been hitting his skin. The blanket didn't
keep them all off, but it was better than just being completely
unprotected.</span></span></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"></span></span></span>“<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US">Do
you think it's unlocked?” he yelled as they neared the white
clapboard barn.</span></span></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"></span></span></span>“<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US">Probably
not,” Mateus yelled back. “Thes</span><span lang="en-US">e pole
barns have to be padlocked, and I don't see one.”</span></span></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US">Crawford
had no idea what that was, but he vowed to read up on barns and
become an expert if they made it through this intact. They stumbled
to a clumsy stop in front of the huge barn doors, and he sighed in
relief when he realized it was closed with a large piece of timber.
There was a spot for a lock, it looked like, but nothing was there.</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US">Mateus
hefted the large bar up, and the barn doors creaked open. They rushed
inside, but Mateus didn't close the door behind them. There weren't
any windows in the barn, and closing the door would plunge them into
darkness.</span></span></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US">Crawford
let the blanket drop with a breathless laugh. “Oh my God,” he
panted.</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US">Mateus
took one look at him and started to laugh. He </span><span lang="en-US">put
</span><span lang="en-US">the picnic basket </span><span lang="en-US">down
at his</span><span lang="en-US"> feet and closed the distance between
them, his hands coming up to pluck at Crawford's hair. Crawford
started to laugh when he realized he'd had hail </span><span lang="en-US">in
his hair. Mateus did, too. It felt natural to return the fair, his
fingers skating through Mateus's dark locks as he swept the melting
ice out of it.</span></span></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US">C</span><span lang="en-US">rawford's
heart was pounding from their run, and it felt unnaturally loud to
him in the heavy silence of the deserted barn. He and Mateus were
standing close enough that their breath mingled, and Crawford
couldn't stop himself from stepping up, close enough he could count
the drops of water in Mateus's eyelashes.</span></span></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">He
hesitated, hovering close enough to kiss him, until Mateus's eyes
closed and he leaned in the rest of the way, closing the small gap
between them. He tasted like rain, wild and </span><span lang="en-US">earthy</span><span lang="en-US">.
</span><span lang="en-US">Electric, like the lightning that had
chased them into this musty barn. </span><span lang="en-US">Crawford
pressed in, chasing the flavor across Mateus's lips and into his
mouth when Mateus melted into the kiss and let him in.</span></span></span></blockquote>
Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-11238644465937794342015-12-23T00:07:00.001-05:002015-12-23T00:07:32.636-05:00Happy holidays from Great Wolf Lodge! (aka why there's no #WIPWednesday this week)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdZ40z0CN4NY_ovadhBqAljMZg2JyPCs-4Dorj-tVxOcaY7XBleWlqeKgRgSul64mQjRVanPq1AGwvwPi0QrUolUsofYwpWaDWQmSpbixxklyZkdMXy7zQMFSuqg1bKQwiCHLHffSTVI/s1600/DSC_0173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdZ40z0CN4NY_ovadhBqAljMZg2JyPCs-4Dorj-tVxOcaY7XBleWlqeKgRgSul64mQjRVanPq1AGwvwPi0QrUolUsofYwpWaDWQmSpbixxklyZkdMXy7zQMFSuqg1bKQwiCHLHffSTVI/s320/DSC_0173.JPG" width="180" /></a><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMDMfM5fXh73U1c8eSiuICCBscldT4KTotplIsCPs635xjkKqRlXEuOJarW8dadfZmummMMJ3XT3hRqsUtYfg6t4aTXTLL9x-odUaGekuR5tKjshXRkX9Ku4VlFoadrS1bModdJ0AmSPA/s1600/IMG_20151222_234348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMDMfM5fXh73U1c8eSiuICCBscldT4KTotplIsCPs635xjkKqRlXEuOJarW8dadfZmummMMJ3XT3hRqsUtYfg6t4aTXTLL9x-odUaGekuR5tKjshXRkX9Ku4VlFoadrS1bModdJ0AmSPA/s320/IMG_20151222_234348.JPG" width="166" /></a><br /></td></tr>
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</div>
Hubs and I surprised the kids with a trip to Great Wolf Lodge for Christmas this year, so even though I'm terribly behind on Tall, Dark and Deported, I haven't been writing this week. I have, however, probably swallowed more chlorine than anyone should in a lifetime and gone on a million magic quests in the last two days.<br />
<br />
If you aren't familiar with Great Wolf Lodge, it's a chain of amusement park style hotels in the Midwest that have huge indoor water parks and a gazillion other kid-friendly activities. Pretty much hell on earth for parents, but a dream Christmas for kids. *g*<br />
<br />
My kids have been having a blast, from the log cabin they're sleeping in inside our room and having ice cream hours past their bedtime to the water park and the magic quest game that has us racing up and down hallways and stairwells for hours a day solving puzzles and casting spells with wands. I'm going to need a vacation from our vacation, but with the Tall, Dark and Deported deadline looming, that's not going to happen. Mommy needs a drink.<br /><br />
