Page 46 of Irreplaceable
CHAPTERELEVEN
Everything happened as if in slow motion. I was rooted to the spot, Crew pulling me close, while Enzo watched on. Enzo’s fists were clenched, and I just wanted out of there.
“Hey.” Crew hugged me to him. “I’ve been looking for you. You feeling okay?”
I hadn’t told him about the baby, but I needed to. I was beginning to realize that he wanted more from our relationship than I could give. And he deserved to find someone who could give that to him.
I forced myself to answer. “Yeah.” Though I was far from okay. I shifted between my feet, my eyes anywhere but on Enzo.
Talk about awkward.
Crew extended his hand to Enzo and said, “Crew Dixon, owner of the Hollywood Heatwaves.”
Enzo shook his hand. “I’m—”
“Lorenzo Mancini.” I could hear the smile in Crew’s voice. “Your reputation precedes you.”
Lorenzo Mancini?
Lorenzo Mancini.I repeated it again, though it sounded louder in my head this time.
Enzo was… My heartbeat sped up, my chest tightening.
Oh.
My.
God.
I’d heard Crew and Harrison talking about Lorenzo Mancini earlier—he was a talented soccer player who’d been offered the chance to transfer to the LA Leatherbacks. They’d mentioned a huge transfer fee. But never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that my Enzo was their Lorenzo.
If only I paid more attention to sports.
I must have missed part of the conversation because I was surprised when Crew dropped a kiss on my head and said, “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
What? No. No. No! Wait!
I moved to follow him, but Enzo grabbed my wrist. As soon as Crew was gone, Enzo asked, “Are you seeing him?”
“What?” I was breathless, eager to escape. I needed a moment to digest the news that my vacation fling, my baby daddy, was an international soccer superstar.
How could I not have put two and two together? I’d seen him play soccer, for crying out loud! I’d even searched for men with the name Lorenzo, though clearly Bianchi wasn’t his last name. I’d suspected as much, but that hadn’t helped me narrow my search.
All this time, my friends had known exactly who Enzo was. Well, they knew who Lorenzo Mancini was. But I’d never seen a picture of the sports legend. Even so, I felt like such an idiot.
“Are you—” He stepped closer, close enough that his breath grazed my skin. His words were laced with menace, and his bergamot scent wrapped around me. “Seeing. Him?”
I lifted my chin, anger coursing through me. “Since when do you care about me? I’m just a ‘fucking vulture,’ right?” I spat back his words from our last morning together.
Though, now I supposed I understood why he’d called me a vulture. He’d thought I was paparazzi. He’d thought I was going to sell my photographs of him. I could understand why he’d been so upset, but that didn’t give him the right to treat me the way he had.
He gripped my chin. “Answer me, uccellina.”
He had no right…
I clenched my fists, anger warring with attraction. I didn’t owe him anything.
“Let me go,” I said through clenched teeth. “I’m warning you.”