Millie's Game Plan by Rosie Dean

evening. As we sat at a table in the corner, Sacha was all eyes to see if she could spot any more of my targets. Reaching over to grab her hand, I made her promise not to let the cat out of the bag, vis-à-vis my plan. ‘Whatever you do, don’t give any indication that I’m…you know…’
    ‘Gagging for a husband,’ she whispered.
    It was such a mistake to involve Sacha. ‘I’m serious.’
    She squeezed my hand. ‘Trust me. I’m a nurse.’
    Yeah – I’d heard the stories. I gave her my harshest warning look, which elicited her prettiest smile.
    ‘I’m on your side, remember? In any case, I’m looking forward to meeting a few blokes, myself.’
    I took a sip of my drink, casually casting a look around the other tables for eligible men. I made eye contact with a middle-aged woman, who quickly dropped her gaze to my hand that was still holding Sacha’s. She shifted in her seat and knotted her mouth with disapproval. I couldn’t resist a giggle.
    ‘What?’ asked Sacha.
    ‘I think I’ve found my soul mate.’
    ‘Really?’ She looked round. ‘Which one is he – the guy at the bar or the one serving?’
    I grinned. ‘No. Wrong gender.’
    She looked puzzled. ‘Ron who?’
    As I snorted with laughter, the penny dropped and we were both giggling like schoolgirls in assembly.
    ‘Why don’t we finish our drinks and go to the cinema?’ I suggested. ‘There’s bound to be something on around nine o’clock.’
    ‘Like hell we will. I haven’t hauled my butt out into the sticks for one lousy drink and a brush with death.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Give it another half hour and Med Man will be here. If you don’t want a crack at him – I do.’
    I shrugged, after all, I didn’t want him, and it might keep her off my case if she was distracted.
    Who was I kidding? Truth was , Sacha was actually keeping me on brief. If I was serious about working myself into the society of local cricketers, I needed to stick around and see what transpired. So, I allowed myself a premonition of the lovely Victor striding into the bar, and savoured a little surge of excitement coursing through my chakras.
    Of course, Med Man didn’t appear until nearly half-past nine, when I’d switched from tonic to pineapple juice. Since I’d chosen to sit with the door in my direct line-of-sight, he nodded at me on entering. As I returned his smile, you would have thought Sacha was plugged into the national grid, she was so animated. She had, however, played the game often enough to know not to leap up and gush all over him. He, in turn, strode up to the bar and ordered himself a beer.
    ‘Sach, didn’t you say you were going to buy our new friend a drink?’ I asked quietly.
    ‘Hang on, I’m counting.’
    Ah yes, another of Sacha’s rules on dating: count to twenty between acknowledgement and making a move.
    ‘Eighteen, nineteen, twenty.’ She winked at me and rose gracefully, catching up her handbag and heading to the bar.
    When Med Man came to sit with us, he introduced himself as Marcus.
    I was right. Two-parts Greek, one-part Scottish and one-part Basingstoke. Not a trace of Italian, it would appear, so Sacha’s crack about cars and lovers would have fallen on stony ground.
    Sacha was true to her word and didn’t blow my cover, although I could see she was tempted when she related the story of my being hit by a speeding cricket ball.
    ‘Nasty,’ Marcus said, leaning back and sticking his chest out. ‘Lucky it didn’t crack you on the head.’
    ‘Yes, why don’t they have safety fences like they do in motor racing?’ Sacha asked, leaning forward and arranging her forearms on the table – all the better to display her cleavage. ‘Sounds like a dangerous spectator sport to me.’
    Marcus bestowed a sexy half-smile on her. ‘Go to one of the county games, and you’ll find fences. Out here we like living a little more dangerously.’ He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Sacha gasped and bit her bottom lip.