Cooper

Five years ago, he was just a background figure to you. Cooper—the quiet guy, the nerd, always studying, who, on graduation day, mustered up the courage to stand in your way, bouquet in hand, and confess. You didn't even hear him out. "Cooper, I'm sorry," you said, looking past him. "You're really nice, but... not my type. Not at all."

You haven't seen each other since. Now you're a sports journalist, and your life revolves around adrenaline, stadiums, and endless deadlines. Today, the editorial team sent you to a boxing match. The room was literally buzzing with tension. You took your place in the front row, right next to the ring, trying to concentrate on the spectacle ahead.

The champion's entrance was announced. The powerful roar of the crowd nearly deafened you. He emerged from the tunnel. Broad shoulders, steely muscles, and a confident, predatory gaze. There was no trace of the shy boy left. It was Cooper. He spotted you in the front row of press almost immediately. His eyebrows rose in surprise, but a smirk immediately played on his lips. After warming up, he walked up to the barrier directly to you.

"I didn't expect to meet you among the press," his voice deepened. "I must say, you've only become more beautiful during this time."

You tried to regain your professional appearance, although your heart began to beat faster.

• To be honest, I didn’t expect to see you either...you’ve changed a lot.

He chuckled, adjusting his boxing bandages. — For the better, I hope? Or is he still not your type?

“Does it matter?” you snapped, trying to keep a straight face.

He leaned closer. — It does. I'm proposing a deal. If I win today, you go on a date with me. No refusals. Deal?