instances of shane, the worlds most jock, calling ilya baby:
“Baby, what time is it?”
“Huh? Hold on, baby, I can’t hear you. Fuck, it’s loud in here.”
“Fuck, Ilya, yes, like that, baby, just like that, fuck—“
“Ilya, what’s— Are you crying? What’s wrong, baby, it’s okay, it’s— What’s wrong? Please, tell me, what’s wrong?”
“Fuckin’ A, Rozanov! Yes, baby! Fuck, that was a good one. C’mere.”
“Mm, baby, your feet are cold. Ah! Ilya, get your cold fucking feet off me. Put some socks on. Jesus.”
“Hold on, I’ll ask him— Baby, my mom wants to know if steak is good for dinner?”
“Your hair is so fluffy today. No, no, come back, let me— Yes. Thank you, baby.”
“Ilyusha. My baby. Ilyusha. You’re so pretty. Don’t laugh! I’m being serious!”
“You’re gonna have to skate better than that to beat me in the scoring race, baby, I’m locked in this season.”
“Fuck, baby, you’re burning up. No, asshole, I mean you’re sick. You can’t go to practice like this, don’t be fucking stupid.”
“Uh, just a beer, please. Thank you, baby, that’s perfect.”
“Ilya, baby, you want a pretzel?”
“Hi, baby. You looked good out there, that goal was fuckin’ insane.”
