Right. The infamous Babushka.
“And you may call me Babushka, my grandson.” Babushka patted his cheeks with both of her palms.
Uh…
“Babushka.” He tested out her name.
She smiled like he’d told her that he has season passes with her name on them.
Anna had told him about her grandmother and her need to meddle in her grandchildren’s lives—especially when it came to relationships. That’s why he hadn’t met her yet. Anna had promised him it was for his own good.
He glanced at her for guidance.
“Ven the bidding begins, I vill be first and last,” Babushka assured.
Huh?
“No. You won’t.” Anna patted her grandmother’s arm.
Babushka harrumphed and said something in what must have been Russian.
Anna replied in Russian.
He tried to follow the conversation, but given that he didn’t speak Russian, he obviously failed.
“Babushka, leave Drake alone. He’s not for sale,” Anna finally said, speaking English again so he could understand.
But about the for-sale thing… Actually, according to his agent, he sort of was. Which was why he needed to catch Medford soon.
Anna looped her free arm through his and the world that had gone topsy-turvy righted itself with her touch.
Denver.
He’d stay in Denver.
Even if Jackson Medford offered him minimum wage or asked him to play strictly for charity, Drake would make it work.
Two more seasons—that’s what his agent insisted Drake had in him. Perhaps a few more if Drake could get his arm to cooperate and managed to pull out a championship in the upcoming season.
When it was all said and done, then...thenhe had to deal with what came next.
The obvious thing? The thing that made him look forward to the future and not dread it?
Anna.
Off the field, he was just a guy who had no idea where he was supposed to be and what he was supposed to do.
But Anna knew what to do. That’s one of the things that drew him to her. He had a bag of tricks that he used with fans to help make them feel comfortable around him—a vetted array of rehearsed responses he’d honed over his twelve-year professional career. But beyond his standard chitchat, big events like this one gave him hives.
“Now, vhere vill ve go on our date?” Babushka asked Drake.
“You said you’re buying him for me.” Anna stared her grandmother down. “Now you’re buying him for you?”
“There is enough of him to go around,” Babushka said with an exaggerated shoulder lift.
He ping-ponged between the two of them as they picked up again in Russian. Had he received a head injury around the same time he’d pulled the hell out of his hamstring?
“Apologies. I don’t know what you’re referring to with this talk of purchasing me.” He did the thing where he crossed his arms while giving the fan his full attention. Arms crossed signaled for them to move along—which usually worked—while giving his full attention made them feel valued and appreciated.
