Chapter 16 Lorenzo
A m I being stood up?
That’s the first question that pops into my head as I knock on Sophia’s door— again .
“I swear to God, Blue, if you’re ignoring me,” I shout.
She opens the door, stretching her arm with a yawn. Her hair is in a messy bun, and she’s wearing the tiniest pair of shorts with a white tank top that leaves nothing to the imagination. My cock stiffens at the sight of her peaked nipples, and I stifle a groan, wanting nothing more than to yank that top and have my way with her. If I remember correctly—and let’s be honest here, this is all I’ve been thinking about lately—she more than enjoyed my tongue tracing slow, delicious circles on her nipples. Man, what I would give to feel her again.
What a way to keep yourself in check. Fantastic job, Enzo.
I shake my head, reality gawking at me. For one, she forgot I was going to pick her up. And two, she’s opening the door to God knows who dressed like this?
I flex my fingers, making a fist. “Do you go opening the door to every random stranger looking like this? ”
The half-asleep look on her face leaves instantly as she snaps her gaze to mine. Her eyes are as intense in the morning, and just as beautiful. I almost wish I hadn’t looked.
“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” she replies nonchalantly.
I push her gently to the side and walk into her apartment. “Okay, but what if it wasn’t me? That’s not cool, Blue. That’s dangerous.”
She turns around and leans against the door frame, letting out a small frustrated sigh as she tries to flick away a stray hair that keeps falling in front of her face. When the hair settles back in the same spot, she scowls at it as if it’s deliberately bothering her. I struggle to keep a smile in check, because the whole thing is too fucking adorable.
“Oh, why, yes, Lorenzo. Come in. Make yourself at home.” She scowls. “And no one asked you to be my keeper.”
Her apartment is tiny and very minimalistic. There are not a lot of decorations, which honestly surprises me. Sophia has this happy and loud personality, and I thought her apartment would reflect that. She has a small gray sectional couch and a wooden rectangular coffee table with some storage underneath, which is currently filled with books.
I walk to her living room, grab a random book from the coffee table, and throw myself on the couch with a smile plastered all over myself. “Why, yes, thank you. Totally will,” I quip, getting comfortable on her sofa and opening the book at a random page. “And stop answering the door looking like that. I don’t give a fuck if I sound like your keeper or not.”
She closes the door with a groan and mutters to herself as she heads to the living room. Standing in front of me, she takes the book from my hands and crosses her arms. The movement pushes her tits together, and I’m trying to be respectful and not look, but fuck. I start to focus on her face instead. Sophia is very beautiful. And I don’t mean in a sexual way. I mean, yes, she’s hot, but this look makes her look very real. I think out of all the times the universe has allowed me to lay my eyes on her, this look is the best one yet. Her cheeks are slightly pink, like she’s naturally sunburned, and she has a few freckles all around her face. They’re very faint, barely noticeable unless you really look. And God knows I have no problem staring at this woman. Her eyes are slightly puffy, giving her this sleepy face, and somehow, her eyes shine more brightly when she’s not wearing makeup.
She’s too damn beautiful for her own good.
My legs seem to move on their own as I get up from the couch and stride over to her. I gently brush the stray hair from her face that has been bothering her and tuck it behind her ear, my eyes locking onto hers. “Your eyes,” I whisper, amazed. “They shine so brightly in the morning. Has anyone ever told you that before?”
Her eyebrows knit in surprise as her gaze scrutinizes me. Her look is so intense, it’s like I’m under a magnifying glass and she’s trying to study every part of me, pierce my soul until she can discover every thought, every secret, and every scar. And in other circumstances, I would let her take everything from me—no questions asked. Instead of focusing on the looming realization, I take this rare opportunity to admire every inch of her face yet again. Her perfect face, may I add.
She slowly lowers her arms and stands there, still scrutinizing me with those beautifully haunting eyes. The gap between us is so small I can feel her chest lightly pressing against me, rising and falling with each small, hitched breath. I could reach out, grab the nape of her neck, and finally kiss her. It’s killing me not to. I’m using all my self-control to hold back and be a gentleman.
