by Hart, Lane
After freshman orientation I knew exactly why he was so gung-ho for me to come here. It might as well have been a nunnery. And I could've made do with the fifteen percent male population, if fourteen percent of them weren't gay. I could count on one hand how many possibly straight guys I'd come across in the three weeks since school started. To top it off, I was a nursing major, so there was no way I’d meet a decent straight guy there. Hell, at this point I'd take an indecent one.
But just because my father didn't let me out of the house or date didn't mean I was completely inexperienced with guys. If he knew the things that went on every summer in the dorm rooms at church camp he'd burn that place to the ground. But even Stephen, the guy I met this past summer and fooled around with every night, turned out to be a prude. Despite our escalating groping in his room he always stopped things when they started heating up because he was "saving himself for marriage." I was really starting to think there was something wrong with me.
When the Student Health Center had been giving out condoms during orientation I'd grabbed up a handful, but didn't really feel they were necessary since, a.) It seemed impossible I could get pregnant since I'd never had a period. I wasn’t entirely sure I’d actually gone through puberty, and b.) Based on the way things were going, the condoms would probably expire before I got around to using them.
As I brushed and blow dried my hair in the mirror I tried to figure out what it was men found so repulsive about me. I was short and thin, but I was pretty sure guys didn't mind that sort of thing. I at least had somewhat of an ass and a decent chest.
I had even considered dying my hair a different color. I got compliments from other girls about how pretty my long, natural auburn hair was, but maybe that was the problem. Guys didn’t want to date me because I was just a shade away from being a soulless ginger.
It probably didn't help that I’d always been really shy and quiet. Growing up with a protective father there had never really been anyone that I could just hang out with or be myself around. I was pretty sure that the girls I went to school with acted all bubbly and obnoxious, and that seemed to work for getting them one-night stands. But I was definitely not looking for that either.
Giving up on trying to figure out why I was social leper, I started looking for something to wear so I wouldn't melt in the ninety degree heat and suffocating humidity I had endured every day in this freaking town. At least I'd been able to go shopping since I've been on my own. My allowance for groceries had been spent on establishing a less conservative closet while I lived off of cafeteria food and oodles of noodles.
After I put on a jean skirt, thin button up blouse and my wedge sandals, I drank a glass of milk for breakfast, then grabbed my bookbag and phone to head out early. The sororities had posted flyers in the nursing building about their blood drive going on today. I knew the blood bank’s supplies were always low, so I wanted to try and get over there to donate. I had to get an early start so I wouldn't be late for my ten o'clock Biology class.
My apartment was in a great location, with the school's campus only a block away. My scholarship included room and board in one of the dorms, but daddy wanted me to have an apartment off campus. I was pretty sure he thought I'd be less likely to join a sorority or go to parties, and he was right. My living situation only made it more difficult to make friends. I didn't have a roommate, and none of my entirely female neighbors had bothered to say anything to me other than "Hi," when we passed in the hallways.
As I started toward the University's food court I couldn't miss the giant blood mobile parked up against the curb. My nerves suddenly made the milk in my stomach turn sour. I'd never given blood before, or even seen it done. As a freshman in nursing it was now or never with blood and needles, but as queasy as I felt just thinking about it, I might need to go ahead and change my major.
I walked up to the table right outside the bus. Two other girls were filling out forms on clipboards and talking to a woman wearing a shirt with the blood bank's logo.
“Hey, thanks for coming by! Would you like to sign up to donate today?" she asked when she saw me hesitate on the sidewalk.
I took a deep breath. I could do this. It probably wouldn't be as bad as I thought it would be.
"Um, yes, I think so," I mumbled.
"Great! Just fill this out and you can go right on in and get started!" She was way too bubbly and happy about donating blood this early in the morning.
I put down my name, date of birth, and contact information; then I went through the dozen or so more difficult questions. Nope, no blood diseases, never been out of the country either. I answered the rest of the question with a shaky hand then handed the form back to the hyper woman.
"Great! Everything looks good so come on up with me," she said, jogging up the bus steps after she read and approved my answers.
