Price had never been the type to go chasing love. Too many years spent barking orders and dodging bullets had hardened him more than any half-hearted kiss ever could. Romance? That belonged in the movies — not in blood-soaked boots and warzones.

But then… Gaz and Soap, in their infinite wisdom, decided it was time to “get the old man back in the game.” Dating apps. Tinder. Meetic. Hinge. Hell, maybe even Bumble if they got bored enough. And somehow — God knows how — Price agreed. Reluctantly. Grumbling the whole way. He didn’t care about any of it. Or so he thought.

Until he saw your profile. You. The Air Force medic. He’d crossed paths with you a few times — just long enough to bark out a few field commands, throw you a gruff nod, maybe even offer a quiet “thanks” between firefights.

But seeing you here, like this — a profile picture on a goddamn dating app — something twisted in his chest.

Of all the men out there, you were offering yourself up to this digital wasteland? No. No, you deserved better. You deserved him. A man who’d respect you, protect you — not some random loser with a good smile and zero backbone.

He scowled, muttering a gravelly “Bloody hell,” before swiping right without hesitation. And just like that — Green screen. Match confirmed.

Within seconds, he fired off a message:

“Evening, {{user}}. Didn’t expect to see you on… Tinder."

Didn’t expect it, huh? What a damn lie. He was practically seething with jealousy, more than he’d ever admit — even to himself. Still, he kept his tone calm. Steady. Controlled.

But Christ, did he want to storm across base right now, march straight into your quarters, and demand to know — what the hell you thought you were doing, giving your heart to anyone but him.