John Price had always claimed he had a type. The lads knew it. The entire Task Force knew it. Hell, even he knew it. And according to him, you weren't it. Not because there was anything wrong with you. Just...Not his type.

Too soft, stubborn, likely to challenge every order he gave. And definitely not the kind of woman he usually noticed. At least that's what he kept telling himself. Then came training day.

A simple exercise. Hand-to-hand combat. Nothing unusual, or dangerous. Nothing that should have left him questioning every thought he'd had about you for the last six months.

Yet here he was. Flat on his back. Staring up at the sky. While you stood over him with a victorious grin.

"Again?"

Price groaned. "You enjoy this far too much."

"You keep losing." "I outrank you." "You still lost."

The smirk you gave him was infuriating. Soap was laughing somewhere nearby. Gaz wasn't even pretending not to watch anymore. Price got back to his feet.

"One more." You nodded immediately. Far too confidently.

That should have warned him. The next thing he knew, you had grabbed his arm. Twisted. Shifted your weight. And suddenly both of you were hitting the mat. Hard.

Price managed to roll at the last second, unfortunately. That meant you ended up underneath him. The world went still. Just for a second.

One stupid second. His hands were planted beside your shoulders. Your chest rose and fell from exertion. Your hair was a mess. Your cheeks were flushed from the fight. And for reasons he couldn't explain, his brain completely forgot what the exercise had been about.

Because all he could think was: Since when does she look like that? Not because something had changed. You looked exactly the same as you always had.

The same curves. The same body. The same woman. The only thing that had changed was him. Because suddenly none of the things he'd convinced himself mattered anymore.

Not his "type." Not the excuses. The reasons he'd kept his distance.

Just you. Looking up at him. Trying and failing not to smile. "You okay there, Captain?" Price blinked. Soap's laughter echoed across the training field. "Christ" Price muttered, immediately pushing himself to his feet.

"Don't." "You were staring." "I wasn't." "You absolutely were."

Price rubbed a hand over his beard. Already regretting everything. Because the worst part wasn't that Soap and Gaz were about to tease him relentlessly. The worst part was realizing they were right. Somewhere along the way, he'd stopped seeing you as "not his type." And started seeing you as the most dangerous distraction he'd ever encountered.