She must sense the tension radiating off me, because she tenses her shoulders and takes a step back abruptly. “What are you doing here, Lorenzo?”
“Our summer adventure starts today, remember?”
“It’s like five in the morning!” she exclaims.
“I did say bright and early,” I reply, my voice lacing with amusement.
Her nostrils flare. “It seems we have a different definition of what bright and early entails.”
“Well”—I wave my hand at her impatiently—“go get ready. Bring your passport and an overnight bag.”
She furrows her eyebrows in confusion. “Why?”
I don’t know why I thought this was going to be easy. Of course, she’s going to question me every step of the way. I was an idiot for thinking otherwise.
“Why must you question me every single time?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Why must you talk to me like you’re my keeper?” she snaps back.
“Are you ever going to drop the attitude?” I counter.
“Are you ever going to stop being so annoying?” she retorts.
I give her the most unimpressed expression I can muster, and she crosses her arms and lifts her chin slightly in a challenge. She may be only five-feet-tall, but her personality is big and loud—in the best way possible. Who wants a quiet, dainty woman? That’s boring. This is so much better. Unfiltered. Painfully beautiful. Smart. Perfect .
After a beat of silence, she relents. “Fine. Stay here. Don’t go snooping around,” she warns, pointing a finger at me.
I raise my hands. “I would never.”
She gives me a you’re-full-of-shit look and walks back to her bedroom to start getting ready.
I can’t possibly sit still. It’s not in my nature, so as soon as she closes the door of her bedroom, I walk into the kitchen. The small stove and oven sits in the corner of the tiny room, and the counter space is limited, with just enough room for a cutting board and a coffee maker. A small, single-basin sink is tucked under the only small window, the natural light coming in slightly as the morning sun rises. Above the sink, a couple of open shelves hold four mismatched round plates and cups.
I barely fit inside this kitchen, but that doesn’t stop me from opening the small black fridge and finding what I’m looking for. I grab the eggs and a few vegetables then grab the cutting board and start chopping some onions, peppers, and spinach, letting the colors mix vibrantly on the cutting board. Opening the cabinets below, I find where the pots and pans are stored, grab the small skillet, and heat up some olive oil before sautéing the vegetables until they’re tender.
As I’m pouring the eggs over the veggies, Sophia walks into the kitchen. “What are you doing?”
Without looking at her and pouring in the rest of the whisked eggs, I say, “What does it look like? Breakfast. A frittata, if we’re getting specific.”
She approaches me, looking as I watch the eggs set around the edges. “What?”
I go to the fridge and grab the cheese, and as I’m sprinkling some on top, the oven beeps, letting me know it’s ready to be used. Then I transfer the skillet to the oven.
“A frittata,” I repeat .
“No, no. I heard you the first time. I just didn’t think you would know what that was.”
“I have hundreds of restaurants around the world. I’m not just a pretty face.” I look at her, winking.
“Consider me impressed.” She pats my chest twice. “ That’ll do, piggy, that’ll do. ”
“I already quoted Babe to you once, so this doesn’t count. I’m still in the lead.”
She points her index finger between us. “And when did this become a competition?”
“Oh, Blue, you have much to learn about me,” I reply, as I bring the frittata out of the oven and slide it out of the pan before slicing two pieces.
She tip-toes to reach for two round plates from the shelf and places them on the counter. I carefully lay the frittata slices onto each plate then carry them to the small dining table tucked into the corner of her living room. As I set down the plates, she heads off to grab some utensils.
“Then your Babe quote shouldn’t count. I didn’t know you had the same annoying quirk as me,” she says as she sits, tucking both of her legs underneath her.
I gape at her, offended. “Annoying? More like fun as fuck.”
She lets out a small chuckle that doesn’t reach her eyes. “People like to often remind me that it’s one of my most annoying quirks.”
I scowl at her comment and sit. Who dares tell her she has annoying quirks? It’s hard to explain, but somehow, the thought of Sophia quoting ’90s movies and TV shows fits her perfectly in the most unexpected way. The woman is naturally funny, doesn’t take shit from anyone, and is an overall badass. People are just idiots.
