Chasing After Me

by R. C. Martin

  I’m a virgin by chance and by choice. My faith in God and everything I’ve been taught my whole life has instilled in me the belief that I am worth dying for, and my purity is worth protecting because my body is worth more than a quick lay. Though I’m still struggling with my anger at God, I still believe that He loves me and wants more for me than to be a notch in someone’s bedpost. I still believe that to be truly intimate with a man is sacred.

  But then I remember the way Coder made me feel—the way he makes me feel every time we’re together. I remember him telling me that we’d go slow, and that we’d do whatever I wanted to do. I’m not ready to have sex with him, but he’s not asking me to be. Furthermore, his level of respect for me cannot be denied. The more time we spend together, the safer he makes me feel, and I’m not convinced we’re doing anything wrong. I’m not a conquest he’s after. I won’t be another notch in his bedpost. I trust him. More than that, I like him so much.

  I puff out a sigh, thinking about what to say to Brooke. She’s been pretty quiet about her Coder chase lately, which is a relief. Maybe the time to tell her is quickly approaching. Though, I’m certainly not going to tell her via text. Rather, I give her half the truth—as is becoming my custom.

  Just studying. Needed a change of scenery. I work tomorrow night, but should be home around eight. xoxo

  I toss my phone into my purse and glance down into my lap, which currently happens to be my desk, and scrunch my face in annoyance. Almost a month into the semester, and I’m so unmotivated, it’s not even funny. I’m getting my stuff done, because that’s who I am, but my doubts about what I want to do with my future make it hard for me to get excited about my studies. I’m starting to feel aimless—a truth that frightens me if I think too much about it, so I try not to. Needing a distraction, I look up and across the room.

  Coder’s back is to me. He’s hunched over his client; a position he’s been holding for the last hour as he works on the piece she’s getting done on the small of her back. I like hearing the buzz of the tattoo gun. I like watching the muscles of his back through his t-shirt. I like bearing witness to his level of concentration. He respects his responsibility and the permanence of his actions, and I’m in awe of what he does. I think it’s brave and daring, and I admire his confidence and his passion for his work. Before I met Coder, I’d never given much thought to the role of a tattoo artist. Now, after seeing him in action, I understand that he’s worth admiring.

  I watch him for a minute, then force myself to focus my attention back on my homework. I don’t have much left, and I tell myself that if I finish now, I can enjoy the rest of the evening I intend to spend with Coder. He gets off early tonight, and he’s promised to feed me as soon as we leave. I use my hunger as motivation.

  Keeping to his word, he’s been really great about calling me even on the days we can’t see each other. Sometimes, I’ll get a text when he wakes up. Mostly, he’ll call me at night before I go to bed. It’s not every day, but seventy-two hours of silence has yet to repeat itself, which makes me happy and hopeful, fueling the rate at which I’m falling for him.

  “Code!” bellows Pete before he appears in the doorway. My head shoots up, but Coder keeps on working as his brother asks, “Willow’s doing a dinner run. You two in or out?”

  The buzzing of his gun stops as Coder looks up—first at Pete, then over his shoulder at me. “Babe?”

  “Oh,” I mutter, reaching up to sweep my hair behind my ears. I haven’t gotten the chance to be alone with Coder all week, the last few times we’ve managed to see each other being here at the shop in the middle of the day. I was actually really looking forward to having him to myself. Yet, for whatever reason, I’m not brave enough to say it. “Um, whatever you want to do is fine.”

  He smirks, lifting an eyebrow at me as he says, “Babe—I’m asking you.”

  Suddenly feeling hot, like I’ve been thrust under a spotlight, I look over at Pete and then back at Coder before I reply, “Actually…I was hoping…” My sentence trails off when a grin spreads across his face. He then chuckles and winks at me before turning back to his brother.

  “Mack isn’t up for sharing, bro. We’ll pass.”

  Smiling over at me, Pete lifts his chin before he says, “Cool.” Then, without another word, he leaves, calling Trevor’s name.