As I climbed the steep steps, I held onto the rails for dear life. At the top I could see the two other girls who were ahead of me reclined in chairs with needles already in their arms and bags beside them filling up with blood. The claustrophobic bus was too warm, and it felt like the walls had started spinning around me.
"You can go right down there to the last seat. Sam should be all set and ready for you!"
You're a nursing major, you can do this! I pepped talked to myself. I tried to avoid looking at the needles sticking out of arms as I walked past their seats to the back of the bus. I kept my eyes on the empty reclining chair, assuming it was my destination.
As I approached the chair, the young and unbelievably gorgeous technician turned around and smiled at me, making my already unsteady steps falter. His eyes roamed over me and then he frowned. It was like he'd been expecting someone else and was disappointed it was only me. Pretty much summed up my life.
Chapter Three
Sam
It was just my luck of the blood drive draw that I’d get stuck with “her”. There was really nothing outwardly wrong with "her", and that was the problem. The girl was more than beautiful with her big and innocent teal eyes, petite little body, long chestnut hair that fell over her perfect breasts, and slender legs that were sexy as fuck in a short skirt. Not that I had noticed.
My problem with "her" consisted of the fact that I was about as smooth as sandpaper when it came to talking to someone like her. Although slutty girls would regularly approach me, I was tired of all the meaningless one-night stands. I had pretty much given up on having an actual relationship, and hadn't put the moves on anyone in, well, what year was it? It was going to be an awkward twenty minutes as I tried not to fumble and mumble like a fool, completely embarrassing myself in front of this beautiful girl.
Drawing blood from the sorority sluts didn't bother me since they were all superficial and shallow. They dressed and acted like they were sure things, but didn't understand why guys treated them that way. Their attention whoring was easy for me to ignore. But with "her", God she looked sweet and shy, not hung-over or slutty at all. But she was too young and innocent for me. And too gorgeous. That bastard fate was throwing her at me and laughing in my face because she was so damn perfect, and I knew I didn't have a chance in hell with someone like her.
"Hi, um, she told me you were ready for me?" she said, in her sweet angelic voice that matched her appearance. Oh baby, I'm ready for you alright. Why don't you sit down on my lap and feel how ready I am for you? Snap out of it Sam!
I couldn't immediately give the girl a verbal response. I was still taking inventory of her assets as she stood before me, my eyes transfixed as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear like it was one of her nervous gestures.
"Yeah, sure, whatever," I said after I finally made my mouth work. That was my wonderful personality shining through right there. I either came across as a dick or a dork. Oh God, and she smelled good too - like fresh flowers on a spring day. Where the hell did that thought come from?
I realized I was still staring at her, which no doubt had made her more uncomfortable. A hint of red was
starting to form on her cheeks. Oh, that so doesn't help. My mind was going through all the inappropriate things I wanted to do to her that would make her blush even harder. That short skirt made me want to bend her over and ... dammit! Putting those thoughts away for later fantasies, I finally cleared my mind enough to function, and tried to talk to her normally, or at least more professionally.
"Sorry, still asleep this morning. Have a seat and we'll get started," I said as I motioned for her to stretch out in the reclined chair beside my workstation.
My dick and I couldn't help but notice the way her jean skirt inched up over her knees as she stretched out, or how her button-up shirt pulled across her ample bust, showing the hint of her white bra underneath. This was going to be difficult.
I spun my rolling chair around, putting my back to her as I punched my junk ordering it to behave. I was acting like a fifteen-year-old boy instead of an eighty-four-year-old man with self-control. Although, I don't look anything like an eighty-four-year-old man. I'd only been twenty-six when I was turned, a long fifty-eight years ago.
Joselin had found me after I was walking home from a downtown bar on July 4, 1954. Some son of a bitch drunk driver had plowed over me and kept going. She gave me the choice of living a long time or dying right there. I was a coward, and too scared to die after I’d recently watched my parents and younger brother do it.
