I Swear I Still Hate Him (Atlas Lawson) novel Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Emery’s POV

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70

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I did exactly what he did, grabbed the ketchup, gave it two generous squeezes, added a zigzag of mustard, and folded my burrito like it was sacred.

Then I took a big bite.

“He-ven-ly,” I mumbled with my mouth full, eyes fluttering shut like I’d just tasted magic. No shame.

He chuckled across the table, resting his elbow casually as he watched me like I was a science experiment gone right.

After I swallowed, I wiped my mouth and leaned forward. “Okay, I gotta be honest with you.” I raised a brow. “I’m really sorry but… I have no idea who you are.”

He grinned like he’d been waiting for it. “Ahhh. Was wondering when you’d finally admit it.”

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “Ugh, I feel like such a jerk right now.”

“Please don’t,” he said, still smiling, but his voice dipped slightly. “I’m used to it. Never been in the spotlight. Easy to blend into nothing.”

That last word hit weird. There was a flicker…just for a second, in his eyes. Like something weighed heavy behind them.

But before I could comment, he pulled back with a soft grin and extended his hand. “I’m Howard. I play on the hockey team.”

I blinked. “Ohhh… right. Ford’s party. You were there.”

He nodded. “Corner of the room. Red solo cup. World-class wallflower performance.”

“Okay, I knew you looked familiar,” I said, pointing my burrito at him like it was proof. “I just couldn’t place where I’d seen your face.”

He smiled, easy and warm. “Well, at least you recognized me eventually. That’s a plus.”

I laughed, setting my burrito down. “But we never even talked. How’d you remember me? You must have, like, a photographic memory or something.”

“Not really,” he said with a small shrug. Then his eyes met mine, steadier than before, a little more confident. “You’re just… really hard not to remember.”

My brows shot up slightly.

Wait… was that a flirt?

Yep. Definitely a flirt.

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Chapter 37

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I bit into my burrito quickly, mostly to keep myself from grinning like an idiot. But I wasn’t slick. My cheeks. were heating, and I could already feel the little traitor butterflies stirring in my stomach.

We kept talking, and it didn’t feel forced. He was funny in a quiet, thoughtful kind of way, like he didn’t need to say a lot to make you laugh. I caught myself leaning in a little more, smiling a little longer, relaxing like I’d known him longer than a single burrito-stained moment.

By the time we finished, he paid before I could even reach for my wallet.

“You really didn’t have to,” I said as we stepped outside.

“I know,” he said, hands in his pockets, still wearing that poor white shirt with the orange stain right over his chest. “But I wanted to.”

We walked across campus together, the sun warm against my skin and the breeze light in my hair. People passed us, but I barely noticed. It was just easy. Him, next to me, unbothered by the stain or the awkward way our lunch started.

And maybe it was nothing.

Or maybe it was the beginning of something I hadn’t quite figured out yet.

But either way…

It felt kind of nice.

***

The next day, right after swimming practice, I walked into the hockey rink with damp hair pulled into a loose ponytail and the scent of chlorine still clinging to my skin. The place was loud-squeaks of skates on ice, pucks hitting boards, and the occasional shout from the coach echoing through the arena.

I spotted him immediately.

Atlas.

His back was to me at first, but the second he turned and saw me, his whole expression changed. That lazy smirk of his curved into something softer. His gaze flicked to my wet hair, then he started skating toward me, wiping his glove against his neck like he was trying to look more presentable.

I gave a small wave.

But before he could reach me, someone else beat him to it.

“Emery!”

I turned, and saw Howard skating toward me with that easygoing smile of his.

I smiled back. “Hey.”

“What brings you to our icy little kingdom?” he asked, stopping right in front of me, a little breathless from

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Chapter 37

practice.

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“Oh, just this,” I said, pulling out the bag from behind my back and handing it to him. “A peace offering.”

He blinked, then peeked inside the bag.

“You got me a new shirt?” he asked, surprise in his voice.

“You mean after I ruined your other one with spicy burrito juice?” I teased. “It’s the least I could do.”

His smile spread wider. “You really didn’t have to.”

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