Page 17 of Out of Bounds

Four days into camp and everything was going perfectly. His team was jibing with each other, both on and off the field, no one had hurt themselves, and he was pretty sure he knew exactly who his starters would be. Running drills with Cullen felt like they were back in Liverpool, having never retired from the game. They even convinced Cowboy to suit up with them and play a scrimmage with the guys later this week. This could not have gone better if he had scripted it.

The only problem? His back was fucking killing him.

Three nights on the couch just might be the death of him. His six-foot-two frame didn’t even begin to fit on the small sofa, which was so uncomfortable that he wasn’t even sure it was made for sitting, much less lying down on. At first he’d tried to curl up on it, but it wasn’t wide enough, leaving his knees unsupported. Not to mention just how stiff those knees were from being scrunched like that. So now he’d taken to just letting his legs dangle off the end, hoping that the weird position didn’t give him blood clots or something. If he had a heart attack because of this, he was going to kill Felicity Sutherland in her pretty little sleep.

“Gracin, you okay? You’re moving a little funny,” Cullen said, standing on the sidelines as the players worked on passing drills.

“Fine. My back’s just bothering me,” Gunnar grumbled, reaching around and rubbing a spot just below his ribs. “That fucking couch.”

“Couch? She has you sleeping on the couch?” Cullen asked. Gunnar could tell he was holding back a laugh, and it made him want to punch his former teammate.

“Did you think we were all snuggled up in bed?”

“I envisioned it more like there was a chastity wall of pillows between you two, with one of you under the covers and the other on top.” Cullen burst out into laughter as he said this, apparently unable to hold back. Gunnar glared at him, which only seemed to make him laugh harder. “Or what was the stupid movie you made me watch where they sewed Heath Ledger into a potato sack?”

“The Patriot,” he answered. “And right about now I’d take that damned potato sack over the couch.”

“Have one of the trainers see if they can work on you,” Cullen suggested. “Or better yet, take a bath.”

“I’m not taking a bath. I know you’re into the girly shit, but I draw the line at that.”

“Trust me, a soak is the best way to relax those muscles. It’s no different than the whirlpools in the training room. Well, that’s not true—you get to be naked when doing it at home.”

Gunnar just stared at his buddy, who gave him a simple shrug in return. It was a well-known fact among their teammates that Cullen liked his bubble baths. Yes, it was a bit of a strange habit for a dude, but since it was the famous Cullen Cruz, arguably one of the best football players ever, no one dared say anything about it. He made an excellent point, though. The hot water would be good to help the muscles in his back relax. And he’d have the privacy of the hotel bathroom, so it’s not like anyone would know that he was taking a bath. What could it hurt?

When they finally got back to the hotel, Gunnar was more than ready to give this bath thing a try. Standing all day had pushed him over an edge, and at this point it didn’t matter if he’d have to do this in front of God and everyone, as long as it helped with the pain. Grabbing a bottle of the Bellina Cabernet Sauvignon that the bartender recommended, he made his way up to the room, ecstatic to find that Felicity wasn’t there. He had no idea where she was, since he hadn’t seen her since breakfast, but he didn’t care. As long as he had peace and quiet, that was all that mattered.

He poured himself a full glass of wine as the water filled the tub. He knew there was some kind of bubble bath that Cullen really liked, and it occurred to him that maybe he should have asked his buddy if he had some with him. Knowing Cullen, he probably did, since he rarely traveled without it. But he dismissed the thought just as quickly. He didn’t need to admit that he was making an event out of this.

“Here goes nothing,” he said to himself once the tub was full.

Climbing in, it took him a moment to get situated, lowering himself and trying to get as much of himself under the water as possible. He was at a bit of a weird angle, with his long legs scrunched much like they were on the couch. The tub wasn’t as deep as it had looked now that he was sitting in it, and he wasn’t sure that this was going to work.

“This cannot be right,” he muttered, trying to maneuver around the tight space. How the hell did Cullen make this work?

Grabbing his wine glass, he took a large gulp, shimmying his way down farther, working to angle himself just right so that the majority of his back was submerged. When he finally was able to rest his head against the back of the tub, lifting his legs and perching them on the shower wall above the spout at an almost ninety-degree angle, he finally felt like he could relax. The hot water was soothing against his skin, like it knew that this was just what he needed.

Gunnar had no idea how long he spent sitting like this, but what he did know was that his back was finally starting to feel better. And his wine glass was empty. Glancing at his hands, he noticed that his fingers had turned all pruny. That was probably a sign that it was time to get out. Setting his glass on the side of the tub, he tried to shift himself into a sitting position. Except his lower body didn’t move. Water splashed over the side of the tub, and he hoped that none of it hit his phone that was sitting on the floor. He tried again, but he couldn’t budge. His hips were wedged right up against the walls of the tub, without any kind of wiggle room.

“Fuck!” he cursed, trying to move even the slightest bit. Nothing.

He was stuck.

This is not happening. I am not fucking stuck in the bathtub…

What now? How did one get unstuck from the bathtub? Maybe if he drained the tub that would help. Except he couldn’t reach the drain from this position. He was going to require help. But who exactly did you call in this kind of situation?

Cullen.

He was the one who put him up to this, so he was the one who was going to get him out. Reaching over the side of the tub, he felt for his phone, thankful in this moment for his long arms. Finally getting a grasp on the device, he unlocked it and dialed his old teammate. The phone rang and rang, before voicemail picked up. Shit. He was not leaving this on a message. Bad enough he’d never live it down, he wasn’t going to leave audio evidence. Moving on to Cowboy, he got the same result—voicemail.

Fuuuuuck, he thought, not sure what to do next. Trying to shift again, hoping something—anything—had changed, only resulted in more water sloshing over the side, drenching the bathmat he’d laid out.

He could try Dalton, but he wasn’t sure that he really wanted his boss to see him like this. He was a nice enough guy, but Gunnar figured it wasn’t going to go over well if he had to call his employer to rescue him from the bathtub. Besides, he was pretty sure Dalton had said something about dinner plans. Shit, that’s where Cullen was. He and Leona were having dinner with Dalton and Zara. Which means that even if he had left Cullen a message, it would be hours before he got it. Gunnar did not have hours to be stuck like this.

“Anya, I can hear you laughing. But, if you could also maybe come up with a way to get me out of this, I would greatly appreciate it,” he said out loud. “We can laugh later, once I’ve kicked the shit out of Cruz for ever suggesting a bath.”

Just when he was sure that there was no other option than calling 911, he heard the door to the hotel room open and slam shut. Shit. Felicity. She was the last person on earth that he wanted to see him like this. Hell, he’d rather it be all over the Internet than have to ask her for help. But she was going to need the bathroom sooner or later, and he needed to get the fuck out of this tub.