Bachelor Swap

their most revealing designer dresses and sparkly diamond jewelry. A few are even led to the bank of elevators, clearly invited up to an apartment to continue their evening on a more one-on-one basis.
I can see the appeal of the place and why my brother loves it so damn much, but at the same time it does nothing for me. This may be a bachelor’s paradise, but it’s not mine. I’d rather be in the middle of a barn, knee-deep in cowshit, with a shovel in my hand. I’d prefer taking a mare for a ride around the field and feeling the breeze against my skin. Quiet. Peaceful. Solitude.
Just the way I like it.
“Well, my car is here,” Kyla says, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Again, thank you for dinner.”
“My pleasure,” I reply, and realize how true that statement is. I really did enjoy having her there. Even if it was slightly awkward at first, that shared kiss broke any ice we may have experienced in the beginning.
“See you at ten?” she asks, as if seeking one more confirmation that I won’t ditch her. Something tells me my brother wasn’t too attentive where she’s concerned.
“I’ll be there.” I move to kiss her cheek, wishing we were somewhere a little more private. Her skin is warm against my lips and makes my fingers itch to touch, but I refrain.
Kyla gives me a little wave and moves through the door to her awaiting car. I watch as she slips into the driver’s seat and slowly pulls away from the valet drive.
“Still dating the Morgan girl, huh?” The man who asked is tall, wearing a three-piece suit and reeking of expensive cigars. His light blue eyes are a little glassy, as if he might have spent a little too much time in the lounge.
I’m sure I should know who he is, but don’t have a clue. Opting to put on my best Matthew face, I turn away from him and head for the elevator without so much as a glance back. Sometimes, there’s a plus to pretending to be the asshole brother. Smiling, I slip inside the car and head back up to the apartment.
With Kyla front and center on my mind.
***
The ringing of my cell phone wakes me with a start. I reach blindly for the device, even though there’s a little light flooding through the edges of the room-darkening shades. “Hello?” I mumble.
“Why are you still in bed?” my brother’s curt voice breaks through the line.
I glance at the alarm clock and do quick math. “It’s three in the morning, Matthew.”
“No, it’s six in the morning in Boston. It’s three in Montana.”
I groan and flop onto my back, my head swimming with fog and my stomach not too happy at the moment.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. I couldn’t sleep last night so I drank some of that bourbon in your office,” I groan, wishing I hadn’t had the second glass. But by that point, as the clock hands ticked past midnight, I needed the second to try to stop replaying that fucking kiss so I could get some sleep.
Matthew laughs like the asshole he is. “John Fitzgerald Special. That baby is twenty years old and about three grand a bottle. It was a gift from the president of Google for a business venture I sent his way. I bet that second glass snuck up on you like a prom dress in the back seat of a Buick.”
I suck in a deep breath. “Jesus. Wait. What time is it in Fiji?”
“Just after eleven. I was just getting ready to go to bed, and imagine my surprise, I get an early morning text from Kyla.”
Shit.
“I take it by the fact she was confirming my visit to the shelter at ten, you didn’t break things off with her last night.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“Doesn’t matter, I guess. Just as long as it’s done by the time I get back. You might as well have a little fun with her while you’re there. Maybe it’ll loosen her up a bit,” he states so matter-of-factly that I almost miss the entire point of his comment.
Have fun with her? Like she’s a disposable toy? What the hell is wrong with him?
And loosen her up? Ha! If my brother could only have seen her last night, throwing herself at me and kissing me like there was no tomorrow. I still feel the impact of those hot, passionate lips twelve hours later.
“Anyway, I texted her back and told her my phone was going to be out of commission for a bit and have a temporary number. This way she’ll bother you at six in the morning and not me.”
“Fine,” I bite out through a tense jaw. “Anything else?”
“No. I’m off to bed. I’m snorkeling tomorrow morning with Nihola, a local woman who promised to give me an up close and personal tour of the island.” I can hear the smile in his voice and envision the wicked gleam in his eye.
“Talk to you later,” I mumble, clicking off my phone before he can even reply.
Tossing the phone onto the bed, I pull one of the pillows over my face and groan. My head is heavy, a sign of too much alcohol the night before. Couple that with only a little more than five hours of sleep and you have the makings of a hellacious headache.
In desperate need of some pain meds for my head, I crawl out of bed and shuffle to the en suite bathroom. The room is massive, with some fancy toilet that shoots water at your ass and tile shower big enough for a cheer squad to join you. Not that that’ll be happening anytime soon, but you get my point.
I open the closet and start rummaging through a basket of over-the-counter medicine until I find extra-strength acetaminophen. I pop two into my mouth and guzzle cold water straight from the tap to help me swallow the pills. I wipe off my mouth with