“Yes, please.” Babushka lifted her hand to his cheek, and he would swear on a five-dollar bill she smiled like an evil cartoon villain. “This is very heroic thing.”
Sam huffed. “That’s not a good idea. Something could be out of place—”
But Babushka already had her arms around his neck, and he hefted her up. Some might expect a woman of her life experience to be frail with bones ready to crack without effort. But the woman was sturdy as an oak.
And clearly enjoying the attention.
“Let’s not make this a standard thing, yeah?” he asked.
“Shh, you are making good show. Vomen love heroes,” Babushka admonished him. “Take me to front office.” She pointed the direction.
“You want an ambulance?” he asked.
“Vhat for?”
Clearly, she didn’t need an ambulance.
He got her settled in the little clinic they had on site so the nurse could monitor her.
“What happened?” Sam asked, reaching for his biceps, and pulling him to the side right outside the clinic door.
The slight touch was all it took to increase that magnetic pull he’d agreed with himself that he’d avoid.
God, this woman was pretty.
“She’s faking the whole thing. You get that, right?” Tanner figured she did, but just to be sure.
Sam nodded, letting her arms fall beside her. “She’s very persistent.”
“She didn’t like that I told her to leave you alone about the whole set-up thing she started between us,” he said.
Sam sighed, pursing her lips. “Babushka doesn’t listen to anyone.”
Oh boy, did he know that. “I don’t want her to bug you about something you don’t want to be bothered with.”
“Tanner?” She nibbled on her bottom lip. “You’re not a bother.”
“I get it,” he said, lifting his hands in surrender. “You aren’t into this thing that she’s forcing on us. I’m disappointed, yeah, but I don’t want you to feel you have to spend time with me if you don’t want to.”
“You’re disappointed?” The frown lines were back between her eyebrows.
“Yeah, Sam. I am.”
“What if I want to be bothered with it, but I’m nervous?” She swallowed.
She what? “That is not the vibe I’ve been getting.”
“I want to spend time with you. It’s not that I don’t.” Her chest heaved as she breathed heavily. “You terrify me.”
That made about as much sense as Mach teaching kindergarten. Sure, it sort of worked, but it made little sense. “Why?”
“You play the drums for Dimefront,” she said simply.
“Yeah?”
She pointed to her chest. He didn’t look to where she pointed, swear to hell he didn’t.
“I work in a retirement home,” she said, as though this made sense.
