The Hookup Pact

1| Evelyn

I was a nice person.

Growing up, I was the girl that all the parents loved and wanted their kids to be like. I was the favorite volunteer of the grandmas and grandpas at the old age home in my hometown. I never had any issues with my teachers or my classmates. Not even my coworkers at my part-time jobs.

Why? Because I was a freaking nice person.

But Atlas Griffin, the captain of Wellsfield University's ice hockey team, made me want to embrace my inner Klaus Mikaelson and either rip his heart out or head off. Preferably both.

As I spotted his black Mercedes in the side mirror of my car only seconds before the crunch of crumpling metal, that urge was stronger than ever. There was no way in hell this bump was accidental. Not when Mr. Hotshot was involved. If it was someone else, I would have given them the benefit of the doubt. But not him.

"This bitch," I cursed lowly as I stepped out of my car, slamming the door shut. My beat-up Honda rattled with force, and I immediately felt guilty for taking my anger out on her. She didn't deserve it. He did.

The first thing I noticed was the big dent in the side of my car where his car had made contact. Seeing the perfect silver paint scraped off and replaced with black scratches made me want to cry. Fixing the dent and repainting the site would be at least a month's salary, putting a crater in my already minimal savings account.

"Of course, it would be you." I heard Atlas groan as he stepped out of his stupid, expensive car. "Should have guessed from the crappy driving skills."

My blood boiled at his condescending tone. He strutted around the campus like a self-proclaimed king, but I refused to let him treat me like a doormat. Maybe that was why we butted heads so often. Or maybe it was because I was good at holding grudges.

"Excuse you!" I snapped, glaring at him. "If anyone here has crappy driving skills, it's you. I was backing out of the parking spot."

He folded his arms across his chest, his dark eyes squinting at me. "Ever heard of looking back to check you won't bump into others?"

I mimicked his stance. "Ever heard of slowing down while in a parking lot and keeping your eyes ahead?"

He opened his mouth to respond but I cut him off. "Apparently not because this"—I gestured to our cars—"wouldn't have happened otherwise. And you wouldn't have to reimburse me."

"Excuse me, what?" he asked, sounding incredulous. "You should be the one reimbursing me. It was clearly your mistake."

I looked at his car, which had a tiny dent in comparison, and snorted. "Yeah right. Because how could the hockey God ever be wrong, right? It's us peasants who mess up."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I don't have time for this Rosy. I have somewhere to be. So if you move, I'll forget about it too."

The audacity!

For some reason, Atlas refused to use my actual name. Instead, he called me some stupid nickname he'd coined the first time we met three years ago, when he had arrogantly brushed off my team and our very genuine needs because the hockey team wasn't satisfied with the colors of their jerseys and wanted an unnecessary rebrand. The same day he had called me a naïve, googly eyed girl who was unaware how the world worked and told me that I should learn to recognize what was more important.

Translation: Learn that the hockey team was superior to the media team, and I should suck it up.

The memories of the damned meeting resurfaced, making me bristle. I propped a hand on my hip and looked up at him.