16. Dane

16

DANE

Morgan Caldwell is the sexiest woman in this room, and if I don’t kiss her tonight, I am going to lose my fucking mind.

The gala takes place in the ballroom of a ritzy hotel in downtown Dallas. Thank God it was in town this year. Otherwise, I’m not sure I would’ve been able to convince Morgan to come with me.

Ornate chandeliers illuminate the white and silver linen covering dozens of circular tables arranged throughout the space. Tall floral arrangements stand in the center, blocking the view of those on the opposite side of the table.

The men in attendance wear black tuxedos, and the women are draped in fine jewels and floor-length gowns. The guests range from young athletes in their twenties to donors well into their seventies. Hockey players, coaches, doctors, teachers, city workers, and more mingle throughout the room while we wait for dinner to start. It’s a dynamic crowd.

Engaging conversation surrounds me, but no one and nothing can take my attention off the stunning brunette at my side for long.

Morgan wears a curve-hugging black gown with shimmering fabric that catches my eye with every move she makes. Her hair is pinned up and adorned with a vibrant green jewel clip in honor of the Ranchers’ team color. I prefer to think she’s honoring only me, but I keep the thought to myself. I don’t want to scare her off.

It’s still hard to swallow that all the pain and hurt from the last few months stemmed from a simple misunderstanding. I often catch myself thinking of countless “what-ifs” before I remind myself there’s no point. What’s done is done.

Morgan and I can’t go back to that night at the club to rewrite our story, but we are in control of our story right now. And I’m determined to ensure we have the best ending a woman could ever want.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look?” I whisper into Morgan’s ear when the oncologist and her husband we’d been speaking with walk away to talk to Lehman and his date, a pretty blonde who barely comes up to his chest.

“You have.” Her eyes sparkle. “But it doesn’t hurt to hear it again.”

I lower my head and whisper again, “That dress you’re wearing is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m wondering what it would look like on my bedroom floor.”

“ Dane !”

“What?” I lean back and grin. “You asked.”

“Technically, no, I didn’t.” She shakes her head, but her smile undermines her attempt to appear disapproving. “But we’re in a crowded ballroom. You can’t say things like that.”

“Why not? Everyone here thinks you’re my girlfriend.” It's a title I plan on making real as soon as I’m sure you’ll say yes.

I’m not insecure, but part of me is hesitant to have that conversation with Morgan. The attraction between us is electric. Sparks assault my skin any time we’re in the same room. And even though my lips haven’t landed their mark, Morgan’s never pulled away when I’ve leaned in for a kiss.

She’s interested in me. At least physically. But I don’t just want a physical relationship. Now that we’re not walking on eggshells, it’s only a matter of time before Morgan realizes how good we can be together.

“Hm.” She bites her bottom lip. I imagine doing the same in a dark corner somewhere. “That’s true. I guess it wouldn’t be a big deal if we took a moment to ourselves.”

My dick stands at attention. “For real?”

She lifts a shoulder and gives me a sultry smile. “Why not?”

That’s all I need to hear.

I take Morgan’s hand and begin weaving through the crowd, heading to the stairs leading to the balcony overlooking the glittering ballroom. With dinner approaching, I’m trusting there won’t be many guests wandering the area above.

Morgan laughs, picking up her gown to avoid tripping as she keeps up with my pace. I look down and bite my knuckles when I see her crimson heels, imagining her wearing nothing but those sexy shoes when I have my way with her.

But that particular fantasy will have to wait until we’re back at my place. Or hers. I’m not picky.

It hits me that I’ve never been to Morgan’s place. I plan to change that as soon as possible.

We near the bottom of the stairs. I scan the space above for where I can take Morgan to finally release at least a little of this pent-up desire that’s been burning me up since New Mexico.

“Oh, my stars. Do my eyes deceive me, or is that little Morgan Caldwell?”

I turn at the sound of my date’s name.

An older man and woman I don’t know walk toward us. Their attention is focused on the beauty on my arm.

“Mr. and Mrs. McQueen,” Morgan stutters. She releases my hand like she’s been caught by her grandparents sneaking out of the house with her boyfriend. “What are you two doing here?”

“You know we’re loyal Glacier Kings fans,” the woman returns. She doesn’t stop her approach until she has her lace-covered arms wrapped around my date.

“But don’t tell your dad that,” the man, Mr. McQueen, adds with a chuckle. “He’d accuse me of being disloyal to Toronto.”

“You married into Minnesota,” his wife replies. “The Slapstick Kid will have to understand.”

I’m wondering how I can politely excuse us so I can continue my plan to be alone with my date when the unique nickname registers.

My body goes rigid.

“Wait.” My head whips to Morgan. “Is your dad Warren Caldwell?”

Morgan’s shoulders hunch ever so slightly. “Um… yeah. He is.”

How in the world did I not know that?

Warren Caldwell is a legendary hockey player. My university coaches showed tapes of his offensive play when I was in school, more than twenty years after he stopped playing due to a shitty injury that happened in his first year as a pro.

I never considered Morgan could be related to the star player. He’s Canadian. As far as I know, he still lives there. Though, it’s not like I look into what the legend was doing with his life.

I guess he moved to Texas. And is now the father to the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.

“And you’re Dane Larson,” Mr. McQueen says with a hint of admiration. “You’re having one hell of a season.”

“Thank you.” Though every part of me wants to be rude and pull Morgan away, I can’t afford to insult someone she knows—or, rather, who her parents know.

Warren freaking Caldwell.

What are the odds?

“I didn’t believe it when I heard you two were dating.” Mrs. McQueen looks between Morgan and me and then speaks directly to my date, “I distinctly remember you swearing you’d never date a hockey player when you were a teenager.”

“Is that so?”

Morgan rolls her eyes when she sees my smirk. “Yes, but to be fair, any hockey player I knew growing up knew who my dad was. I had no idea if they were more interested in me or my dad.”

“Their loss.” And my victory.

“Well said.” Mrs. McQueen beams at me approvingly.

“Have you two chosen your tables for the evening?” Mr. McQueen asks.

“Oh. Uh, no.” Morgan answers warily.

We both know where this is going.

“Wonderful. We should sit together.” The husband and wife smile at one another, then turn to Morgan and me. We have no choice but to smile back.

“Of course,” I reply.

“That sounds fun,” Morgan says with forced enthusiasm. The McQueens don’t pick up on it.

“Great. Let’s find four seats before they fill up.” Mr. McQueen holds out his arm. His wife slips her hand through and beckons for us to follow.

Morgan takes my outstretched hand with pursed lips. “I’m sorry about this.”

“Don’t be.” I squeeze her fingers gently. “I’m curious to hear more about what Morgan Caldwell was like growing up.”

She groans good-naturedly in response. We trail after the chatty couple with polite, albeit reluctant, smiles.

Yet another romantic moment has been derailed, but I don’t let it get to me. If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s this: Morgan and I will have our moment.

And when we do, it’s going to be unforgettable.