I reach for her hand and interlace our fingers, and I have to take a moment before replying, because the charged electricity I feel by simply grabbing her hand is almost too much, but also not enough at the same time. I love the sensation, and I crave more of it.
“I think it’s extremely funny and entertaining. Don’t let people get to your head.” I squeeze her hand. “Got it?”
Her eyes drop to where our hands are linked, avoiding my gaze. She bites her bottom lip, refusing to reply.
My other hand finds her chin, and I lift it, locking our gazes. “ Got it ?” I repeat.
“Yes,” she whispers, her blue eyes shining with a different sort of light.
Her cheeks take on a slight blush as she breaks eye contact, almost like she’s embarrassed. Which is a new look for her, because a woman like Sophia is all confidence and security. It’s endearing, and another rush of wanting to kiss her surges through me. The urge to lose myself in her plush lips and remember their taste is almost overwhelming.
I take some much-needed space from her, dropping her hand in the process, not wanting to feel her perfectly soft skin against mine any longer. This electric energy that hangs between us every time we’re near each other keeps intensifying, and I don’t know how to make it stop. If I’m being brutally honest, I don’t even think I want it to stop.
We look like two domestic idiots, sitting and having a simple breakfast together. I’ve never done something like this—eat with someone just because. It sounds both crazy and stupid, but it’s true. Every time I had any sort of dinner with my father, work was attached to it. And when I was home, I was always with nannies or house staff, but always ate alone. I didn’t have any friends. How could I? My father was always dragging me to his business meetings, wanting me to learn as much as possible. I couldn't spend time with family either. Damian was living in Chicago at the time, and I barely spoke to my other cousins from New York. It was always me and my imagination. I never noticed how weird it was until recently. I get together with the guys sometimes, but we always end up talking about business. I’ve never experienced the normal sitting down, having a normal conversation type of thing. But with Sophia, it feels strangely natural. I could get used to something like this.
Ha. Yeah. Right. Because you can do relationships. Get real.
Loving someone has never been in the cards for me. How can I do something I was never taught how to do? Between my dead mother and my father, who—let’s face it—wasn’t the most loving, I’ve never known what true love looks like. The thought should be depressing, but it isn’t. You can’t miss something you never knew in the first place. Even when the emptiness eats me a little. Even when I wonder what my life would look like if I believed or understood what love was. Would I be married by now? Maybe one or two kids? Would I even want kids? These are questions that haunt me, even when it makes no sense to let them get to me. They still find a way to invade my thoughts.
When she takes the first bite of the frittata, her eyes bulge in surprise. “ Holy shit, Ace . This is delicious.”
“Why, thank you.” I bow my head sarcastically. “Let me get this straight, you refuse to call me Enzo, yet you created a whole other nickname for me?”
“ Yup ,” she replies with a shrug, taking another bite and letting out a groan of satisfaction.
“Oh, Blue. You’re…something,” I say with a soft smile as I look at her intently.
She raises her blue irises and locks them with mine, amusement flickering within them. “I must say, you’re full of surprises. Who knew Lorenzo Mancini, gambler and player of the Chicagoland area, knows how to make a mean frittata?”
My food gets stuck in my throat at her comment, and I cough. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, yeah.” She nods animatedly, and the way she’s looking at me has me feeling like she’s about to deliver a punchline. “Haven’t you heard? If we look up the word player in the dictionary, a picture of you would pop up.”
I gape at her in disbelief. “You’re mean .”
She gets up and extends her arm to grab my plate, and I catch a whiff of her perfume, a strong summery scent that envelops me. Anything summer-related reminds me of her now, and with summer just starting, she’s everywhere. All I can think about lately. And boy, is that a terrifying fucking thought.
“I’m something, alright.” She gives me a playful wink before walking away with the dishes.
“Yeah. You are,” I whisper to myself.
She’s beautiful, funny, challenging, and has absolutely no filter. But most importantly, she’s true to herself. And that’s pretty damn amazing.