  Now feeling girlishly giddy that Coder is content to spend his Friday night with just me, I set about finishing my homework with a new determination.

  My belly clenches and my core throbs as he rolls me onto my back, making room for himself between my legs. A moan spills from my throat, filling his mouth as he presses his jean-clad erection against me. I know my panties are soaked, and even though we’re both still fully clothed, the feel of him rubbing up against my aching center feels incredible. I moan again, burying my fingers in his hair as I hitch my knees up to press against his sides.

  “Fuck, baby, don’t do that,” he grunts, severing our kiss as he rests his forehead against mine. He pushes down one leg, then the other, gripping my waist tightly as he thrusts his hips. “Got my limits, babe. Don’t push ‘em.”

  “Sorry,” I whimper as I pant.

  He responds only with a kiss, his tongue delving deep into my mouth and twisting with mine. He kisses me greedily, and my heart beats wildly as his hand travels up my side until his thumb is grazing the underside of my breast. I arch my back, and he groans, moving to palm my breast instead. The sound turns me on even more, and I wish I could get Coder closer somehow.

  Without second guessing myself, I drag my hands down the front of his chest until I reach the bottom of his plaid button-up. I then sneak my fingers underneath the fabric, sliding my hands over his abs and around to his back, holding him close. He thrusts his hips again, causing a spark between my legs, and I gasp, digging my fingertips into his skin.

  “Shit, baby,” he groans, grinding against me again. “We gotta stop.”

  My eyes fly open in search of his, my entire body on edge at his suggestion. “No. Please—please, don’t. I—I—”

  “What, Mack? Hmm? Tell me,” he insists, tilting his head, his lips seeking out my neck.

  I turn, pressing my cheek to his as I whisper, “I need you.”

  “Goddammit,” he mutters, rubbing up against me in just the right way.

  “Coder,” I moan.

  “You got ten seconds, babe,” he warns as he continues to rock his hips. He props himself up on his forearms, his lips hovering over mine as he stares into my eyes. “Nine, baby. Fuck—I can’t believe I’m doing this shit. Seven, Mack.”

  “Why are you counting?” I manage between breaths. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “God, you’re killing me, babe,” he chuckles, reaching for the top button of my jeans. He yanks down my zipper and then shoves his hand into my panties. I come the instant his fingers press against my clit.

  “Mmmm—Coder!”

  My eyes locked with his, he continues to stroke me until the intense pleasure begins to dissolve. As soon as he pulls his hand away, he kisses me—hard. Then, suddenly, he rolls off of me and storms out of the room. Propping myself up on my elbows, I watch as he closes himself into the bathroom. Thinking this is extremely odd behavior and that maybe I’ve done something wrong, I throw myself back on his pillows, closing my jeans before clapping my hands over my face.

  He told me that I was pushing his limits, and I told him not to stop. Now that the fierce longing that burned inside of me has been satisfied, I feel horribly guilty for not listening to him in the first place. Then, when he doesn’t come back right away, my guilt grows even heavier. Sure that he’s upset with me, my stomach knots up as I get panicky. I’m on the verge of tears when I feel the bed dip. I lower my hands only when one of his tugs at my wrists.

  “What are you doing, babe?”

  Peeking over my fingertips, I mumble, “Are you mad at me?”

  He laughs, rolling onto his back, and then he mutters, “Get over here, Mack.�
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  He lifts his arm in invitation, and I hesitantly accept his offer, curling up against his side. Resting one arm down my back and around my side, he uses his free hand to grab my thigh before pulling it toward him so that it’s hooked over his leg. Once he has me where he wants me, he speaks.

  “I don’t do blue balls. Never have, never will. Heard that shit hurts like a motherfucker.”

  I blush, curling deeper into him in an attempt to hide my face. Knowing what he was just doing in the bathroom makes me feel embarrassed, guilty, and unbearably bashful. Unsure of how to respond, I try and find my voice in order to whisper, “I’m sorry.”

