Running Wild

Letting Mom drive me to the airport was my first mistake as
a Real Werewife. I missed my flight, which was completely embarrassing for
someone who travelled for a living.

“I’m so excited,” she kept saying. “I can’t wait to see who
you meet. Have you checked out the roster yet?”

There were certain sounds only dogs could hear. Others that only
mothers could hear. Like my biological clock ticking. I’d just turned thirty
and Mom feared I was at serious risk for spinsterhood. And that was how she
tricked me into becoming a Real Werewife of Alaska.

There’s a new reality
show filming in Alaska. You’ve always wanted to go there. Want me to put your
name in? she said, neglecting to mention that the premise of the show was
to find mates for a shapeshifting football team. I said yes, not even thinking
to question her motives. Maybe that was my first Werewife mistake. I ran a
travel blog, Naomi Harts Travel, and I operated on a shoestring budget. Most of
my adventures so far were day trips from my New Hampshire home, and places like
Costa Rica during hurricane season when the rates were dirt cheap.

Alaska was a bucket list adventure for me, so I didn’t back
out even when I realized I might get a souvenir with fangs. There had to be
some way to get eliminated before I got stuck with some furry jock for the rest
of my life.

But not before I got some amazing expreiences under my belt.

“Nope. But I’ve checked out Holiday Falls, Juneau, all the
barrier islands, and Anchorage. Should be able to do those as day trips. I’m so
excited to see them in person.”

And even better, get to explore like a local. My aim was to
take my readers on real adventures that were slightly offbeat. Like me.

“Behave yourself, Naomi,” Mom said as she dropped me off.

“What fun would that be?”

Now I was scrambling through the Holiday Falls airport,
looking for the van that was supposed to pick me up and bring me to the
Werewife Compound. That was really what they called it. I was out of breath by
the time I got to the pickup area. And sweaty. That wasn’t supposed to happen
in Alaska.

A perky blond woman waved a sign that read Welcome, Naomi Hart to The Real Werewives of
Alaska! I was tempted to walk right by her, rent a car, and find a hotel
for the night, but my credit cards were almost maxed out and I couldn’t run out
of money before I got to see all the stuff I came for.

“I’m Tessa, the producer of The Real Werewives.” She
gave me a stiff hug that I wasn’t ready to reciprocate. “You’re just in time.
The welcome party is about to start.”

“It is?” I climbed into the van, greeted by women in tiny
dresses and big hair. I looked like someone used my ponytail to clean the plane
and was wearing sweatpants. “I’ll have time to get ready first, right?”

I hadn’t even shaved my legs.

“We can’t rearrange the whole schedule for you because
you’re late.” A girl with bubble gum colored lips snapped at me. “Didn’t you
read the itinerary?”

Hell no. The contract was still in my to-be-read pile.
“Thought I’d have a minute to get settled.”

“Don’t pay attention to Lulu. She just wants first dibs on
all the hot shifters.” The woman next to me gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m
Delilah.”

She looked to be a little older than me, but pin-up girl
stunning with her dark hair piled on top of her head. Mom had me convinced I’d
be the oldest Werewife on the show.

“Nice to meet you.” I was so out of my league. I hadn’t even
packed a dress close to what these ladies were wearing. I’d packed for what I
was interested in, which involved hiking gear instead of stilettos.

“Sorry to put you on the spot, Naomi, but we’ve got to get
your confessional before the party starts.” Tessa blinded me with a light.

“What the hell is that?” I was having flashbacks to my last
speeding ticket.

“It’s the camera. After a few days, you’ll forget it’s even
around.” Her hand appeared in front of the light. “Can you clip that onto your
jacket? It’s a little microphone. You’ll get used to having that, too.”

“Anything you say can be used against you,” Delilah muttered
as I clipped the microphone to my jacket. I couldn’t imagine where the rest of
the Werewives stuck their microphones.

“First thing you need to know is that the audience will
never hear my questions. Make sure you repeat the question back in your
answer,” Tessa said. “Ready?”

Oh, this was going to be fun. “Never been readier.”

“What kind of guy are you hoping to meet at the party
tonight?”

All eyes in the van were fixed on me—except for the driver,
of course. I licked my travel-chapped lips and gave the camera my best smile.
This wasn’t any different than filming for the blog, I reminded myself. My
readers liked it when I kept things real. My main goal for being on The Real
Werewives was to get my own travel show, but I couldn’t tell them that.

“I’m hoping to meet the guy with the hors d’ oeuvres
platter. All I’ve had since I left New Hampshire is a bag of peanuts and I’m
starving.”

