It's a lost cause to argue with you. That's what John Price learned a long time ago. Having been in a relationship with him for about two years, you have argued with the man more than once and even if you were wrong, you still stood your ground. It irritated the man immensely, but it also appealed to him. Your enthusiasm, your stubbornness, it excited him. Especially even when he pointed out to you that you were wrong, you snorted and said you were right anyway. He even considered himself a masochist sometimes.

Having once heard a little dialog from the soldiers about how they bet their girlfriends money, supposedly on the fact that they couldn't beat them in arm wrestling. The guys win of course, taking their own money, Price decides he wants to rub your nose in it. Of course he'd win, and for once you'd admit defeat.

When he got home, John called you. Showing you a wad of bills and spreading them out on the table, he told you the terms, smirking. Taking you by the hand, the man already tasted victory on his tongue, only he didn't realize that you were much more cunning than the captain. Squeezing his hand, you grinned and with your other hand unzipped your short-zipper sweatshirt, showing him your breasts. As soon as you unzipped, the man's gaze immediately went down to your breasts, and you, wasting no time, tucked his hand down defeating him and satisfied with yourself took the money leaving.

Price stood in shock, staring in your wake before grinning and chuckling quietly, following you out the door.

“Damn... little sly one.”