Happy Holidays (or should that be Howlidays?)! I'll see you next week for #WIPWednesday, and I promise I won't come empty handed.<br />
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<br />Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-65487172556003376872015-12-16T12:35:00.003-05:002015-12-16T12:35:51.582-05:00WIP Wednesday: coffee orders and hotel beds I'm running late this week (lately when am NOT?), so I apologize for that. I'm hiding at my desk at the EDJ and doing this on my phone, so fingers crossed. *g*<br />
<br />
Today we see Mateus and Crawford right after they've come back to the United States. They were hoping it would go smoothly, but of course it doesn't. They're stuck in the border town overnight until the immigration officer can see them the next morning.<br />
<br />
<hr />
Tall, Dark and Deported<br />
<br />
Mateus flopped down on the queen-sized bed, wrinkling his nose when he bounced instead of sinking into it. This was nothing like the feather-soft beds at [hotel name], though the rock-hard mattress and slick nylon coverlets were hardly a surprise for a place that rented for $59 a night.<br />
Crawford had tried to book them into a nicer hotel down the street, but Mateus's pride wouldn't allow it. He'd been mooching off Crawford for too long—it was Mateus's turn to foot some of the bill for this, especially since they were stuck here overnight because of him. Unfortunately, he couldn't afford down comforters and 500-thread-count sheets. But the room did come with a free continental breakfast in the morning, which was kind of exciting.<br />
He closed his eyes and listened to Crawford fumbling with the tiny coffeemaker on the bathroom sink. It was late, but he didn't say anything. He'd learned not to come between Crawford and caffeine, no matter what time of day Crawford was having it. [insert earlier snipy fight over coffee late at night]<br />
Something clattered into the sink with an echoing thud and Crawford cursed softly. Mateus peeked open one eye in time to see him angrily shoving the piece back into the coffeemaker.<br />
“I saw a Starbucks a mile or so back. I think I'm going to give up on this and make a coffee run. You want a decaf cinnamon latte?”<br />
So maybe Mateus hadn't been the only one taking notes on beverage preferences. He tried hard to ignore the fluttery feeling he got knowing Crawford had been paying attention all those nights they'd stopped at the hotel coffee shop for a drink after dinner.<br />
“If you're going out anyway. But don't make a special trip for me.”<br />
Crawford snorted. “I've got about four hours of paperwork to get through tonight. Trust me, I'm going anyway. Possibly more than once.”<br />
Mateus winced internally. Crawford had been so amazing through all of this, never once getting angry about how much this marriage had inconvenienced him. Even now, staying in a second-rate motel with a nonfunctional coffeemaker, he didn't snap or try to make Mateus feel bad. Instead, he offered to pick up his favorite evening drink while he went out to get coffee to fuel a late-night work session that was necessary because he'd spent all day doing things for Mateus.Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-59362790790348478662015-12-09T08:53:00.001-05:002015-12-09T08:53:24.687-05:00WIP Wednesday: Border crossing kisses with Crawford and MateusHappy Wednesday, everyone! It's a very happy one here in the Baker household, because my contractor should be hooking up the water in my kitchen this morning, which means I'll be able to cook again! For those of you who have somehow escaped me whining about my tale of woe, we're eight weeks into a four-week kitchen renovation, and I am beyond ready to be done. *g*<br />
<br />
Today for #WIPWednesday we're back with Crawford and Mateus in <i>Tall, Dark and Deported</i>.<br />
<br />
This scene takes place after Crawford and Mateus are stopped at the US/Canada border as they cross back into the United States after getting married in Vancouver. They stage a kiss that goes from tentative to heated for the benefit of the border guard, but it's not enough to keep them from the standard immigration interview. It does leave all three of them a little disoriented, especially the poor guard, who hardly knows where to look after witnessing it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<hr />
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">The guard scrawled a name and number on the
back of a Homeland Security business card. “You'll have to make an
appointment, but the officer with Immigration Services might be able to see you today. My understanding
was she wanted to meet you and set up future appointments, not put
you through an interview right away.”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
Well, that was ominous. Crawford flipped
the card over and read the name—Office Kathleen Suarez. The guard
looked apologetic, though he certainly wasn't the one who had done
anything embarrassing. “I'll call her now,” Crawford said.
“Should I step outside?”</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
The guard straightened. “No need. I'll
leave you two to set that up. Just stop by the desk on your way out
to let them know you've set up your appointment so they can confirm
it with Useless—” the man looked stricken. “—I mean USCIS.
