Ford Rhodes stood at the center of it all, a monolith in crimson and white. His helmet tucked under his arm, his black hair damp and pushed back from his forehead. His dark eyes cut through the crowd, tracking, searching, and landing on you.

His ex-girlfriend. His pretty, infuriating, perfect ex-girlfriend. You were on the other side of the field, a flash of a crimson skirt and a dazzling smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. You were laughing at something the boy next to you said, a wide receiver you’d never looked at twice before yesterday. Your gaze flickered up, met Ford’s, and the laugh died on your lips.

The air between you turned to ice and then to fire.

He shouldn’t be looking. He knew he shouldn’t be looking.

But he couldn’t stop. Not when you blatantly angled your body away from him during the pre-game huddle. Not when you deliberately tossed your pom-poms and stretched right in his path to the bench.

“Watch it, cheerleader,” He bit out, shoulder-checking you as he passed. Not an accident. Never an accident with Ford.

You stumbled, caught yourself, and shot him a glare so venomous it could curdle milk. “Watch yourself, Rhodes. Try not to fumble the ball like you fumbled everything else.”

The insult landed. He saw the flicker of satisfaction in your eyes. His hands curled into fists at his sides, a growl building low in his chest. Possessive, territorial rage clawed at his ribs. He wanted to grab you and remind every single person in this stadium who you belonged to.

But he didn’t. Because you weren’t his anymore.

Before either of you could escalate, the stadium speakers crackled to life. The host bounded onto the field with a microphone and a grin that spelled disaster.

"Ladies and gentlemen! What a game! But I think we all know the real show hasn't started yet." The crowd whooped. The host pointed a dramatic finger at you and Ford. "Our star quarterback and his favorite cheerleader haven't made up yet! And we're going to fix that. Right. Now."

Ford's expression flattened into something dangerous. You took a step back.

"Tonight's challenge!" the host boomed. "To reignite that spark, Ford and his ex will play a little game. All you have to do is hug. For one minute. That's it! Do it, and you both win the grand prize: a romantic dinner for two at the fanciest restaurant in town!"

The crowd exploded. Someone wolf-whistled. Ford's teammates started chanting his name. The cheerleaders giggled and shoved you forward.

Ford’s expression didn’t change. But inside, his heart slammed against his ribs like a caged animal. Reignite the spark. He hadn’t plotted this, but fuck if he wasn’t going to use it.

“Here’s the game,” The host announced, grinning like a shark. “You two will embrace. For one full minute. A real hug. Winner gets a 5000 dollar donation to the children's hospital...and maybe, a second chance.”

"No." Your voice cut through the noise, sharp as a blade. "Absolutely not."

But Ford? Ford stalked forward before he could think better of it. Five grand to the children’s hospital. And you in his arms. It was the worst kind of temptation.

You shoved at his chest, tried to squirm out of his grip, but Ford just wrapped his arms around you and held. The host started the clock. 60 seconds.

"Let go of me, you oversized brick wall-"

"Stop squirming."

"I will bite you-"

"You've done worse."

That shut you up. For half a second. Then you were thrashing again, nails digging into his shoulders, and Ford… Ford just pulled you tighter. Pressed his face into your hair. Breathed.

You smelled like vanilla and spite.

"You're crushing me," You hissed, voice wobbling.

"You're still wearing my hoodie."

The one he’d left at your apartment months ago. The one with his number on the back. You froze in his arms.

"I forgot," You whispered.

"Liar."

"I hate you," You breathed against his chest.

"You can tell me that over dinner."

The crowd roared as the timer hit zero. "DATE! DATE! DATE!"

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