Blood Lite Part 1

BLOOD LITE.

by DAKOTA Ca.s.sIDY.

Chapter One

One hundred and eighty-five freakin' pounds? Leah picked up the scale and shook it angrily then slapped it back on the cool tile floor with a clatter.

There, that was better.

Okay then, let's try this one more time. She hopped back on the scale and sucked in her gut, leaning forward ever so slightly. The black needle wobbled and settled firmly on one hundred and eighty-six. She blew out a breath she wasn't aware she was holding.

Jesus Christ in a miniskirt, she was one hundred and eighty-six pounds of fleshy vampire. Now how the h.e.l.l had this happened?

Well, gee, Leah, could it be your penchant for all things fried? She caught a glimpse of her naked form in the mirror and stuck her tongue out.

"Oh, shut up," she muttered to herself. So she liked a french fry occasionally, this meant what?

h.e.l.lo, my name is Leah Adams, I am five foot four and I weigh one hundred and eighty-six pounds is what it means, honey. This means I've gone hog-wild, baby and eaten my way up to the full-figured section of the silky underthings department. There will be no shopping in the pet.i.te stores for my wide a.s.s.

The centuries were beginning to take their toll on her thighs that was for sure. Leah hiked the towel back up around her, attempting to hide her body from the full-length mirror in her bathroom. Just four pounds shy of one hundred and ninety pounds, fourteen pounds from two hundred. She dropped the towel and got back on the scale, surely that would help. The needle wobbled furiously again, then settled.

Um, nope. I am one chubby chick, adjust.

Well, this just wouldn't do. She was going to have to take action here. Did Jane Fonda still "feel the burn"? No, that had been in the "eighties". Leah threw on a T-s.h.i.+rt and headed to her bedroom and the stack of videotapes she had stored beneath the TV.

Pulling them all out, she sorted them, stacking them by decade. Well, s.h.i.+t she had nearly every exercise video known to man and she could only vaguely remember using one or two. They made an impressive stack though.

The trouble here was motivation. She was not motivated to feel any other burn than the one she felt on her tongue when she slid one greasy meal or another into her mouth.

Her stomach growled in agreement. Leah left the mess of tapes on the floor and padded out to her kitchen. Opening the refrigerator door, she perused the contents.

Last night's Chinese.

Yum, pork fried rice.

The night before it'd been pizza with huge chunks of sausage mingling with the gooey cheese and tomato sauce. Tossing the half-empty carton of pork fried rice out, she began throwing all of the junk food away.

Noooooo, not the sweet and sour pork! It's just downright criminal.

Oh yes, miss, the sweet and sour pork and the pizza and the cheese dip and the d.a.m.n fried chicken wings.

They must be vanquished!

Leah filled the kitchen garbage up and brushed her hands together with satisfaction. That was that.

She groaned. Hookay, so should she start counting points or what? She'd never been on a diet, she'd never had to be on one. She was only four hundred and twenty. The old saddlebags didn't hit her mother 'til at least her six hundredth year. Placing her hands on her hips, she paced the kitchen.

Now what? She had no food, she was starving and she had an a.s.s that was spreading like Ebola. Maybe she could hire a personal trainer. Someone to pump her up because she certainly wasn't pumping anything on her own.

Except for pumping that fork into her face...

Time to get serious.

Locating her phone book, she scanned the multiple listings of weight loss centers and diet gurus.

Oh, look, lose weight through meditation. Didn't that mean you had to find your happy place? Could you have fried chicken wings while you visited the happy place?

An image of her body tangled up in a knot a Boy Scout couldn't untie rolling around on the floor popped into her head. No, she needed someone who would come here and force her to bust a move. She flipped to personal trainers, glancing at the clock she realized it was pretty late to be calling some poor soul who'd probably already run a marathon for the day.

If she was going to dole out hundreds of dollars, the diet divas had d.a.m.n well better be willing to come when she wagged her little finger. Leah ran her finger down the list and settled on a rather large ad with a catchy slogan.

"Motivation my name, weight loss is your gain. Call Erik Hanson. Flexible hours available, specialized exercise and diet plan to meet your personal needs."

Maybe a guy wasn't such a good idea. She didn't need some hard body, laughing behind her back over the size of her hips. Personal trainers were all gay anyway, she reminded herself. At least the few she'd encountered were.

Flexible hours were good. She grabbed the phone and dialed before she lost her nerve.

h.e.l.lo, I'm an overweight vampire...

He picked up on the third ring. "Erik Hanson." A voice like rich, dark chocolate answered, rumbling through the line and making her ear tingle.

"Um, h.e.l.lo... My name is Leah Adams and I'm looking for a personal trainer." Someone who can come and get my fat a.s.s off the couch...

"Hi, Leah, tell me a bit about what you'd like in a personal trainer."

I'd like him to come and monitor my refrigerator, thank you. "Um, I'd like someone who will motivate me to exercise and someone whose hours are flexible. I need someone who can come to my house at night... I work long hours." I'm a vampire too, so try to lay off the garlic bread before you stop by.

"I'm very flexible, Leah. How much do you weigh?"

"Plenty."

He chuckled, "How much is plenty and what do you want to lose?"

She sighed into the phone, "I'm five foot four and I weigh one eighty-five...er, six." She waited for him to whistle in astonishment, maybe call her a cow.

Moooo.

She heard the rustle of papers, he was obviously jotting this all down. She could picture him making a big, round number eight. Ugh.

"What do you think is your ideal weight?"

"Um, I dunno. I guess I never gave it a lot of thought." Until I hit that d.a.m.n scale, anyway.

"Well, then let's do this, we'll make an appointment and talk it over. Work out a plan that fits your lifestyle and routines."

Oh, yes, by all means, let's talk about the fact that my thighs alone could feed a small country.

"Okay, I'm available anytime after eight in the evening." Any day of the week, and lately, with this dry spell, any day of the century. No life to speak of here.

"Monday through Friday?"

Every Monday through Friday in this millennium. "Yeah, sure. That's great."

"Okay, Leah. How's tomorrow at eight?"

So soon? Couldn't she at least have a week to adjust? Squeeze in a cheeseburger?

"Sure, tomorrow's great," she heard herself reply. "Let me give you directions."

When she hung up the phone, it occurred to her that he could be some freaky serial killer who liked chubby chicks. Ah, well, it didn't matter. She was a vampire. She could take care of herself.

Looking through her pantry, she located a box of granola bars. Yuk. Well, it was better for her than sweet and sour pork.

Her stomach growled in protest. She needed to feed too.

Pa.s.s the blood lite, please.

Erik Hanson rang her doorbell at eight sharp. She'd spent the better part of the evening trying to figure out what to wear. Finally she settled on a pair of sweats and an old T-s.h.i.+rt. Her hair was sc.r.a.ped back in a ponytail high atop her head, and her face was makeup free. He was gay, so he wouldn't care what she looked like. She was not out to impress anyone, how could she impress someone with thighs like hers?

Too d.a.m.n bad he was gay, because when she opened the door and got an eyeful of Erik Hanson, she had to clamp her mouth shut. Didn't it just figure that she would choose the one guy in all of the yellow pages who was so freakin' hot you could fry an egg on him? She did it without even trying.

c.r.a.p.

He stuck out a big, tanned hand, "Hi, Leah, I'm Erik. Nice to meet you."

She gave his hand a firm squeeze and yanked her hand away quickly when a jolt of awareness shot up her arm.

Mm, mm, good.

Leah opened the door wide and smiled. "C'mon in, it's nice to meet you too."

Erik dragged a tote on wheels behind him. His torture devices contained within, no doubt. Her sensitive vampire nostrils caught a whiff of his manly odor. They flared in response to the clean scent of a human male. She gulped. s.h.i.+t, how much more could this suck? She was overweight and she had a gay personal trainer who was hotter than molten lava. Her eyes took in his broad back as his muscles rippled beneath his jacket while he pulled out mats and small hand weights from the tote.

You're staring, you tramp. Darn right, she was staring. He was yummylicious.

He turned to grin at her, flas.h.i.+ng a brilliant set of white teeth. Her nipples waved h.e.l.lo, tightening painfully in her stupid sports bra. Jesus, her long-lost libido was in overdrive.

"Why don't we sit down and go over some stuff."

Why don't we just let me have my way with your stuff instead? Leah pulled out a chair at the dining room table and sat down resolutely. "Okay, what do we have to go over?"

"I need all sorts of personal information. I know your height and weight, but we need to take your blood pressure, and if you could fill out this form we'll be good to go."

Leah halfheartedly scanned the forms, while she ogled his thick thighs encased in his dark blue workout suit. She quickly penciled in all the pertinent information and tried to focus on the task at hand here. The task being weight loss, not getting laid, girlie.

Erik took off his jacket and laid it on the back of the chair. Oh for c.r.a.p's sake, he had a nice chest. His T-s.h.i.+rt clung to his pecs and hugged his abs of steel. She wanted to run her tongue over the ridges of his abdomen. Leah's mouth watered.

Need I remind you he's gay?

No, thank you. I got it.

d.a.m.n, he was tall. At least close to a foot taller than she was and he had wavy, dark brown hair that skimmed the top of his shoulders. Whew, would she like to feel that brush her thighs while he...

He dug around his bag for something to tie it back with. Chiseled...that would probably best describe his cheekbones. You could strike a match on them. You could do that on nearly every part of his body. Oh, what she could do with his body...

Stop it now. Right now, Leah. Oh, all right. She'd try really hard not to think of those big blue eyes with lashes thicker than a Maybelline commercial, or his broad shoulders, or his thick thighs, or his...

"Leah?"

She sat up straight and pulled back her shoulders. "I'm sorry I was a bit distracted."

He smiled an oral wet dream of a smile and pulled her out of the chair. "Let's start by going over what you want out of this. How much weight do you want to lose?"

She grimaced, a whole lot, baby. "At least a good twenty or thirty pounds. I also want to get in shape." That sounded good, a little meek, but good.

He was still holding her hand and she was clinging to it like a big baby. "Everything looks good with your health and you seem to be in pretty good shape according to what you've filled out on the form. I'd suggest three days a week to begin and a healthy eating plan. As long as you're agreeable and willing to work at it, that is."

Which meant no more cheeseburgers and plenty of exercise. "Okay, so where do we begin?"

"We can talk about your meals after we a.s.sess your level of flexibility and stamina. We begin by stretching, loosening up the muscles." He let go of her hand and motioned her to the middle of the living room, where he laid a rectangular blue mat on the floor. His blue eyes twinkled. "C'mon, it's easy," he smiled encouragingly.

Easy. I can be easy...

Leah copied Erik's lunge, bracing her hands on her knee just like him. She scrunched her face, ouch that hurt. Her knees cracked as she thrust upward.

Oh, my.

"That's great, you're doing just fine." They repeated several sets and then he said, "Now I want you to sit on the floor and spread your legs as wide as you can."

A s.h.i.+ver ran up her spine. Woohoo! He wants you to spread your legs!

To stretch, Leah, not to indulge in unbridled s.e.x.

Leah sat on the floor and spread her legs for all they were worth. Oh, good gravy, that hurt. Erik crouched beside her and ran his finger along her inner thigh.

"This stretch will help with your flexibility."

Or make me come, whichever happens first.