Shit.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
Crawford laughed, feeling at ease for
the first time since they'd been pulled over at the border and told
to get out of the car. “Interdepartmental nicknames, eh? I guess
there's no love lost between immigration services and homeland
security. Though with that name, they really were asking for it.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
The man chuckled. “Right? Anyway, I
apologize. I'm sure Officer Stewart will do a great job with your
case.”</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
Crawford certainly hoped not. </div>
Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-20887086395518315472015-12-02T11:08:00.000-05:002015-12-02T11:08:26.756-05:00WIP Wednesday, a big sale and Talk Turkey's release!<br />
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<img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhItL08Apq-N5INW0VkO3fcR6KskBeV2PCDF9V_Ci0-KBEG4JWUDW7vus22QLNq6f3woCcoP-6CmmmBMzpsfXc-Qa9r7SGqM0VoTp2U7BRdVhOtUa6Wt2oUmoJJVEBEoQQSKCHO6qi0xi4/s200/Talk+Turkey-build-rev2.jpg" width="133" /></div>
<br />
Today there are two things to be excited about--<i>Talk Turkey</i> was released yesterday, and today for #WIPWednesday we finally get to see a little action between Crawford and his fake husband, Mateus. *g*<br />
<br />
The five inches of snow we had melted last week, and while it's chilly, it just doesn't feel like Christmas yet. Which is why I'm so excited about the Dreamspinner Press Sleigh Ride Advent Calendar--a little bit of holiday goodness every day. Including <i>Talk Turkey</i>, my offering for the anthology. You've met Carson and Tom in #WIPWednesday posts, so I won't talk too much about them. This isn't a steamy holiday romp--it's a humorous, adorable lark.<br />
<br />
Dreamspinner is having a site-wide holiday story sale through Dec. 5. You can pick <a href="http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=7190" target="_blank">Talk Turkey</a> up on sale right now at Dreamspinner Press (along with my older holiday titles, <a href="http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=5842" target="_blank">The Magic of Weihnachten</a>, <a href="http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=5802" target="_blank">Late Bloomer</a>, <a href="http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3418" target="_blank">Traditions from the Heart</a>, and even <a href="http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=4680" target="_blank">Campfire Confessions</a>, because Valentine's Day is a holiday, too!<br />
<br />
I'm past the three-quarters mark with <i>Tall, Dark and Deported, </i>which is good because it's due to my publisher on Jan. 1. NaNoWriMo was a great motivator, but so was the electric attraction between Crawford and Mateus that kept my fingers on the keyboard. Today's #WIPWednesday is a scene from the book after Crawford and Mateus have been caught in a late summer thunderstorm out in the orchard and take shelter in an old barn. There's nothing like getting caught in the rain and the adrenalin rush of dodging lightning and hail to get the blood pumping and lower whatever inhibitions these two had left that was keeping them apart. Chock full of tropes, right? Delicious!<br />
<br />
<hr />
<h3>
Tall, Dark and Deported</h3>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAbghyphenhyphenthin9zMIu51mmBxjgAq87ZFyTi8K2-EvEndujA8H43uqLUJx30QfvqTZNSZoVI3-FqWLf7yPaB-TkqjrkXBuySGxzZR46zYRPQnqg7Na62-wdMlZQj1THw3hGcx-cXMIhCayYd4/s1600/112246370_95a5434f88_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAbghyphenhyphenthin9zMIu51mmBxjgAq87ZFyTi8K2-EvEndujA8H43uqLUJx30QfvqTZNSZoVI3-FqWLf7yPaB-TkqjrkXBuySGxzZR46zYRPQnqg7Na62-wdMlZQj1THw3hGcx-cXMIhCayYd4/s320/112246370_95a5434f88_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Via <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/llimaorosa/" target="_blank">Llima Orosa on Flick</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="en-US">Mateus took one look
at him and started to laugh. He let the picnic basket drop to the
ground at their feet and closed the distance between them, his hands
coming up to pluck at Crawford's hair. Crawford started to laugh when
he realized he'd had hail </span><span lang="en-US">in his hair.
