Greyhound [Marcus Rashford]

17

"You're lying," he laughs at me, "There's no way that you've been arrested! You're too big of a goody-two-shoes."

"I swear on my life! One thing led to another, and a small peaceful protest on campus turned into a big fight. I was just protecting myself from an overly-touchy, white supremacist," I confess, "It's not my fault he couldn't handle a swing from an averagely sized girl that hadn't hit the weight room in over a year."

"I never thought I'd be dating a bad girl. Especially not one with a criminal record."

"Don't worry. He dropped charges once a video of him screaming racial slurs towards my friends and I surfaced. My record is clean as a whistle, just know I pack a punch."

"Not gonna lie, Peyton. That's kind of hot."

I pretend like I'm raising my fist to punch him, and he flinches.

"Hey now, do you really want to be threatening the driver. Put those away before you hurt yourself."

Marcus is currently driving us to Old Trafford. Like I showed him my home at Soldier Field in Chicago, he wants to give me a tour of the stadium full of his childhood memories, along with the majority of his athletic career.

I've been in Manchester for a little over 2 weeks. While I'm worried that I've overstayed my welcome, the time that I've been able to spend with Marcus has been great. I've met his teammates and family, explored the city, and picked up a decent amount of soccer, or should I say "football" knowledge. Marcus has hammered official rules and strategies into my brain over countless FIFA matches, not that I mind playing video games with him. It's been a way for me to learn more about him and his passion for the game. I've even started beating him a few times.

"Here we are," Marcus announces as we pull into the parking lot. I look out the window to see a monstrous stadium. "Stay here," he tells me as he gets out of the car. He runs around to my side, and opens my door. I just sit there and look at him, confused. "Why aren't you getting out?"

"You told me to stay here," I respond matter-of-factly.

"That was just an excuse for me to be able to open the door for you, P," he laughs. I just shake my head at him, and get out. I swear, sometimes he tries too hard.

"First, I'm going to take you through the fan gate, so that you get the full experience. Then, I'll take you down to the player dressing room. I warned the guys that we were coming, so there should, hopefully, be no half-naked guys running around. Then we can finish by going down onto the field," he details his plan for us.

"Aye, aye, captain," I jokingly salute him.

He grabs my hand, and pulls me toward the front gate of the stadium. While it's not as new as Soldier Field, it has a lot of character. I can definitely see traits of the history that Marcus has been telling me about this club.

"Over there is where I met David Beckham when I was little. It was the best day of my life," I tells me, pointing towards an archway leading to a seating area.

"I bet. If I met David Beckham, it would probably be the best day of my life too," I joke, wiggling my eyebrows at him. He just sticks his tongue out at me.

He then leads me towards an official looking hallway, that I'm guessing leads to team-only facilities due to the fact that he's had to scan himself through various doors.

"Now here's my favorite place, the locker room," he gushes before opening the door. We walk through a short hallway before entering the circular room lined with cubbies that are perfectly organized for each player and their uniforms. This one room is nicer than any house that I've ever lived in my entire life. The TV screens on the walls and the benches probably cost more than any furniture I've ever had to buy.

Marcus let's go of my hand, letting me walk around and explore various player's stations. While each one is roughly the same regarding the clothes and jerseys hanging, they've all personalized their lockers with pictures of their kids, friends, and wives.

"Wow," I gawk, "I want one."

"I know. I couldn't believe it when I got my own," he tells me.

"Where's yours?" I ask him.

"Over on the right, past Jesse's," he points towards the other side of the room. I walk over and see that he has some pictures too. There's one of him, Jess, and Paul from when they were teenagers on the under-18 team. There's another of him and his brother Dane, whom I've had the pleasure to meet this week. Behind a sweatshirt, there's another one hanging in the back. When I move it, I'm caught off guard by the image of us together.

I pull it out, and see that it's a picture of us at the rooftop restaurant in Chicago, the night that I beat Juan in a wing eating contest, and the same night that we broke down and told each other how we really felt. I'm guessing it's one of the pictures that Jesse not-so-sneakily took of Marcus and I from a slightly stalkerish distance while we were talking alone. Regardless, I'm surprised that he has it hanging up with other pictures with major people in his life.

"I love that picture of us," Marcus tells me, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, setting his chin on top of my head. "That's the night that everything changed for me."

"What do you mean?" I ask him.

"That night, I realized that you were going to be a lot more than just a short fling. You're one of a kind, and I need to do everything I can to keep you to myself because there isn't any girl that is as compassionate as you, as quirky and funny as you, or as genuinely real and honest as you. Peyton, I need you."

"I need to be around you, too, Marcus," I tell him, with full honesty in my heart.

"No, not just that. I need you emotionally, mentally, and physically all the time. You occupy my mind every second of the day, and the thought of coming back to my apartment to see you is what motivates me to work hard in practice. When I get dressed in the morning, I subconsciously pick things in brighter colors because I know that you hate when I wear all black. I even dress in layers because I know that you never remember how cold it gets in England. I need you here, with me, all of the time."

I'm left speechless after hearing him confess his feelings for me. I do the only thing I can do, and I turn around and kiss him passionately, hoping that he understands that I feel the exact same way.