Jesse's Soul (2) by Amy Gregory Page B

less when she’d overheard the conversation at the coffee shop in town. To this day, she was pretty sure the two women in front of her didn’t realize she had been behind them at the time and that she’d heard every word. No one in town knew she’d been sick. They just assumed she had turned into a bitch and had no problem airing their assumptions as to why publically—which was exactly why she kept her privacy so guarded.
    A sideways glance up at the man walking beside her started a crack in her heart. The reason that fell off his tongue had been as close the truth as he probably could tell, without repeating the gory details that Molly had. He did seem easy to be with, although she wouldn’t have described him as simple. More like good-hearted and not materialistic. A quick pass over him—well, maybe not that quick—and she’d admit to only Molly that he was ten kinds of fine. But he was as far from her definition of simple as the moon. The man knew how to make casual look anything but. A t-shirt and 501’s on most men appeared sloppy. Jesse made what he called simple , look like he’d stepped off a modeling shoot. The front of his brown leather bomber wasn’t zipped, leaving a strip of cotton visible from underneath it, and from where she was standing, Emery could see it was taught. From a visual ingrained in her memory forever, she knew the strain on the material wasn’t because it was a size too small, but from his chest that was so ripped he belonged on a billboard. Advertisers killed for men with bodies like his. So did some women, but she wasn’t going there.
    “You are definitely what I picture when I hear the word cowboy.”
    He chuckled loudly and bumped her with his shoulder. “Okay, D.”
    “That’s funny. She does always call you her cowboy .”
    “She has from day one. It’s the accent, and maybe the boots. But I’m from Texas, I can’t help it.” He put his arm around her. “Thanks for coming on a date with me.”
    Time stopped…as did her heart.
    “Jesse.” Blowing out her panic, she looked him straight in the eye. “This is not a date.”
    “I picked you up at your place, I’m taking you to dinner, and I’m walking you back. Sorry, honey, it’s a date.”
    “Jesse.” Emery shook her head, trying to make sure he didn’t get the wrong idea.
    His arm was around her, casually, but it kept her pace matching his. It probably kept her from hightailing it in the opposite direction, which is what the voice inside her head was repeating over and over for her to do.
    “Hey, it may be under protest, but if it looks like a date and it feels like a date, then I’m calling it a date.” He squeezed her to him. “Sorry, sweetheart.”
    As nervous as she was from the switch up in conversation, she appreciated his humor. One minute she was speechless regarding his ex, the next he was teasing her. About dating, but teasing nonetheless. His ability to flow from conversation to conversation without missing a beat was a skill. His playful disposition was a gift. She needed him to shake the awkward from the moments for her. To the outside world she was cold and stern. It had been a necessity. Not many got to see her sense of humor, and most that did, didn’t get it.
    Jesse had. The joke from before and his response didn’t elude her.
    Emery bit her cheek to keep the snicker from escaping. “You’re a mess. You know that?”
    “Yeah, I may be a mess, but you’re hot.”
    An unladylike snort escaped. “Oh, good grief.”
    “I’m serious. You have a hell of a body, Em. You can’t really see it in that team crap, but tonight, you look amazing.”
    “Thanks,” she replied with no girly appreciation at his flattery.
    She had thought she’d been doing her best to keep the evening platonic. Apparently she was way off base. And failing miserably.
    Shit. Shit. Shit.
    He had been holding her close, but he squeezed tighter then leaned over and kissed her cheek as they were walking. “You’re