Mateus did, too. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="en-US"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="en-US">It felt natural to return the favor, his fingers
skating through Mateus's dark locks as he swept the melting ice out
of it.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="en-US"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="en-US">C</span><span lang="en-US">rawford's
heart was pounding from their run, and it felt unnaturally loud to
him in the heavy silence of the deserted barn. He and Mateus were
standing close enough that their breath mingled, and Crawford
couldn't stop himself from stepping up, close enough he could count
the drops of water in Mateus's eyelashes.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="en-US"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="en-US">He hesitated,
hovering close enough to kiss him, until Mateus's eyes closed and he
leaned in the rest of the way, closing the small gap between them. He
tasted like rain, wild and [another word]. Crawford pressed in,
chasing the flavor across Mateus's lips and into his mouth when
Mateus melted into the kiss and let him in.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="en-US"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="en-US">Crawford's hands
fisted in Mateus's wet sweater, pulling at it until Mateus backed
away and took it off with one swift motion. He tossed it onto a bale
of hay in the corner, and Crawford scrambled to take his own shirt
off. The buttons were a challenge for his rain-chilled hands, but
Mateus swooped in to help, and the two of the managed to wrest the
stiff, wet fabric out of the way.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="en-US"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="en-US">Crawford shivered
once his skin was exposed, but when Mateus crowded in against him a
moment later, the chill disappeared. Skin to skin, heat flared
between them. Crawford ran his hands up and down Mateus's back, his
fingers greedy for any part of him he could touch. He'd wanted to do
this for weeks, and he wasn't about to waste any time now that he had
Mateus bare in front of him.</span></div>
<br />Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-4442226616770652272015-11-25T12:01:00.003-05:002015-11-25T12:03:56.490-05:00WIP Wednesday: In the hot tub with Mateus and Crawford<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
Happy Thanksgiving Eve to my fellow Americans! To everyone else, happy Wednesday! Since we still don't have a kitchen thanks to all the remodeling snafus, the Baker family has decamped up north to Chicagoland to celebrate with relatives. There's snow up here, guys. Yuck.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%;">
I was able to get some writing done in the car on the way up, which is good because today and tomorrow will be filled with family and food. I've left the guys at a pretty critical point, though, so I may have to excuse myself to write. Cliffhangers are hard on readers, but they're hard on writers, too!</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%;">
Crawford and Mateus are in the penthouse honeymoon suite at the hotel, and Crawford is trying to convince himself it's a bad idea to join Mateus out on the rooftop hot tub. Or is it a very good idea? *g*</div>
<hr />
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibzq5fJlFL2tJ9wJxRjK_GftHjMuOh2zYdArYBa9UU5iJRfetXsc0vI2cB49-gqozWpooRxnB70FME0uyeVAOOMJw-Zxwk0ztCamfoQp9i5goQUMvzxzCbozRlBdCbOpxyABDlkliL1No/s1600/Hotel_de_Maya02n4272.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibzq5fJlFL2tJ9wJxRjK_GftHjMuOh2zYdArYBa9UU5iJRfetXsc0vI2cB49-gqozWpooRxnB70FME0uyeVAOOMJw-Zxwk0ztCamfoQp9i5goQUMvzxzCbozRlBdCbOpxyABDlkliL1No/s320/Hotel_de_Maya02n4272.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit:<a href="https://www.blogger.com/%22Hotel%20de%20Maya02n4272%22%20by%20663highland%20-%20663highland.%20Licensed%20under%20CC%20BY%202.5%20via%20Commons%20-%20https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hotel_de_Maya02n4272.jpg#/media/File:Hotel_de_Maya02n4272.jpg" target="_blank"> Hotel de Maya</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Tall, Dark and Deported</h3>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%;">
But now he was about
to do something very, very stupid, so maybe it hadn't been much of an
escape after all. If he were smart, he'd go to bed. He'd tell Mateus,
rightly so, that he had an early meeting and needed his rest. He'd
ask for a rain check so he could tackle the mountain of paperwork
that was waiting for him in messy piles on the dining table. He'd
fake a water phobia.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%;">
Anything that kept
him out of an enclosed space in one of the most romantic settings
Crawford could imagine with the one man he couldn't make a move on.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%;">
But Crawford wasn't
smart. He ran through excuses in his head as he took off his clothes
and carefully hung his suit in the closet and rifled through his
suitcase to find the swim trunks he knew he'd packed. Not for this
occasion, of course. He'd envisioned a vigorous swim in the lap pool,
not an agonizing soak in a private hot tub with the most attractive
man he'd ever met.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%;">
He picked up his
phone and texted Adam, not sure whether to hope he was awake to talk
him out of this to hope that he didn't see the message in time to
chastise Crawford for even thinking about it.</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<i>Rooftop hot tub with Mateus. Bad
idea?</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">His
phone dinged almost instantly. </span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<i>The worst. Have fun.</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Damn
it. </span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<i>I can't get involved with him</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
he texted back.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<i>You already are. You may as well get
something out of it.</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Crawford
took a breath and rubbed his hand over his face. As usual, Adam had
cut to the quick of it and said exactly what Crawford needed to hear.
