Everyone needs their own armrest avenger on a long flight

I'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.

My very real socked interloper
on this flight to SFO.

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 Under a Blue Moon, 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.

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.

Under a Blue Moon
A Camp H.O.W.L. novel


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.

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.

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.

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?

Check. Brings strong-smelling foods into enclosed spaces? Double check.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

“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.

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.

“Sorry,” the man mouthed when Nick turned to him. “That was probably rude, but oh my God, who does that?”

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.

“Sociopaths,” Nick mouthed back. “Same people who bring Chipotle on the plane.”

The guy laughed, revealing a set of perfect teeth and the beginnings of laugh lines crinkling around his eyes.

“I’m Drew.”

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.

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.

“Nick.”

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.

Drew buckled his belt and grinned at him. “Are you a plane talker or a plane ignorer? Because I can do either.”

Nick laughed. “Usually an ignorer, but I can make an exception for an armrest avenger.”

Drew glanced down at the empty armrest. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You most definitely should have, and I’m glad you did.”

“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.”

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.

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
Twizzlers, but that was the extent of the olfactory feedback. Definitely not injured.

“She’s fine.”

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.

“Uh, like, broken bones hurt, right? And she didn’t cry out or anything, so I’m just assuming....”

Drew flicked a gaze back to the armrest, leaning in toward Nick again. “And how do you know it’s a she?”

Because he’d been able to smell it on the foot. He’d picked up the sweet, cloying scent of hormonal birth control.

“Uh, the sock was pink?”

It had been gray, but he was praying Drew hadn’t noticed that.

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.”

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
figured, since you called it a Lisfranc fracture instead of just saying you could have broken the top bone on her foot.”

“There isn’t just one bone on the top of the foot.”

“Of course there isn’t. Like a quarter of the human body’s bones are in the feet.”

Drew raised a brow. “Let me guess. You’re a podiatrist?”

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.”

“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.

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.

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.”

There was a beat of silence before a flight attendant picked up.

“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.”

The plane dipped and jolted again, and several people screamed.

“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.”

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
instantaneous thunder.

Drew’s breath fanned across his cheek as he leaned over Nick to get a better view. “Damn.”

The plane jolted again, and someone a few rows behind them started crying. Nick’s ears popped, which must mean they were descending.

“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.”

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.

“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.”

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.

“Final destination, unfortunately. I was supposed to be picked up at the airport by my new boss.”

“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?”

“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?”

“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.”

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.

“Sounds like we might be stuck in Chicago for a bit.”

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.

“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.

Yeah, he could work with this.


Under a Blue Moon
Bru Baker

#WIPWednesday Return to Camp H.O.W.L.

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? 

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 Under a Blue Moon, 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.

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.

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.

If you haven't read book 1 yet, you can pick it up here in ebook, print, or audio!

Enjoy!

Once in a blue moon, opposites find they’re a perfect match.

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.

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?

_________________________EXCERPT____________________________

Under a Blue Moon
Camp H.O.W.L. book 2
Dreamspinner Press, release date June 2018

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. 

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. 

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. 

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? 

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. 

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. 

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.” 

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. 

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. 

His pulse quickened as he took another breath. It wasn’t the soup. 

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.
There weren’t any other familiar faces, and Nick forced himself to take a calming breath. Clearly he was losing his mind. 

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. 

“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.” 

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. 

“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.” 

The spicy-sweet smell intensified, and Nick turned around, panic building tight and hot in his throat. It couldn’t be, could it? 

But it was. 

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. 

“Sorry for holding you up,” Drew said, slightly breathless. “I wanted to wash the plane off.” 

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.
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. 

“Already wearing the merch, Dr. Welch?” someone called from a chair a few feet away.
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.” 

“Why aren’t you wearing mine?” a tiny blonde sitting on the arm of an easy chair called out. 

“The one you sent had literal sparkles and ended under my nipples, Kaylee. I’m saving it for a special occasion, obviously.” 

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. 

“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.” 

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. 

Kenya turned to face him, and Nick realized he hadn’t said anything since Drew had walked in. 

“That isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” she asked sharply. “Drew being human?” 

As a coworker? No. But as a huge complication in Nick’s work life? Yes.

__________________________________________________________________

WIP 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.

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.

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.

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.

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*

Camp H.O.W.L.

“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.”

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.

It wasn't the raw juice bar or the Pilates machines that kept the kids from leaving camp, though. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

Pexels

“I called an Uber,” he sneered, his gaze locked on Tate's in a blatant challenge. 

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. 

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? 

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.