Joselin had been like a second mother to me from that day forward. She had only been thirty-six-years-old when she was turned, but she'd been a vampire since 1790. She insisted I move out of my shithole apartment I paid for with minimum wages from the factory, and into her large, two story plantation home just outside of the city. I'd been a slacker and just lived with her for the next thirty years until she remarried, and I finally decided to live on my own. Now Joselin was really the closest thing to family I had left. That reminded me, her birthday was coming up next week and I needed to send her a card.
Back to the blood mobile and "her". I should probably find out her name and get to work instead of just sitting here in silence eye-fucking her.
"I'm Sam by the way. Thanks for donating today,” I told her as I put on a pair of latex gloves.
“I’m Kate. Kate Adams," she said shyly, then looked down at her hands in her lap, blushing even harder.
I looked her over again, being less perverted this time and more professional.
"How much do you weigh?" I asked, wondering if her tiny frame actually met the damn weight requirement to donate.
"Excuse me?" she asked as she looked up, surprise showing on her face from what was usually a very personal question for most women.
"Well, you need to weigh at least a hundred and ten pounds to donate, and you look like you might be under that."
"I weigh a hundred and ten pounds," she said defensively, but I wasn't convinced.
This girl was determined to donate blood, the consequences to herself be damned. It showed just how sweet and kind she was. It wasn't like I was going to refuse to let her donate. I wanted to keep her here beside me for as long as possible. I just hoped she wouldn’t pass out after she left that chair. I’d make sure she was okay before I let her leave. She may need to stay here even longer than normal just to be safe.
Getting on with it, the first step was for me to prick her with the finger-stick to check her hemoglobin. She extended her soft delicate hand to me and I tried to hold it gently even though I knew it was going to pinch like a son of a bitch. I only had to squeeze three drops of her blood directly into the blue copper sulfate to make sure she had enough iron to make it sink. Yep, her blood was good to go.
Instead of wrapping the Band-Aid around the small gash on her finger, I wanted to stick it in my mouth and suck it dry. That sure as fuck would get me fired, I thought with a smile as I reluctantly taped up her finger.
I had to slide my chair closer to her to tie the rubber band around her lovely upper arm and make a tourniquet. That only put me closer to her oh-so-perfect breasts that I wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch. I sighed at my total lack of professionalism as I swabbed the area around her vein with alcohol, probably a little longer than was necessary, then it was show time.
I handed her the red stress ball and told her to start squeezing, and oh and I had something else I'd really like to have her squeeze.
"Okay, are you ready?" I asked, trying not to look at her beautiful face and get distracted again, or her chest, or legs, or where her skirt was riding up. Yeah, I just needed to focus on the inside of her arm.
"Go ahead, I just don't want to watch while you do it," she said as she turned her head to the side and started squeezing the squishy ball. Her already fair skin had gone a shade paler.
"Alright, here we go. You're going to feel a sting but I'll try and make it as quick and painless as possible," I told her. I jabbed the needle in as gently as I could, but still made her flinch, then the worst was over.
"Are you okay?" I asked after I taped the needle down.
“Yeah, that wasn't so bad," she said as she let out the breath she’d been holding and finally turned her head to look up at me. Damn she was beautiful.
"Good,” I told her with a smile. “It'll probably take about fifteen minutes to fill up the bag, then you'll need to eat and drink something before you leave." I looked down to check on the progress in the bag.
"Oh shit!" I said covering my mouth before I could stop the outburst. The other four people on the bus had stopped what they were doing to turn around and look at me. I tried to think of a cover-up.
"Sorry," I said. "She just has really good veins," was all I could come up with. I was such an idiot.
My real surprise had been the color of her blood as it settled in the bag. It was almost black.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lane Hart was born and raised in North Carolina. She continues to live in the south with her husband, two daughters, and several pets named after Star Wars characters.
When Lane's not writing or reading sexy novels, she can be found in the summer on the beaches of the east coast, and in the fall watching football, cheering on the Carolina Panthers.
Her current work in progress is Blood Loss, the third book in the Bound by Blood series, as well as new stories in the All In series.
Connect with Lane:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/WritingfromHart
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/lanehartbooks
Website: http://www.lanehartbooks.com