Page 18 of A Quarterback for Christmas

“Always so aggressive, B. It’s fine if you can do it yourself. Don’t worry; I wasn’t offering to wipe your ass or anything. I was just offering you my bathroom since I have a walk-in shower, and it might be easier than the main one down here with your boot.” His knee knocks mine under the counter in a friendly gesture, one that I have a hard time accepting.

“I’ll be fine with the main shower. I’d rather not go into your room, thanks. Knowing you, you’ll probably lock me in there and steam me to death or something.”

Drew smiles and shakes his head. “Don’t give me ideas, B. But that’s not a problem. Good luck with showering in the tub.”

“Don’t need it. I’ll be fine.”

I can do this.

I can do this.

I wipe the sweat from my brow and blow out a long, exasperated breath. Sitting on the edge of the bath, I let the cool tub calm my heated skin. After spending thirty minutes and exerting a bucket's worth of sweat to get this baggy over my cast, I’m almost too tired to actually take this shower, but I need one, and the idea of the hot water flowing over my aching muscles sounds nice.

After a few more breaths, I hop onto my good foot and stare at the bathtub. The lip of the bath comes up to my knees, and I’m deeply regretting rejecting Drew’s offer. I’m just too stubborn for my own good sometimes.

“Come on, Bella,” I whisper to myself. “You’re athletic and young. You can get into this damn tub.” Shaking my hands and neck, I hold on to the towel rail at the back of the bathtub cubicle and swing my broken foot over the tub, hoping for the best.

“Fuck,” I scream, grabbing onto the shower curtain because I didn’t consider the weight of the cast, and lose my balance. Ring by ring, the curtain fails to hold me up, and I fall to my slow and painful demise.

My head bangs against the faucet, and a searing, sharp pain shoots through my brain. “Ow. Ow. Ow.”

The shower pole comes along with the curtain, falling right between my legs, so close to my vagina that I’m lucky it’s still there.

With my breath caught in my throat, a sprinkling of water from the shower head hits my face, and even though there is a very real possibility that I could drown, I don’t move. Mainly because I can’t. The weight of the cast is too heavy, and I’m afraid I might be suffering from a mild concussion.

With all the strength I can muster, I throw the shower pole out of the bath, leaving my non-broken leg dangling out of the tub while my casted one is still stuck inside.

I look from the cast to the bath ledge, mentally calculating how much strength I need to get out of here.

One breath. Two breaths and three internal pep talks later, I’m ready to try to get out of this mess.

Just as I lift my leg, the cool whoosh of the door draws my attention.

“Are you okay?”

No. No. No.

My blood turns cold.

This can’t be happening.

The door bangs open, and I hear his feet stop on the tile. I know he’s here and looking, without having to open my eyes.

“I’M NAKED, DREW!” I scream, trying to cover myself with the shower curtain, but failing miserably because it’s see-through. So despite covering myself, he can see everything – it’s just smushed against the plastic fabric.

The cool breeze hits my center, and I try to close my legs, but it’s futile. They’re wide open, and I’m on display like I’m a piece of meat at the butchers.

Drew throws a fluffy white towel in my direction, which lands directly on my face. “I’m sorry,” he grits while I get waterboarded for my crimes against football. “It sounded like you were trying to commit suicide in here, and if I’m being honest, I’m still not sure if you are.”

Grunting, I remove the wet towel from my face and push the shower curtain aside. Death might be a good option right now. It would save me the embarrassment of speaking to Drew after this. In all his haste, he seems to have at least turned around to offer me some privacy. “If I were going to kill myself, I would have done it in a better place than your guest bathroom.”

Drew peeks over his shoulder. “Are you decent yet?”

“As decent as I’ll ever be.” With a wet towel draped over my body, I’ve come to the pitiful conclusion that the only way I’m getting out of this bath alive is if Drew gets me out of it.

“Let me help.” When he turns, he turns the shower off, looking anywhere but at me. His cheeks are a little flushed, so at least I’m not the only one who’s embarrassed about his little intrusion.

I open my arms to him, eagerly awaiting his help to end this whole thing. Drew places his hands on my bare back and legs, and I feel a little queasy, thinking about everything he just saw, but he continues to act as though nothing happened. Something I’ll be forever thankful for, even if I never tell him.

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