I Swear I Still Hate Him (Atlas Lawson) novel Chapter 139

Chapter 139

Emery’s POV

The heat of a body pressed against my back. Strong arms wrapped around me like they belonged there. And that scent, something warm and expensive, vanilla mixed with dark oud and maybe a hint of clean laundry, filled my lungs every time I breathed. I didn’t know what it was, but God, it felt perfect. Safe My heart actually slowed down for once, like it finally decided to stop sprinting.

“You smell good,” I mumbled, half-asleep, nuzzling closer into the solid wall of chest behind me.

I didn’t even realize I’d said it out loud until the arms tightened, just a fraction, and then it hit me.

Wait.

Arms. Plural. Holding me.

My eyes snapped open. Gray. Beautiful gray eyes. Staring right down at me.

Atlas.

Shit.

I scrambled so fast I nearly launched myself off the mattress. The blanket came with me, clutched to my chest like a shield. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I was pretty sure he could see it through the fabric.

“What… how…” My voice cracked. My head spining with so many questions.

“Calm down, Emery.”

His voice was low, gravelly from sleep, and annoyingly calm. Meanwhile, I was vibrating like I’d mainlined espresso.

“I am not CALMING down! What the hell are you doing here!”

He propped himself up on one elbow, looking way too comfortable for someone who’d just been violently woken up by a panicking woman. The sheet slipped down to his waist, revealing the open buttons of his shirt and a whole lot of skin stretched over muscle I had zero business staring at.

“Well, technically…” He lifted one dark brow. “This is my room.

I whipped my head around. King bed. Dark wood headboard. Floor-to-ceiling windows with blackout curtains half-drawn. City lights glowing gold across the glass. Definitely not my room too clean.

My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Okay, fine, but… but why are you lying here? Holding me? And…” My eyes betrayed me, flicking down to his chest still on display, revealing the cut of his pecs…why is his shirt open, and more importantly, why do my eyes keep going back there! I yanked my gaze back up so fast I almost gave myself whiplash.

And of course, Atlas noticed…. That slow, wicked grin spread across his face, slow enough that I could track every millimeter of it forming. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

I cleared my throat. Loudly. “Can you please talk?”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter that did stupid things to my stomach. “Okay, first of all…you’re the one who told me not to leave. Repeatedly. And when I woke up this morning, you were wrapped around me like a damn koala. Every time I tried to slide out, you yanked me right back.” He shrugged one shoulder casual as hell. “Figured I’d just… stay.”

Heat exploded across my face, my neck, probably my entire torso. I could feel it burning. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Preferably with lava at the bottom so there’d be no evidence left.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, pressing both hands to my cheeks like that would hide the tomato-red glow.

“Hey.” His voice softened. He sat up fully now, the sheet pooling around his hips. “I promise nothing happened.”

I believed him. I really did. Atlas wasn’t that guy. But that didn’t op my brain from replaying every possible embarrassing outcome from last night.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, muscles shifting under his skin in a way that should’ve been illegal this early. “Why don’t I make some hangover soup? You look like your head’s hosting a death-metal concert.”

My skull literally throbbed in agreement. I opened my mouth to argue because arguing felt like the only thing keeping me from melting into a puddle of embarrassment, but the room tiled when I tried to sit up straighter.

I winced. “Fine,” I muttered. “But only because my brain feels like it’s doing cartwheels in a clown suit.”

He stood, tall and unfairly composed, and shot me that half-smile again. “I’ll be back soon.”

The bedroom door clicked shut behind him.

I flopped backward onto the pillows, yanked the blanket over my head, and let out the world’s most pathetic muffled groan.

What the actual hell, Emery?

After taking a very much needed moment to calm my crazy beating heart…deep breaths, Emery, in through the nose, out through the mouth, I finally got my ass off Atlas’s bed. I bent down, grabbed my prosthetic, my fingers still felt clumsy, like they were hungover too. soon as it locked into place, I exhaled, scanning the room like maybe…just maybe, my memory would do me a solid and flash back to the important parts. Hopefully not the embarrassing ones.

My eyes drifted across the space. The expensive sheets. The too-clean nightstand. sparkling floor that screamed Psychopath clean freak level.

Suddenly, my eyes found the mirror. I braced myself for the worst. Messy hair. Smudged mascara. Lipstick smeared. The full “washed-up raccoon who made bad choices” package.

But when I stepped closer, blinking at my reflection… I froze. My hair was a mess, yeah, like I’d fought a wind tunnel and lost, but my face?

My makeup was gone.

Clean. Soft. Like I hadn’t gotten wasted last night. My brows pinched together as I leaned closer, lifting a hand to my cheek. My fingertips brushed over smooth skin, and I stared harder, like the mirror was abou to admit it was lying.

“What…” I whispered.

I rubbed my thumb under my eye where eyeliner should’ve been.

Nothing.

My stomach fluttered, and then… It hit me.

A memory. Sharp and sudden.

Atlas, kneeling right in front of me. His shoulders slightly hunched like he was trying not to crowd me. His hands moving slow and gentle, so careful it made my chest ache. A wipe in his fingers. His jaw tight like he was holding back a thousand things he wasn’t saying.

And his eyes.

Focused on me like I mattered.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify