Motorcycle Boots

Today's Sunday Snippet is brought to you by - Coder.

When I first dreamed up the novel Chasing After Me, I thought I'd tell it from four points of view. Then I wrote a couple more books, thought on it again, and decided two points of view would be best. Except, when it came time for me to really focus my thoughts on the project, all I heard was Kenzie. Coder had been so silent - just watching in the background as Kenzie's story began to take shape in my mind. Eventually, I realized he didn't have anything to say; at least, not in the way I had anticipated. He was content to be a player in Kenzie's journey and nothing more. So I followed his lead. And while he may have stepped out of the spotlight for this story, he possessed this quiet dominance that seeped out onto almost every page of the novel. That's what I love the most about his character. He's so consistent. He's so present, and yet he humbly takes on the role of a supporter, letting Kenzie shine as she navigates her way through the season of her life in which we find her.

Honestly, there are no words to adequately describe how special this man is to me or how unique of an experience it was to write him. So, without further ado, a snippet...

Chasing After Me
R.C. Martin © 2017

I take a quick shower, deciding not to shampoo my hair, assuming that riding on the back of a motorcycle in early March with wet hair would lead to a wicked cold. Instead, I part it down the side, braid the front, and gather it into a messy bun at the nape of my neck. When Coder returns to his room, finding me in a pair of jeans and one of my flannel button-ups, he digs out a hoodie, draping it over my shoulders with instructions to wear it underneath my coat. I do as he says, sliding my feet into my black Chucks before he leads me outside.

If I had to describe his motorcycle in one word, I wouldn’t hesitate to call it sexy. The brand name on the side tells me that it’s a Ducati, but that means very little to me. What I know is that it’s black and sleek and sexy. Just the thought of riding on the back makes my stomach clench. It isn’t until Coder fits a helmet on my head—the kind that snaps underneath my chin—that I start to get nervous.

“Eyes up, Mack,” he insists. My eyes snap up to meet his obediently. “You look scared. Are you?”

“I’ve just never—”

“Do you trust me?”

My shoulders sag as I reach for his hand and insist, “Of course, I do.”

“All right, then don’t be scared. I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Nodding, I whisper, “I know.”

“Few ground rules, yeah?” His hand still holding mine, he tells me a few things I need to know while riding at his back. I listen carefully, willing myself to be brave. When he’s done, he smashes a quick kiss against my lips and then reaches for his helmet. He slides it on over his head, his visor still raised, and then climbs onto his bike. Holding his hand out, he helps me straddle the seat behind him before he tells me, “Hands in my pockets, babe. Hold on tight.”

I do as he says, shoving my hands in his jacket pockets, holding him so tightly, I’m practically plastered against his back.

I hear it as he grunts, “Fuck,” before he lowers his helmet visor and starts the engine.

The vibration between my legs surprises me, and I press my knees tighter against Coder. When he pulls out of the driveway, my breath catches in my throat, and I close my eyes as my stomach drops in fear. Then, as he speeds down the street, I start to relax when I get the sense that he’s in complete control. He knows what he’s doing, and I don’t have any reason to be afraid. I remind myself of this a couple times, then draw in a deep breath before I open my eyes.

The wind against my face is cold, but I don’t mind. It feels good being wrapped around Coder as we ride. With my eyes now open, I notice he’s taking a different route to the Payton house.  There’s something about the way he handles every stop, every curve, and every turn that makes me think he’s done this a million times. I can feel how comfortable he is, how free he feels, and I now fully understand why he calls his Bronco his cage. Furthermore, I’m wholly aware that this is my true Coder—this is Motorcycle Boots—the man who controls this bike and wields all the power that it holds.

Photo by Clint McKoy on Unsplash


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