Millie's Game Plan by Rosie Dean Page A

Probably to stop herself from laughing.
    Just when I thought he was ready to grab her by the hair and drag her off to a cosy haystack, a distinguished looking man in a mustard-coloured sweater, check shirt and moleskin slacks, came through the door. Marcus glanced up and was clearly no longer interested in our conversation. ‘Excuse me, ladies, there’s someone I need to talk to,’ he said, and stood up. ‘Maybe you’ll be dropping in again some time?’
    Sacha gave him her slow, blinking-lashes look. ‘I think we might.’
    He lifted his head in acknowledgement. You could practically hear his brain chuckling with self congratulation. Then he moved across to the man with greying hair, and sat at the far side of the bar.
    ‘Waddya think?’ Sacha whispered.
    ‘He’s okay, if you like a streak of chauvinism in your beefcake.’
    ‘Well, he does it for me. Or he will if I’ve got anything to do with it.’
    ‘Be my guest.’
    ‘So, he’s off your list, then?’
    ‘Definitely. Right off.’
    ‘Hang on – he’s not that bad.’
    ‘No. He’s fine in a one-night-romp kind of way, but remember – I’ve progressed to the one-mate-for-life option.’
    ‘Suits me.’
    So our night in Marshalhampton had hardly furthered my ambitions. Sacha, on the other hand, was cock-a-hoop at the new possibilities in her life and wondering if she could persuade any of her colleagues to swap shifts with her on Sunday. Whilst I was glad she’d finally taken an interest, I didn’t want her cramping my style. Fortunately, Marshalhampton were playing away to Churchill, and Marcus’s team, Beasley, were at home to Deanfield so if Sacha wanted to swoon over Marcus, she’d have to make her own way there.

Chapter 8
    The afternoon’s game was due to start at two-thirty. I’d planned on arriving around three but it was quarter to already and I was still swapping clothes to find the right look. I should have sorted this out the day before but I hadn’t anticipated the weather would turn quite so chilly. And if there’s one thing I hate, it’s sitting outside, being buffeted by a brisk north-easterly and pretending I’m enjoying myself. So despite cricket being a summer sport, I was donning boots, jeans, vest, blouse, suede jacket and ramming a sweater into a canvas bag…just in case.
    ‘Bugger.’ The collar of the blouse made me look like a Thunderbird puppet, so I hurled the jacket to the floor, yanked the blouse off and rifled through my wardrobe for an alternative. I pulled a coral-coloured top on and headed for the car.
    Piling everything into the boot, I wondered if I was imagining things, or was that Sacha’s voice?
    ‘Millie! Wait!’
    Her scooter was buzzing down the road, with her on it.
    ‘Millie – I swapped out with Surinder. Means I’ve got to go back in at ten tonight but hey, give me five minutes while I change. Much better if we both go, yeah?’
    I watched open-mouthed as she sprinted up the steps and through the front door. She was, of course, being very supportive. I settled into the driving seat and pushed a CD of Grease into the player. Maybe I could figure out a routine for the finale while I was waiting. And, knowing Sacha, that could be ages.
    She emerged, twelve minutes later, looking sexy as hell, like an early incarnation of Madonna – all shaggy blonde hair (which she’d clearly run under the tap to dampen out the kinks from her ponytail) skin-tight t-shirt, white jeans, beads, fringed hip belt and – would you believe it – carrying a Stetson. She made me look like a librarian on a field trip.
    ‘What?’ she asked.
    ‘We’re going to watch a game of cricket, Sacha. I forgot to tell you, they don’t do it on horse-back.’
    ‘I know. Means I’ll stand out, doesn’t it?’ she grinned. ‘Be memorable.’
    Her and her bloody rules of mating. ‘You do know Marcus isn’t playing at the same place as, as…The Golden Smiler, don’t you?’
    ‘So? We can go and watch Marcus for an