Millie's Game Plan by Rosie Dean Read Free Book Online Page B

brakes, bringing my little Fiat to a shuddering and miraculous halt beneath the nose of a John Deere. (I’m no connoisseur of agricultural machinery but its name was emblazoned on the grille and etched onto my retina.)
    From that angle, I couldn’t see the driver but I had a feeling I was about to.
    Sacha looked at me. Her cheeks were pale – as I dare say mine were. ‘That was close,’ she said and giggled at the understatement.
    ‘Should we get out?’ I asked, wiggling the gear lever with indecision.
    I checked behind to see if there was a space to reverse into. There was a growl from the engine above us before it cut out. The driver’s cab door swung open.
    I pulled a face at Sacha. Perhaps when he saw us, his sense of road rage might be replaced by good old-fashioned misogyny. I could cope with that.
    There was a crunch as he jumped down onto the road. Instinctively, I locked the doors. As he came into view, Sacha whimpered. I looked at her reassuringly only to discover she was slack-jawed and wide-eyed with something approaching wonder. I turned to look at our potential assailant as Sacha murmured, ‘It’s Mediterranean Man.’

Chapter 7
    I was amazed she recognised him – mind you, that’s probably because I’d mentally greyed out his image in favour of you-know-who.
    She whimpered again when the door didn’t open at her first attempt. Seconds later, she was out and chirruping brightly, ‘Hi there. Doesn’t this car have fantastic brakes? And they say Italians make better lovers than mechanics.’
    My eyes were revolving in their sockets. Hadn’t she decided he was Italian? I risked a glance at the approaching hulk to gauge his reaction which, in fairness to Sacha, was moderately restrained. He eyed her up…and then it was my turn. He dipped his head to look around my lowered sun-visor. I could feel guilt and adrenalin colouring my cheeks. I opened the window as he spoke.
    ‘You’re lucky those brakes did work,’ he said, fixing me with an oily gaze. ‘Or you might have scratched my tractor.’
    Sacha giggled.
    He flicked a look in her direction. ‘It’s not funny. Scratched my tractor…wrecked your car, and you two in it.’
    Maddeningly, I knew he was right. I had been driving way too fast. ‘I do apologise,’ I said, thinking he was good looking in a Tom Jones kind of way – that is, Tom Jones in his youth. A bit too macho for my taste. Mentally, I was demoting him to the reserves.
    He stood with his arms folded. ‘Like I say, you would have come off worst.’
    ‘Yes, but…’ I was nonplussed with aftershock.
    Sacha leaned her hands on the roof of my car and resumed her chirruping. ‘The thing is, my friend’s had a rotten evening, already.’
    I had?
    ‘Some lousy blind date stood her up. So she’s a little bit distressed.’
    I threw her midriff my filthiest look and vowed to make her buy the drinks. I turned back in time to catch Mediterranean Man raising an eyebrow and tossing me a look of pity.
    Sacha twittered on. ‘He told us to meet him at The Red Cow and it’s shut this week. So we’re looking for another pub to chill out in. Can you suggest anywhere?’
    He took his eyes off me and looked at her. ‘If you turn round and go right after the Cow, there’s The Eagle about a mile down the lane.’
    ‘Is it full of old farts or is it the kind of place you and your mates go?’
    That girl had more cunning than a skulk of foxes. Judging by his chuckle, she must have been giving him the benefit of her megawatt flirty smile.
    ‘Yeah. Sometimes.’
    ‘Will you be in later? I mean, so we can buy you a drink to make amends for giving you such a shock.’
    He glanced at his watch. ‘As it happens, I’m meeting someone in there around nine.’
    ‘Great.’ She slapped the roof of the car. ‘Look forward to seeing you later, then.’ As she sat back in the car, she said, ventriloquist-style, ‘I’m good at this, aren’t I?’
    The Eagle Tavern was bustling for a Tuesday