It would be wrong to take advantage of Mateus. And even if Mateus
said he was interested, how could Crawford be sure he really was and
he wasn't just saying that because he was afraid Crawford would
change his mind about helping him get a visa? No. He had to keep his
distance.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<i>Thanks, bro</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
he texted back. He tossed his phone on the bed and strode out into
the main room to tell Mateus he couldn't join him tonight. The doors
to the terrace were already open, so Crawford walked through. His
breath caught in his throat when he saw Mateus.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 150%;">He was </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">silhouetted</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> against the skyline, his arms folded together like he was
cold. He'd apparently picked up a pair of swim trunks at the same
place he'd gotten his clothes for tonight, because they were almost
indecently tight, just like the trousers he'd had on.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
Crawford's
excuses died on his lips. Mateus looked so breathtakingly lonely that
he couldn't bring himself to disappoint him. Especially when Mateus
turned around and a huge smile bloomed across his face.</div>
Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-10942138391688485062015-11-18T12:26:00.001-05:002015-11-18T22:44:20.430-05:00WIP Wednesday: Mateus gets a taste of an American delicacy<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPXkYGOpIHbxnbvG1pH7tNNqtomG3PSShELFRwMEFZYy3U-toTmR4nlHaNYauqpaPGyxa5NTQmR4gSgfohe9SKlZJLkOGUI1Hbfz3X0LR25ovDV1e7Bw4seNqnqCZvqDLa50_Mpq0hOA/s1600/DSC_0005+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPXkYGOpIHbxnbvG1pH7tNNqtomG3PSShELFRwMEFZYy3U-toTmR4nlHaNYauqpaPGyxa5NTQmR4gSgfohe9SKlZJLkOGUI1Hbfz3X0LR25ovDV1e7Bw4seNqnqCZvqDLa50_Mpq0hOA/s320/DSC_0005+3.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's as wonderfully strange and intimidatingly<br />
intelligent in person as he seems in his books!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm at a librarian conference this week, so I haven't had time to do much more than my minimum NaNo count each day. In fact, I've barely been getting that accomplished.<br />
<br />
But I'm learning lots of library things, which I promise is more exciting than it sounds. Plus I got the chance to meet Daniel Handler (aka Lemony Snicket), so I think Mateus and Crawford will forgive me if I've been a little distracted. *g*<br />
<br />
A word on NaNo--I've been running a Come Write In program at my library this month, and it's been wonderful getting the chance to meet other local writers and see people hard at work on their craft. And I also had the chance to talk with <a href="http://www.hlntv.com/articles/2015/11/11/for-some-writers-nanowrimo-works-lead-to-real-book-deals" target="_blank">Headline News about NaNoWriMo</a> and the publishing world, which was pretty exciting.<br />
<br />
All in all, it's been a few exciting weeks of NaNo! And just like usual, I was bitten hard by a new bunny just a few days into starting my NaNo project. It's a new collaboration with Lex Chase, and you'll have to wait until after November is over to find out more about it because the deadline for Tall, Dark and Deported will be here before we know it, so I can't nurture the bunny (*cough* the <i>three book series </i>bunny */cough*) at the moment. <br />
<br />
<br />
Here's a snippet from Tall, Dark and Deported for your #WIPWednesday fix!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“What?
Seriously? You've never had a hot pretzel?” Crawford's eyes widened
incredulously. “Where are you <i>from</i><span style="font-style: normal;">?
Mars?”</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Mateus snickered. “Portugal. We don't have—” he squinted at the
bag. Grease spots were starting to soak through, and he had to fight
not to grimace. “—Auntie Anne's.”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Oh, this is just one type. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's the
best type. I think they dip them in butter after they cook or
something. But you can get hot pretzels everywhere. Sporting events,
skating rinks, library food courts. You've really never had one?”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
He reached into the white bag and pulled out a small doughy nugget
that was covered in large pellets of salt. It didn't look like any
pretzel Mateus had ever seen, though he'd never seen any that weren't
small and hard, so who knew.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Shouldn't it be folded?”</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Crawford's
brows drew together for a moment, and then his expression cleared.
“Oh, these are pretzel bites. But yeah, they sell the big pretzels,
too. These are just cut up so they're easier to eat. Less messy.”</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
The whole thing glistened with butter, so Mateus very much doubted it
was actually less messy than its larger cousin. His gaze traveled up
to Crawford's mouth, drawn to the full, rosy lips. There was a tiny
bit of yogurt in the corner of his mouth, and the resulting mental
image made Mateus shift slightly in his seat. Bree was right. He
needed to settle down and stop fantasizing about handsome strangers
in airports. Well, that last bit was his own addition, but it still
stood.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“You should try it,” Crawford said. He held the pretzel out to
Mateus.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Mateus shook his head. “They're your favorite. You keep it.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Crawford