  “Babe,” he starts on a sigh. “You’re pre-med. You’re a smart girl. You know biology. You’re not the only one who needs a release, baby. All I’m saying is—you’re just gonna have to return the favor sometime.”

  I nod, knowing he’s right, but not at all sure that I’ll be any good at it. Just thinking about it makes me anxious, so much so that I don’t notice that I’ve clutched a handful of his shirt into my fist until he pries open my fingers.

  “Didn’t say you had to do it today, babe. Calm down,” he tells me, lacing his fingers with mine. “Actually, we should probably be thinking about getting you home soon. It’s getting late.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek as I nod again. I don’t feel good about leaving, at all. Not after what just happened. However, the last thing I want to do is make it worse, so I start to sit up in order to put my shoes on. He lets me go, but I don’t look at him as I scoot to the edge of his mattress before reaching down to grab my shoes.

  “Hey, what’s your weekend look like?”

  “Um, tomorrow’s busy. I’ll be at the hospital for a while, and then I have to go to work. Brooke sort of mentioned hanging out, so I should probably keep my night open.”

  “And Sunday?” he asks, catching me off guard when he he circles his arms around my waist and pulls me into the space between his legs.

  Resting my side against his chest, I look down in my lap as I reply, “No plans.”

  “Good. You can come to family dinner.”

  “What?” I gasp, my head snapping up to look at him.

  He smirks, pulling me closer as he says, “Think you heard me, babe.”

  “But—I—is that allowed? I’m not—”

  “You’re with me. Of course you’re allowed,” he insists, cutting me off. “Besides, you’ve met everyone who will be there. Not a big deal.”

  I purse my lips together, fighting a smile as I relax into his arms even more. Yeah, he just said that me going on Sunday isn’t a big deal—but it’s family dinner. It’s definitely a big deal. He’s right in that I’ve met everyone who will be there; but more than that, I’ve seen them together at the shop. I understand why they consider each other family. Regardless of whether or not my relationship status with Coder can be defined, this invitation is important.

  When I lean in to kiss him, he kisses me back, his eyes studying my face after I pull away. No longer able to hide my smile, knowing that he’s waiting for my answer, I tell him, “I’d love to come.”

  “Good. Now, let’s get you home, yeah?”

  This time, I’m not afraid to agree.

  I wake up Sunday morning thinking about Sheamus. I pray for him, not knowing whether or not God intends to answer my prayers, but unable to stay silent about it. Yesterday had been a horrible day for him. I stayed only long enough to say hello, Lance informing me that his little fighter didn’t feel well and wasn’t up for visitors. It broke my heart to see Sheamus pale and exhausted in that bed, when just weeks ago he was so full of color, hope, and optimism.

  Even with the joy of knowing that I was one patient short—Zoey having left after recovering from her very successful transplant—it was a rough day. I spent my shift at work thinking about how much my world has been shaken since I got back from winter break. The more I thought about it, the harder I began to question what I want to do with my future.

  The fight against cancer is an impossibly hard war. Watching these kids endure their own personal battles, it takes a toll. I care about them, and that’s not something that can be helped. Right now, I’m not their doctor. If I was, if I was responsible for their treatment, if I had to watch them suffer at my hand—I don’t know if I could do that. They say you get worse before you get better, but I know science. I don’t know a whole lot about medicine now, but I know enough to understand that when there is no known cure, it’s all experimental.

  For so long, my goals and aspirations were my armor. I was so sure that one more brain, one more doctor on the front lines could help. Yet, little by little, the hard days and the dying children have chipped away at that armor. Even still, I feel like I have a responsibility with my skillset and my background. I come from a family of doctors—how many people will I let down if I choose not to be one? How many destinies would be altered if the course of my life took a sudden left turn, and the path that I was supposed to take is not the one I travel?

