I Swear I Still Hate Him (Atlas Lawson) novel Chapter 107

Chapter 107

Emery’s POV

I stared at the number 28.

It sat there, plain and proud on the front of the jersey, mocking me from the center of my bed like it had beef. I hadn’t touched it since I took it from Howard, hadn’t even folded it. It just lay there, a bright, crumpled reminder of my inability to say no when everyone’s eyeballs were stabbing into my soul.

I groaned and flopped onto the bed beside it dramatically, burying my face into the pillow.

“Why the hell did I say yes?”

Because Howard looked so damn hopeful, that’s why. His eyes had that whole puppy-dog sparkle thing going, and the cafeteria had been one blink away from starting a slow clap. What was I supposed to do? Say Sorry, Howard, I have no intention of wearing your jersey or any other jersey except the one belonging to my very secret boyfriend-slash-walking sin?

Okay, maybe not exactly like that… but I could’ve said something. Anything.

“Wow. Now you’ve got all the ideas,” the annoying voice in my head chirped.

I rolled my eyes at myself. “Oh, now you wanna talk? Where were you five seconds before I ruined my life?”

Another groan. I dragged a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots.

“You’re losing it, Collins. Talking to yourself? What the hell.”

A knock interrupted my self-deprecating spiral.

“Thank God,” I muttered, hopping up and making a beeline for the door, praying it was literally anyone who could pull me out of this brain fog… and opened it to find the most dangerous, heart-melting distraction of

all.

“Hi, handsome,” I said, smirking as I leaned against the doorframe.

Atlas grinned, slow and smug, and stepped inside like he owned the place. His hands found my waist instantly, tugging me close until my chest bumped his, and I swore my knees wobbled.

God, he smelled so good. Vanilla. Cedarwood. Sex. And him.

His lips brushed the shell of my ear as he murmured, “Would it be so bad if we just stayed like this… forever?”

Kill. Me. Now.

I let out a soft laugh, breath hitching as I tipped my head up. “Gosh, no. But you, sir, have a game in…what? An hour?”

He smirked, eyes shamelessly scanning my face like he was memorizing it. “I know. Don’t care.”

“Atlas,” I warned, pushing against his chest half-heartedly. “You know Coach is gonna come busting through this door like the Kool-Aid man if he finds you here.”

He chuckled, kissing my jaw. “I’ll leave. Promise. Just came to get my lucky charm.”

And then his mouth found mine.

God.

The way his lips moved, soft, sweet, and addictive, like he was trying to press the memory of me onto his soul before walking out onto the ice. Every kiss from Atlas felt like the first time. My toes actually curled, fingers gripping the front of his hoodie as he pulled me closer, one hand sliding up my back and holding me like he never wanted to let go.

He pulled back slightly, lips barely brushing mine, voice husky.

“Was that enough?”

“God,” I whispered, chest heaving, “not even close.”

And just like that, his lips were back on mine. My hands slid up his neck, fingers tangling in the ends of his hair as I kissed him deeper, harder. The kind of kiss that made you forget your name and what time it was and that there were people expecting him in an arena very soon.

I could already feel where this was going. A kiss turned into a lean, turned into a stumble toward the bed, and…

“Atlas…” I mumbled against his mouth, trying to pull away.

His lips curved in a smile. “Mm?”

“We should stop.”

He didn’t stop.

“Atlas,” I tried again, giggling as I pushed at his chest. “Coach is literally gonna break down that door any minute.”

He grinned. “I don’t mind.”

“Well I do, lover boy,” I said, poking his chest. “If the Linchester Golden Hockey team loses its biggest match because their captain was too busy getting naked with me, I will be hated by every girl on this campus. Including the lunch lady.”

He groaned dramatically and stepped back…finally. “Fine.”

But then his gaze slid over my shoulder, and his smile faded slightly.

I turned… and froze.

He wasn’t staring at me.

He was staring at the jersey.

Howard’s.

I opened my mouth quickly. “I’m not gonna wear it.”

Atlas looked at me, eyes searching mine. “You sure?”.

I nodded. “I just felt bad, that’s all. Everyone was watching, and he looked like a kicked puppy. I couldn’t crush him in front of the entire school.”

His jaw flexed, but then he smiled, a soft, slightly forced smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I wanna be a nice guy and say, ‘It’s cool. Wear it.’ But I’m not gonna lie. I hate seeing my woman in another man’s number.”

My woman.

God, if I had ovaries left, they just did a cartwheel.

I stepped toward him, placing my hands on his chest, smirking up at him. “Well, lucky for you… your woman has no interest in wearing anything but your number.”

Atlas’s grin went feral. He grabbed me by the waist and spun me around like a literal Disney prince before setting me back down with a kiss to my cheek.

“Damn, Collins. Say one more thing like that and I swear my heart’s gonna explode.”

I laughed, cheeks flushed. He leaned in for another kiss, and I put a hand up between us.

“Nope.”

He kissed my palm.

I yanked it back, face on fire.

“Atlas…”

“Fine,” he said with a dramatic sigh, backing away. “But just so you know…after this game? I’m locking us in here. A whole week. No interruptions.”

I bit my lip, already imagining it. My whole body buzzing at the idea of being tangled up with him for days, no pretending, no hiding.

A slow smile spread across my face.

“Can the week come any faster?”

Still smiling, Atlas rocked back on his heels like he was holding in a secret.

“I’ve got something for you.”

My brows pulled together just as his hand slipped into his pocket. When he opened his palm, my breath caught.

A diamond necklace. Simple. Elegant. And hanging from it-

The number 7.

My eyes snapped up to his, heart instantly pounding.

“I know you can’t wear my jersey yet,” he said softly, rubbing the back of his neck. God, he always did that when he was nervous. “But I wanted a way you could still wear my number.”

He swallowed, cheeks faintly pink, and suddenly the confident hockey captain looked like a shy boy standing in front of his crush.

“So, Emery Collins,” he said, holding it up, voice low and hopeful, “would you do me the honor of wearing my number?”

My smile broke wide, unstoppable.

“Hell yeah,” I teased. “Who says no to diamonds?”

He laughed, relieved, stepping closer as he carefully clasped it around my neck. His fingers brushed my skin, sending a shiver straight down my spine.

I rushed to the mirror, fingers instantly lifting to twirl the little 7, watching how it caught the light against my collarbone.

“Atlas…” My voice softened. “This is beautiful. Thank you.”

He came up behind me, hands settling on my waist as we looked at our reflection together.

“No,” he murmured, resting his forehead briefly against mine. “Thank you, Em. Really.”

****

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