held his gaze for a second and then shrugged. He popped the pretzel
in his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he chewed. He
had long lashes, Mateus noticed. And he made eating a pretzel look
orgasmic. They </span><i>had </i><span style="font-style: normal;">to
be flirting. There was no way this wasn't flirting.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Your loss,” Crawford said when he'd swallowed and opened his
eyes again. “But they're about a hundred times better than they
look, I promise. Are you sure you don't want to try one?”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Mateus's attention was fixed on Crawford's lower lip, which was
glossy with butter from the pretzel. He swallowed hard. “A small
one,” he said, his voice huskier than it had been only a moment
ago.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Crawford grinned. He took another pretzel out of the bag, but instead
of holding it out to Mateus, he let it hover in between them, his
expression questioning. A beat later Mateus leaned forward and opened
his mouth, praying he wasn't reading this wrong. Crawford's smile
grew, and he gently placed the pretzel into Mateus's mouth.</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
The taste of salt exploded across Mateus's tongue, followed by butter
and the sweet, yeasty flavor of the dough. He'd been dubious, but
Crawford had been right. The pretzel was delicious. Or maybe it was
just that all of Mateus's senses felt heightened as he sat there
eating out of a total stranger's hand.</div>
Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-36121474210811788232015-11-11T10:20:00.003-05:002015-11-11T10:20:40.771-05:00WIP Wednesday: Stopped at the border with Tall, Dark and DeportedIt's been a busy time around here, wrapping up the short blog tour for <i>King of the Kitchen, </i>which was released Nov. 6. All of my guests posts revolved around food, both because that's a central theme in the book and because I'm currently four weeks into what was supposed to be a five-week kitchen remodel, so I'm really missing being in a kitchen and cooking something that doesn't have to go in the microwave or crock pot. And my suffering isn't over yet--thanks to delays and Lowe's ordering the wrong cabinets, it looks like it'll be mid-December before I have a kitchen. *sob*<br />
<br />
I included a recipe with each blog post, so if you haven't checked those out and you're interested in the food in <i>King of the Kitchen</i> plus a few of my personal favorites, like the egg roll recipe that was a family secret for years, it's worth a look.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://joyfullyjay.com/2015/11/excerpt-guest-post-king-of-the-kitchen-by-bru-baker/" target="_blank">Duncan's refrigerator velcro frittata</a> on Joyfully Jay<br />
<a href="http://www.prismbookalliance.com/2015/11/bru-baker-on-king-of-the-kitchen-guest-blog/" target="_blank">Beck's roasted brussel sprouts with balsamic glaze</a> on Prism Book Alliance<br />
<a href="https://gaylistbookreviews.wordpress.com/2015/11/05/bru-baker-shares-king-of-the-kitchen-and-a-yummy-recipe/" target="_blank">Garlic and shallot pasta</a> on Gay List Book Reviews<br />
<a href="http://thenovelapproachreviews.com/2015/11/10/guest-post-the-king-of-the-kitchen-blog-tour-with-bru-baker/" target="_blank">Egg rolls</a> on The Novel Approach<br />
<br />
<br />
I also found out last week that <i>Playing House </i>earned an <a href="https://reviews-and-ramblings.dreamwidth.org/4725038.html" target="_blank">Honorable Mention </a>in Gay Contemporary General Fiction this year's Rainbow Awards, which was so exciting! Frank is a character that's so close to my heart, and seeing the judges talk so favorably about him and the book made my day.<br />
<br />
And last but not least, here's an excerpt from my current WIP, <i>Tall, Dark and Deported</i>. Crawford and Mateus have fulfilled their promise to Homeland Security and gotten married while they were in Canada, but the US Immigration needs a little more convincing than a marriage certificate and a steamy kiss in front of the border agent.<br />
<br />
<hr />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicu88aTOaXuU7_7UhMryVScf6Xvb7LVlMk9lTri91kmCbA07A5E8-m_edtcd2sxa-3XB77BBzs4API6Hd4Ca2Z6zoLcRmqoW8WuGnmByaSSSQ5uAFL-fevtuq8SQ62nGscW3j7QS1-ePA/s1600/uscanadaborder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicu88aTOaXuU7_7UhMryVScf6Xvb7LVlMk9lTri91kmCbA07A5E8-m_edtcd2sxa-3XB77BBzs4API6Hd4Ca2Z6zoLcRmqoW8WuGnmByaSSSQ5uAFL-fevtuq8SQ62nGscW3j7QS1-ePA/s320/uscanadaborder.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<h3>
Tall, Dark and Deported</h3>
<br />
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
The
guard cleared his throat again. His eyes looked a little glassy when
they met Crawford's. “I, uh, passed along the fact that you and Mr.
Fontes seem to be still in the honeymoon phase on to Officer Stewart.
She told me to have you check in with her at the US Citizenship and
Immigration Office in Whatcom County.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
He
scrawled a name and number on the back of a Homeland Security
business card. “You'll have to make an appointment, but she might
be able to see you today. My understanding was she wanted to meet you
and set up future appointments, not put you through an interview
right away.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Well,
that was ominous. Crawford flipped the card over and read the
name—Office Kathleen Stewart. The guard looked apologetic, though
he certainly wasn't the one who had done anything embarrassing. “I'll
call her now,” Crawford said. “Should I step outside?”</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
The
guard straightened. “No need. I'll leave you two to set that up.
