Morgan Gentry sat next to her father, smiling politely while yet another colleague stopped by the table to congratulate him. Dad deserved this honor, and she had no issue sitting quietly while he was basked in the spotlight.
Dad had won the Stallings Award, a prestigious honor for college football coaches, and today the University of Oregon Alumni Association had put on this dinner in his honor.
They were at the Graduate by Hilton, a hotel near campus. The banquet room was whimsically decorated with the UO fan in mind. The tablecloths were yellow with green runners. Little rubber ducks were scattered atop every surface. On each table, the green and yellow flower arrangements rested in hollowed out white porcelain ducks wearing green and yellow sailor hats. The waitstaff were all wearing the same hats.
She wouldn’t be surprised if a line of real ducks suddenly waddled through the room. Wearing hats.
“What are you grinning about?” Dad asked. The banquet manager had announced that dinner would be served shortly, so everyone was making their way to their seats.
Morgan picked up her wineglass, took a sip of excellent local pinot noir. “Just thinking about all the ducks. Whoever planned this really went all out.”
Dad chuckled. “While they are honoring me, it’s also a fundraiser for the alumni association. So they’re really playing up everybody’s ties to the university. Are you enjoying yourself?”
Before she could respond, yet another well-wisher stepped up to the table.
“Coach.” The young man had unruly dark hair, fathomless dark eyes, and the thickest eyelashes she had ever seen. He wore a gray suitcoat over a black T-shirt and paired it with black jeans. Slightly underdressed, and yet, the outfit worked for the incredibly tall and muscular man.
She recognized him, courtesy of attending so many UO—and more recently—Portland Mountain Lions games.
Royce Kacey.
Star center for the Ducks and now, star center for the Mountain Lions.
“Royce, m’boy, you made it,” Dad enthused, leaping from his chair to hug the footballer.
Morgan remained seated and waited to be introduced, and why was she suddenly so nervous?
Maybe it was the way Royce was eating her up with his eyes. Usually, she disregarded such looks from men. She had a short and not healthy relationship history and wasn’t in any hurry to give romance another try.
And yet, she licked her lips and balled her hands in her lap and forgot every acting skill she’d ever acquired, while her heart pounded like a drum. So loud that surely half this room could hear it.
“Morgan,” her dad said, waving at her to stand, “I want you to meet one of my favorite players. Royce, this is my absolutely brilliant and stunning daughter.”
Morgan smiled and slid her hand into Royce’s. It was warm, dry, and callused.
She shivered when he gave her fingers a light squeeze.
“Nice to meet you in person, Morgan. I’ve heard so much about you, I feel like we already know each other.”
“Oh.” Why was she so flustered? “I’ve heard quite a lot about you, too. More than he usually talks about his players.”
Royce grinned.
It was true. Her dad adored Royce. Sometimes she’d tease him that he loved Royce more than he loved her.
“Hello, everyone.” A man stood behind the podium, speaking into a microphone. “Thank you for joining us tonight. If you could take your seats, the banquet staff is ready to serve dinner. The award presentation will begin after desert.”
“That’s my cue,” Royce said. Morgan realized she’d not yet pulled her hand out of his grip.
“Sit here with us,” Dad said, patting the chair on his other side before pointing at the small, folded place card that was—of course—stamped with a picture of a duck. “The dean of students isn’t coming. Her daughter is currently in the hospital, due to birth her first child any time now.”
“Are you sure?” Royce asked even as he moved toward the seat. “I’ve never sat this close to the front of the room before.”
Morgan giggled. Royce cocked an eyebrow and then winked at her.
She lifted her glass to take a drink, an attempt to hide the blush she could feel creeping across her cheeks. Her glass was empty.
Royce waved, and a server carrying two bottles of wine wrapped with linen napkins strode to their table. “Red or white?” he asked.
“Red for me,” Morgan said.
“Me too,” Royce said. Did he always drink red wine, or had he asked for it because she had?
“I’m good,” Dad said, lifting his half-full lowball glass. “I’m going to finish this whiskey and hope one of you guys can sneak me another before I have to get up there and give a speech.”
“I got you,” the server said with a saucy wink before he wandered over to the next table.
“I’m so glad you made it,” Dad said to Royce. “I was worried the date wouldn’t fit into your schedule. Don’t you have an away game on Sunday?”
Royce took a sip of the wine, nodded as if he were surprised that he liked it, and said, “We fly out tomorrow. Off to kick Detroit’s ass. Hopefully.”
“That’s going to be a tough game,” Dad said diplomatically. “It looks like they finally broke that ridiculous losing streak they’ve had since, what? The sixties?”
“It was 1957,” Morgan said. “Before the Super Bowl even existed.”
Royce’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead. “You know your football history.”
She shrugged and waved at Dad. “Football is basically a lifestyle when your dad is a coach.”
Their table filled with administrative staff from the university, including the president and the director of alumni relations. Conversation shifted to UO. The director of alumni relations introduced himself to Royce and said, “We have two celebrities in our midst. What an honor. Especially knowing one of them is an alum. A generous one at that.”
Royce’s cheeks reddened. How adorable.
The salad course was served, followed by seared duck breast with blueberry sauce and roasted red potatoes, and, finally, individual desserts called pavlova, which were shaped like small ponds, complete with tiny white ducks floating in blue-tinted whipped cream.
The university president headed up to the podium and let everyone know that the awards ceremony would begin in a few minutes, if anyone needed to use the restroom beforehand.
Royce caught Morgan’s eye and nodded at the nearest entrance. He snagged his wineglass and left the table. Morgan excused herself and did the same.
He waited for her just outside the door. “Want to step outside for a minute?” he asked.
“Sure.”
Now that her fame had exploded and Morgan was a highly recognizable public figure, she’d taken to hiring a bodyguard to tag along nearly everywhere. As this was a private affair and she was with her father, she’d told her bodyguard he could have the night off.
So when Royce led her to a secluded corner out in the hotel’s courtyard, they were truly alone.
“I can’t decide if it’s weird that I’m attracted to the daughter of the man I sort of view as a father,” Royce said.
A laugh burst from Morgan’s mouth. “That’s what you led with?”
He shrugged. “I’ve never led with it before. It is working?”
She laughed again. “I think so.”
“Good. After your dad receives his award and finishes his speech, want to go someplace and get a drink or something?”
She frowned. “As long as it’s someplace exceptionally private. I…”
“You’re famous. Trust me, I understand. The better the Mountain Lions get, the less the players’ private lives stay private.”
That was only part of Morgan’s concern, but she didn’t tell him about the rest.
Which meant she needed to tread lightly with Royce.
Because she could see herself thoroughly enjoying hanging out with him. Getting to know him. Developing…feelings.
For him.
“Have you ever considered wearing a disguise when you’re out in public?” he asked.
She chuckled. “I have three disguises in my luggage in my room upstairs.”
Royce snapped his fingers. “Perfect. When we’re done here, let’s go put on one of your disguises. And then we can do whatever the hell you want. What do you say?”
Morgan smiled.
“I think I’d like that very much.”
Oh yes, Royce Kacey was going to be dangerous.
To her heart.
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