  My head has been buzzing with questions and uncertainties, but movie night with Brooke did take my mind off of things for a while. I wasn’t feeling particularly chatty, a truth she picked up on right away. She didn’t seem to mind, though, and was content to laze with me over a bowl of popcorn. However, she did inform me that she intended to spend the afternoon cheering Owen on at his indoor match today. She encouraged me to come, but I just told her I wasn’t up for it and that I’d try and make the next game. It was the truth, mostly. After yesterday, I could really use an afternoon with Coder.

  Now, with the apartment quiet and empty, I finish dressing for Generation Ink’s family dinner, trying my best to combat my nerves. I wasn’t quite sure what to wear, so I hope what I picked out is okay. I decided on a pair of dark wash, skinny jeans with my long-sleeved, red, flannel tunic dress. The thin, brown belt that goes around my waist matches my riding boots, and my feet are extra toasty in my thick, gray, wool, boot socks. I pulled the front of my hair back, gathering it in a low half ponytail, leaving the rest of my wavy mane free to hang down my back. I’m just finishing up my eye make-up when there’s a knock at the door.

  As I make my way out of the bathroom to answer, my stomach knots up as my anxiety starts to grow. I know that I’ve met everyone who will be at this meal, but for some reason, I still feel like it’s really important that I make a good impression. I’ve been around, but I’m still new, and these people mean everything to Coder. I know this without him even having to tell me; so his comment about this not being a big deal—I don’t buy it for a second.

  When I open the door, I can’t stop myself from staring. As per usual, he’s wearing his motorcycle boots, his legs covered in a pair of worn, black jeans. He’s got on a hunter-green, mock-neck pull-over sweater, and instead of his winter coat, he’s wearing his motorcycle jacket. On his head, covering his ears, is a slouchy, charcoal gray beanie. As I admire him, I realize he looks every bit like the bad news I assumed him to be, and I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more.

  Luckily, Coder has a thing for my lips, and I don’t have to wait for what I want. Before he speaks a word of greeting, he steps over the threshold, his eyes staring into mine as he circles an arm around my waist and pulls me against him. My lips part as I suck in a breath of anticipation just when his mouth connects with mine.

  He teases me with the tip of his tongue before he mutters, “You’re too fuckin’ cute, Mack.”

  Everything inside of me goes squishy, and I grab onto the lapels of his jacket, pulling myself closer as I push myself up on my tiptoes. “You have no idea what you do to me,” I whisper, boldly clinging to the daring girl inside of me that wants Coder so much that I ache at the thought of messing all of this up.

  He chuckles, his other arm wrapping around me as he hugs me tighter. “Think I do, babe,” he drawls before taking my mouth in a hot, wet kiss. When he pulls away, he does so with a grunt before he declares, “We’ve got to get out of here or we�
�ll be late. Coat, babe. Let’s roll.”

  “’Kay,” I murmur in reply.

  When he lets me go, I turn toward my room with a smile on my face.

  Guess I picked the right thing to wear after all.

  The Paxton home is nothing like I thought it might be. It’s not too big, not too small, and homey—so incredibly homey that I can see why everyone likes coming here. Grace is obviously the mastermind behind the country-chic flare that’s everywhere, and I love all the rustic charm. I don’t get a full tour, but as Coder walks right into the house, not even bothering to ring the bell, he leads me through the entryway, past the sitting room and dining room, and into the kitchen. I see enough to know that Grace has made this house a home, and I adore it.

  “Code!” Caroline squeals, breaking away from Daphne’s ankles as she comes running for Coder.

  “Hey, Care Bear,” he says, leaning down to scoop her up with one arm.

  “Mommy cooking, Code.” She points back at her mother, who is standing at the stove, grinning our way.

  “I see that,” he chuckles.

  “Hey, guys,” says Daphne. “Food will be ready in a few. Take your coats off. Stay a while.”

  “Oh, hey, you two,” greets Grace as she exits her walk-in pantry, a sleeping Axel strapped across her chest in a pretty blue sling. “It’s good to see you, Kenzie,” she adds before shooting a knowing look at Coder.

  I don’t get a chance to read into what it means as Willow comes into the room. She grins at the sight of me, then claps her hands as she practically sings, “Kenzie’s here!”