Just stop by the desk on your way out to let them know you've set up
your appointment so they can confirm it with Useless—” the man
looked stricken. “—I mean USCIS. Shit.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Crawford
laughed, feeling at ease for the first time since they'd been pulled
over at the border and told to get out of the car. “Interdepartmental
nicknames, eh? I guess there's no love lost between immigration
services and homeland security. Though with that , they really were
asking for it.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
The
man chuckled. “Right? Anyway, I apologize. I'm sure Officer Stewart
will do a great job with your case.”</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Crawford
certainly hoped not. </div>
Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-23462101275561249542015-11-06T11:07:00.000-05:002015-11-06T11:07:04.204-05:00King of the Kitchen is out today!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSCxxACa75fMuym2-zizQz3HsvUbyqFoGP-bVAvyx5jC1liIQ91MJfKZjx4QkCsrn3-x97vkMTyUlTwas5coAVkzbRXIT9dxsAzNtXb0PbpZRL7zakljJW46gdvSEyO1NgB87dDLMuus/s1600/KingoftheKitchenFS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSCxxACa75fMuym2-zizQz3HsvUbyqFoGP-bVAvyx5jC1liIQ91MJfKZjx4QkCsrn3-x97vkMTyUlTwas5coAVkzbRXIT9dxsAzNtXb0PbpZRL7zakljJW46gdvSEyO1NgB87dDLMuus/s320/KingoftheKitchenFS.jpg" width="213" /></a>I'm at work today, so sadly I couldn't do a release day party like I usually do. <span style="font-family: inherit;">But</span> I'm so, so excited that <i>King of the Kitchen </i>is out today! I had such a blast reading from it at GRL, and the response I've gotten so far has been wonderful.<br />
<br />
If you haven't been following my blog tour, be sure to check out my posts on <a href="http://joyfullyjay.com/2015/11/excerpt-guest-post-king-of-the-kitchen-by-bru-baker/" target="_blank">Joyfully Jay</a> and <a href="https://gaylistbookreviews.wordpress.com/2015/11/05/bru-baker-shares-king-of-the-kitchen-and-a-yummy-recipe/" target="_blank">Gay List Book Review</a>s earlier this week. I'll be hosting a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/dreamspinnerpress/?fref=ts" target="_blank">Dreamspinner Press Facebook</a> chat Saturday, Nov. 7, from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. EST, and I'll be over on<a href="http://www.prismbookalliance.com/" target="_blank"> Prism Book Alliance</a> (Nov. 9) and <a href="http://thenovelapproachreviews.com/" target="_blank">The Novel Approach </a> (Nov. 10) next week. I'm including a recipe at each stop on the blog tour, either something from the book or something that's a personal favorite of mine. Come check them out!<br />
<br />
Early reviews for <i>King of the Kitchen</i> have been great, and I'm looking forward to hearing from more readers about how they liked Beck and Duncan!<br />
<br />
<br /><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>From <a href="http://divinemagazine.net/king-of-the-kitchen-by-bru-baker/discussions/115/" target="_blank">Divine Magazine</a>:</b> "<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; line-height: 21px;">King of the Kitchen by Bru Baker is the kind of book you can't put down but never want to end."<br /></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>From <a href="http://thenovelapproachreviews.com/2015/11/05/review-king-of-the-kitchen-by-bru-baker/" target="_blank">The Novel Approach</a>: </b>"<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 27.7450008392334px;">I would highly recommend this book if you enjoy a real romance and slow buildup kind of story. This was my first Bru Baker story, but it definitely will not be my last!</span></span></blockquote>
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<b>Blurb:<br />
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Rising
kitchen talents Beck Douglas and Duncan Walters have been on the
foodie paparazzi radar for years, since their status as heirs to two
of the biggest celebrity chef empires around makes them culinary
royalty. Beck is known for his charm and traditional food as cohost
of his uncle's popular TV cooking show, while Duncan earned himself a
reputation as a culinary bad boy, both for his refusal to work in his
father's restaurants and his avant garde approach to cooking.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They're
also heirs to a food rivalry that could put the Hatfields and McCoys
to shame, and when they're photographed in the middle of a heated
argument, the press goes wild with speculation. Damage control
ensues, with a fake friendship engineered by PR cronies that leaves
both of them secretly pining for more.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Beck
chafes under his uncle's micromanagement, and Duncan's relationship
with his homophobic father becomes even more tenuous when Beck and
Duncan start getting closer. It's hard to hide their chemistry on
national television when Duncan joins Beck's cooking show, but they
won't be able to take their relationship—or their careers—to the
next level without breaking a few eggs.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Buy
links: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/King-Kitchen-Bru-Baker-ebook/dp/B016U7MPRC/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1446489805&sr=8-2&keywords=king+of+the+kitchen">Amazon</a>,
<a href="http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=7039">Dreamspinner
Press</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/king-of-the-kitchen-bru-baker/1122816817?ean=9781634766470">Barnes
and Noble</a>, <a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-kingofthekitchen-1908415-149.html">Are</a></span></span></div>
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<br />Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548224000057192155.post-14758562359867744872015-11-04T09:00:00.000-05:002015-11-04T09:01:08.123-05:00WIP Wednesday: Dating advice from Crawford's favorite (and only) nephew<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlEl3WV_-WQCxOrAoXEbozMWm3NQB2iWzw8noi601X-uT9Dh5c2UZyztMiQjRj9HISMgJ6w6iux7FekMAy4eH-shd4gsYBGW6D7w8yYM9O9RUW0YgMmY5cy6P2WTJx91pw1EoA4DtO0fM/s1600/NaNo-2015-Participant-Badge-Large-Square.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlEl3WV_-WQCxOrAoXEbozMWm3NQB2iWzw8noi601X-uT9Dh5c2UZyztMiQjRj9HISMgJ6w6iux7FekMAy4eH-shd4gsYBGW6D7w8yYM9O9RUW0YgMmY5cy6P2WTJx91pw1EoA4DtO0fM/s200/NaNo-2015-Participant-Badge-Large-Square.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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NaNoWriMo is in full swing, and I'm off to a great start on <i>Tall, Dark and Deported</i> for Dreamspun Desires. It's a fluffy, funny lark full of characters I want to wrap in blankets and feed soup to, and Crawford's fifteen-year-old nephew Brandon is no exception.<br />
