Bachelor Swap - Lacey Black Page 0,31

lands firmly in the middle of a porn, starring none other than Miss Kyla Morgan. Oh, the things I’d love to do. To her. With her. Together.

Forcing the dirty images parading through my brain out of my mind, I grab the two plates, handing her one, and help myself to the chicken. They’re stuffed with what looks like spinach and something gooey, most likely cream cheese. I can’t wait to dig in.

While I scoop some of the fancy Brussels sprouts onto my plate, Kyla takes one of the smaller pieces of chicken and starts doling out two salads in the bowls. When my plate is full, I glance around for seating.

“We can eat in the dining room, but I thought, maybe, we could just eat in here.”

I glance over at the breakfast nook with bench seating and a small table. It looks cozy and perfect to me. Heading for the table, I set my plate and bowl down and return to the counter to help carry drinks.

When we’re both situated, we dive into the food she prepared. I almost moan in pleasure when I take my first bite of the stuffed chicken. It’s fucking phenomenal. Creamy cheese and tender meat. I’m not sure the spinach really adds much flavor, but it’s good, nonetheless.

Glancing around, I notice how formal everything is here. It actually really reminds me of my brother’s place, if not a little pricier than his. Kyla definitely shelled out some dough for this place. I can see the dining room from where I sit. It’s awfully prim and fancy, and while it fits with the penthouse vibe, it doesn’t really fit Kyla. In fact, the table we’re sitting at feels a little more like her style. It’s a light maple wood which matches the cabinets, but it has a more laid-back feel. As if you’d see a small family sitting around this table, enjoying a cereal breakfast or mac and cheese lunch.

“Did you decorate this place when you bought it?” I ask, hoping I’m not stepping in it by asking a question I should already know the answer to.

She keeps her eyes cast down as she cuts her sprouts and cauliflower into smaller pieces. “No, my father had it decorated for me before he gave me this place.”

I watch her until she meets my gaze. “So you didn’t get to pick anything out?”

Kyla raises a single shoulder before taking a small bite of vegetables. “It was professionally decorated by the top design firm in the city.”

I give the place another onceover. “But do you like it? Is it your style?”

She opens her mouth to reply, but quickly shuts it. Instead, she slowly shakes her head.

I take another bite of my chicken before devouring half the salad. “So, if this place isn’t your style, what is?”

Finally, I see a little happiness return to her eyes. Kyla sits up straighter and smiles. “Have you seen those tabletops built from old barnwood?” When I nod, she continues, “I’d love to have one of those with mismatched chairs. Ones that have some scuffs and wear. Life.”

I find myself smiling back at her. “Now that I can see. Tell me more.”

We spend the next thirty minutes eating and talking, her sharing all of her ideas for redecorating. Funny, when she talks about the master bathroom, a weird bubble of longing fills my gut. The old-fashioned clawfoot tub she wants is exactly the one sitting in my own bathroom at home. Old, rustic, and full of history, much like the rest of my place. I learn in that half hour her style doesn’t vary much from my own.

“Oh, I do have something I’d like to discuss with you,” she states, carrying the dirty dishes to the sink.

“I can do those. You cooked,” I offer.

She waves me off. “No need. I can run the dishwasher later. Let’s grab a drink and go sit outside.”

While she finishes securing leftovers into containers, I grab two more bottles of beer from the fridge, popping them open. Eventually, she leads me through the living room to a sliding glass door, which opens to an impressive balcony deck with the same spectacular view I saw earlier. I whistle my approval and take one of the Adirondack chairs.

“Yeah, one of my favorite features of this place,” Kyla states, after sitting in the chair beside me.

“Impressive.”

“Only the best for the Morgans,” she says, unable to hide the hint of irritation in her words. Something tells me she’s heard that statement a lot