The Girl In The Dirty Shirt

My Big Mouth

**Liams P.O.V**

The match was over. City won 3-2 it was fuckin beautiful. Fuckin Sunderland didn't know what hit them. I am buzzin! I'm pissed and fuckin well happy. I'm in the back of a taxi, on my way home, a fag hanging from my fingertips out the window after paying the driver an extra £10. We're just turning a corner round the park when I see her. She's in full City gear, the home shirt and scarf, big steel toe cap tan boots and black tight jeans. She has shortish honey blonde hair, kinda flicky with a side fringe and she's fucking gorgeous. The sun catches her face and her eyes flash a bright green, they're carefully lined in black with mascara and eyeliner, simple but makes her eyes just fucking pop and her mouth, fuck shes got a pretty little mouth, I can't see any lippy on her, they're a natural rosy pink, I bet her nips are the same colour. A nice figure, full breasts and her waist dips in and out to tell she's got an arse... She suits that City shirt, I'd like to see her in just that.

I'm staring at her while we're stopped at lights, she's crossing over the park, a big grin on her face. She's chuffed with the result too. Walking for her from the left, I see some guys, Sunderland lads. They shout on her and she turns to them, the grin falling from her face. She's standing her ground, shouting something back as they swagger up to her. I can see the number on her back, a 7 with Harris above it. My heart jumps in my throat. They better not fucking touch her...

**Megan's P.O.V**

My first City game and we fucking won! I knew it was worth travelling down for! Wait 'til I tell Gareth about this! Fucking rag cunt, hehe. I'm grinning, the rush still there from the game, I couldn't afford a taxi home, fuck sake I can't even afford a hostel, I gotta find somewhere to stay for a couple of days, just til I can get my train back to Edinburgh. I couldn't get a same day train without selling my fucking kidney or something.

"Oi love! Whats a fit bird like you wearin' gear like that for!" Someone shouts and I turn my head to the side, the grin falling from my face. Great, fucking Sunderland boys.

"Fuck off boys, I'm a citizen and I'm proud!" I growl my Scottish accent thick, not my smartest move but you leave my fucking team out of it. They don't like it anyways. I stand still, my fists clench at my sides as I eye them up, them eyeing me up too.

"A citizen huh? You don't sound fucking manc," He says to me and they're all in tracksuits and Sunderland shirts and scarves. Thugs. The one doing all the talking is tall, dark brown number 1 cut hair like his two mates. The other two, one has black hair and the other a light brown. They've got small scars, signs of past fights. Well they're not the only ones. I've got my fair share too, I'm just lucky all I've got on my face is a scar at my hairline from being bottled at a party. I know how to fight, I know how to look after myself, I have 2 big brothers who made sure of that.

"I'm no a manc, where I come fae is of no consequence, they're my team, I buy the shirts, the scarves, and I'm in the pub for almost every game. I'm a fucking Citizen and you're a dirty black cat, now fuck off," I keep my voice level, a threatening tone, pointing right at the middle boy, the fucking mouthpiece. He grabs my shirt and I glare at him as he pulls me right against him, him smirking.

"You say that like it's a bad thing to be a black cat, you'd suit it," He says softly, a threat lying under it as his other hand runs down my arm and down my thigh.

"Take. Your hands. Off of me," I snarl and his smirk grows letting me go and I thump onto the feet. I'm pretty damn short at 5"2 and he towers over me. I'm not exactly heavy either at a size 12. His little goons have moved round me, escape is gonna be a pain, but I can't do that. My pride won't let me.

"Stevie, give this poor uneducated girl your shirt, I'm sure she'd look much better in red and white," He says to his goon, not taking his eyes away from mine.