Bachelor Swap - Lacey Black Page 0,30
if I don’t want to kiss her again.
Yeah, this is definitely not how tonight was supposed to play out.
I clear my throat. “Sorry,” I mumble, guilt replacing the fire once coursing through me.
Kyla giggles. Fuck, she giggles the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. “Please don’t apologize for kissing me. I kind of liked it.” A blush sweeps up her neck and stains her cheeks.
“Me too,” I confess. More than I should, all things considered.
She clears her throat and adds, “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Would you like some white or red wine? I think I have some scotch, whiskey, and possibly brandy in the liquor cabinet. Or there’s a little beer in the fridge.” My eyebrows draw together in question, causing her to grin. “Sometimes I prefer a beer at the end of the day over a glass of wine.”
“A woman after my own heart,” I tease, following behind her as she heads to the kitchen.
Kyla moves easily to the massive refrigerator, pulling two bottles of light beer from within. I’ve never understood the necessity for an appliance that big, especially those fancy ovens that cook all sorts of different things at the same time. Of course, I’m a simple man. As long as I have a stovetop, a microwave, and a small refrigerator freezer that keeps my stuff cold, I’m good.
She pulls a bottle opener out of a drawer and pops the tops off. When she slides one my way, I take a long drink. The beer isn’t my usual brand, but it’s not bad. Kyla takes a small gulp before setting her beer down on the counter. “I guess I should have asked if there was anything you didn’t like, but I recall you mentioning a shellfish allergy,” she states, pulling a pan of something mouthwatering from the oven.
I almost reply to her comment. I love fish, actually. Whitefish and crab are one of my favorites to splurge on at one of the restaurants back home. But not Matthew. He’s allergic, something we found out the hard way when we were on vacation down in Florida around the age of five. He used to carry an EpiPen, just in case, but since I haven’t spoken to him much in the last handful of years, I’m not sure if he still does.
“Whatever you decided on smells amazing,” I state, leaning against the counter and watching her finish preparing dinner.
She stops and gives me a soft smile.
“What?” I ask, feeling a little uncomfortable under her gaze.
“I’ve just can’t get over seeing you so casual,” she says, returning her attention to the oven and pulling a second pan from within. She closes the door and turns off the unit, tossing the hot potholders onto the counter. “Jeans and boots? Not to mention the stubble. I never would have thought I’d see the day,” she adds, averting her gaze, but not before I see the blush return. “I think I like it.”
I take another drink of my beer to hide my smirk and watch her uncover the second pan. “Are those Brussels sprouts?”
She hesitates. “They are. I wasn’t sure if you’d eat them or not, but I can whip up another vegetable if you’d prefer. These just looked so good, and I remembered seeing a recipe for them with cauliflower and—”
“Kyla.” I cut her off, touching my finger to her bottom lip. Big mistake. All I want to do now is kiss the hell out of her again. I drop my hand, as if I were being burned, and add, “I love Brussels sprouts and cauliflower. I’m sure whatever you made is delicious. It smells like heaven.”
“Okay,” she whispers, taking a deep breath. “There’s bacon and parmesan cheese in there too.”
“I can’t wait.” And I can’t. I’m starved and everything smells amazing.
I watch as she scurries over to the fridge and grabs a salad bowl and dressing. She sets the large bowl beside the entrée and sides before retrieving dinner plates, bowls, and silverware. When she seems to have everything she needs, she waves her hand toward the food. “Grab a plate.”
“Ladies first,” I state, propping my hip back against the counter.
“But you’re my guest.”
I shrug. “My mama would smack me upside the head if I made a plate before all the ladies in the room.”
The sweetest giggle spills from her lips. “Well, I’d hate to upset Mama. How about we do it together?”
I realize she’s talking about making a plate, but that’s not where my mind goes. It