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In today's #WIPWednesday sneak peek, Brandon is helping Crawford pack for a business trip and offering up some dating truisms that Crawford wishes he'd known before his disastrous marriage.<br />
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And don't forget, <i>King of the Kitchen</i> releases on Friday! I'm so excited to get Duncan and Beck out there for everyone to see. *g* You can preorder it now from quite a few places, including: <a href="http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=7039" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 1.4; text-align: center;">Dreamspinner Press</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B016U7MPRC/ref=s9_simh_gw_p351_d0_i1?pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_s=desktop-1&pf_rd_r=0W118F3YHDXXVDCP79YD&pf_rd_t=36701&pf_rd_p=2079475242&pf_rd_i=desktop" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 1.4;">Amazon</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1122816817?ean=2940150957596" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 1.4;">Barnes and Noble</a> and<br />
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 1.4;"><a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-kingofthekitchen-1908415-149.html" style="color: #333333;">ARe</a>. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 1.4;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 1.4;">I was over on <a href="http://joyfullyjay.com/2015/11/excerpt-guest-post-king-of-the-kitchen-by-bru-baker/" target="_blank">Joyfully Jay</a> talking about the book and sharing one of my favorite recipes from it yesterday, and I'll be over at <a href="https://gaylistbookreviews.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Gay List Book Reviews</a> tomorrow with more food fun. And don't miss the chance to ask me about <i>King of the Kitchen</i> or throw any cooking-related question my way during my Dreamspinner Press Facebook takeover from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. EST on Saturday, Nov. 7.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXo82_Ho3QK39QkSJMWCNsOzpj1xtcRRBS6X89Olp0xw6_pGgiQfJtTZoCDVReyLN85Y1x-evCfMjmjHycdjNFYGzSjQKiYEjcArgtiJCfpFU5aefhpZpXL7oo3XbMllOtF1ubAhjinwg/s1600/4707453800_e0bb3f6e00_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXo82_Ho3QK39QkSJMWCNsOzpj1xtcRRBS6X89Olp0xw6_pGgiQfJtTZoCDVReyLN85Y1x-evCfMjmjHycdjNFYGzSjQKiYEjcArgtiJCfpFU5aefhpZpXL7oo3XbMllOtF1ubAhjinwg/s320/4707453800_e0bb3f6e00_z.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lamenta3/4707453800" target="_blank">Photo credit</a></td></tr>
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<h3 style="text-align: center;">
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<i>Tall, Dark and Deported</i></h3>
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<div align="left" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Brandon
yanked the brown socks out of Crawford's hands and tossed a pair of
black ones into his suitcase instead. “How
long you gonna be gone this time?”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I'm
hoping to wrap it up in a week. Two weeks, tops.” He poked Brandon
in the stomach and grabbed the purloined socks when the teen let out
of a bark of surprised laughter and dropped them.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Brandon
scowled when Crawford dropped them into the suitcase. “Those don't
match anything.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They're
one of about four pairs I have that don't have any holes in them, so
they're going.” </span></span>
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<div align="left" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I
could come with you,” Brandon said. He perched on the edge of the
bed, his expression guarded. “I've never been to Canada.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And
unless you've been moonlighting as an international man of mystery,
you don't have the passport that's required to cross the border.” </span></span>
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<div align="left" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Brandon's
shoulders slumped, and Crawford kept half an eye on him as he tucked
a pair of freshly shined shoes into a canvas bag so he could pack
them. “Some reason you suddenly want to travel?”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I
asked Becca Johnson to the homecoming dance and she said she'd have
to get back to me, which basically means she's using me as her
back-up date in case Chris Atkins doesn't ask her,” he said with a
dejected sigh.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Crawford
winced. This was exactly why he'd sworn off relationships. Everyone
had an agenda, and it was rarely in anyone's best interest but their
own. “Ouch. You don't have to wait for her to make up her mind, you
know. You could ask someone else.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Brandon
threw him a look that could peel paint. “And then later when he
doesn't ask her— because he <i>won't</i>,
he's going with some upperclassman—then I'll be the jerk. She'll
spend the dance in the bathroom crying with her friends and no one
will want to date me because I'll come out of it looking like a
dick.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Crawford
bit back a smile, knowing Brandon would see it as mocking and not
amused. His nephew seemed to have things figured out pretty well for
a fifteen year old. Hell, he had a better grasp of relationship
dynamics than Crawford did at thirty. Maybe
if he'd had half of Brandon's insight he wouldn't have fallen for a
snake charmer like Davis.</span></span></div>
<br />Bru Bakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161733275461918621noreply@blogger.com0