“Thanks for your honest answer.” Tessa shut the camera off.
I was expecting more than one question, but apparently she didn’t share my
sense of humor. Whatever. I wasn’t everyone’s favorite flavor. If I couldn’t
manage to get myself eliminated, I could probably get the camera crew to avoid
me like the plague.

But I could probably manage to get myself eliminated.

The party was at the Alaska Bloodhounds’ practice facility.
Kind of an odd choice, and I expected it to smell like the inside of a used jockstrap.
Which would actually work in my favor, since I hadn’t had a chance to rinse
away my travel funk. No one would be able to pin it on me. But luck hadn’t been
my strong suit since I landed in Alaska, and the facility was way more elegant
than it looked from the outside. Pounding bass sucked us into a dark room
rimmed with couches and plenty of hidden corners.

We weren’t the only van full of Werewives, and all the
ladies scattered as soon as they entered the room. I never went to parties if I
didn’t know anyone. If I didn’t have my sweatpants tucked into my fuzzy boots
and a hoodie on, I would’ve tried to stick to Delilah. She seemed like she
could be an ally. But I couldn’t even play wing woman tonight. I wouldn’t hurt
her chances at finding true love because she got saddled with the girl who
looked like she just rolled out of bed. With a hangover.

It was a long season, and from what I understood, I was
stuck here for all of it. After my confessional, Tessa explained that they
wanted us to meet a variety of guys so we could see who we hit it off best
with. I could do that. One-night stands were my specialty. It usually
guaranteed no second date.

I was in a committed relationship with my blog and had no
plans of changing my status.

The room was full of gorgeous men and promise. Shifter or
not, everyone was on the prowl. We had shifters in New Hampshire, but they
lived up north in the mountains and kept to themselves. This was the closest
I’d ever been to one. I bumped into a couple guys, all in tuxes. They were
huge, and I wouldn’t want to tangle with them on a football field.

But between the sheets? Absolutely. I wasn’t a little girl,
but a guy like that could throw me around without thinking twice. Yes, please.
But none of them were going to give me a second look tonight, which was fine. I
was starving and exhausted and would probably say something epically stupid
with a camera in my face.

I wouldn’t even get to practice my cheesy lines on a waiter,
because they’d put all the food on a buffet table. There wasn’t much, and I was
going to get real friendly with the pizza guy if this was how they fed us. I
popped a scallop wrapped in bacon in my mouth and made a beeline for the punch
bowl. I filled my glass and downed it in one swig. My only regret was that I’d
taken the last of it.

“The punch bowl’s empty.” The most beautiful man I’d laid
eyes on since I walked in the room stood next to me, empty cup in hand. His
dark hair was cropped close to his head, except on top where he hadn’t bothered
to tame his unruly curls. He blew one of them out of his eyes. It had to be the
flashing lights, or jet lag, but I’d swear they glowed. They were like honey,
and I wanted to lick it from my fingers.

What the hell did they put in that punch?

“I swear, I didn’t drink it all.” I held my hands up, still
clutching my own empty plastic cup.

He cocked his head and crossed his thick arms against his
chest. He was the only guy in the room not wearing a tux. Instead he had a
black button-down shirt and jeans. He wasn’t that much taller than me, and not
an inch of him had been wasted.

“They let you do that?” he said.

“Do what? They haven’t told me all the rules yet.” And there
seemed to be a lot of them.

“Drink on the job.” He motioned to Tessa, who managed to
zero in on us. Now would be a great time
to tell me those rules, Tessa. I glanced over at her, but she waved her
hand to say keep going.

“Isn’t that the point? To get us loaded enough to get into
bed with a football player we’ve just met?”

“Naomi,” Tessa sighed. Apparently that was against the
rules.

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re one of the Werewives? I
thought you were crew.”

“I missed my flight.” I shrugged, looking down at my
glorified pajamas. “Not that it makes that much of a difference. I would’ve
just worn my good jeans. Probably would’ve brushed my hair before I came.”

Truth in advertising never hurt.

He grinned. “You look great.”

“Liar.” I wished there was more of that punch. “I’ll let you
get back to the party. And I’ll make sure someone attends to the punch
situation. We can’t let emergencies like that go for too long.”

“No we can’t.” He put his cup down on the table and turned
back to me. “I’m Sebastian. I play running back. What’s your name?”

“Naomi.” I accepted his handshake. His fingers were rough,
sure, and strong around mine. That bright gaze locked me in. Tessa was right.
It was possible to forget all about the cameras.