Anton

Mia’s bare shoulder is soft and warm beneath my lips. She moans into my ear, sending a shockwave of arousal that hits every nerve ending in my body.

I’m so damn hard. I ache with frustration and desire for this woman. And even though I know this can’t be real, I let myself live out this dream, clinging to every shred my subconscious comes up with.

“Anton,” Mia says, her voice soft and distant. “I want you.”

I want to smell her, taste her, lay eyes on her perfect, naked skin, but the dream won’t give me any of those details. The thick weight between my thighs tells me this is enough, though.

“Anton! I need to take a piss!”

The dream ends abruptly when Uncle Dix summons me.

“Fuck,” I grumble. “I’m coming, okay?”

Not in the way I want, of course. My hard-on is the only part of the dream that was real, and I’d love to linger in bed and imagine the end of my dream, getting satisfaction the only way I have for almost three years now.

Instead, I have to start this day at 4:20 a.m. by helping my cranky uncle out of bed and into his wheelchair.

“Why don’t you just use the bedpan and go back to sleep?” I mumble.

His groan is dismissive. “Ah, fuck that thing. I can’t get my piss in there. I have to bend my dick over the edge and piss runs all over me. It’s not a damn garden hose.”

I exhale deeply. “Okay, no big deal. I was gonna get up at five anyway.”

I take him into my bathroom, pull his pants down and lower him onto the toilet seat, grabbing my toothbrush.

“Can you get the hell out, Anton?” he barks. “Give a man a little bit of privacy, would ya?”

“I shower with men every day; this is nothing. It’s not like I’m watching you piss.”

“Get the fuck out, sonny!” Uncle Dix waves toward the door with his good hand. “I can’t go with you right there. Go start some breakfast, or are you planning to starve me again today?”

Rolling my eyes, I grab my toothbrush and toothpaste and leave the bathroom.

“I didn’t starve you; I just refused to give you beer and pizza for dinner,” I say over my shoulder.

“That turkey burger smelled like you took a big shit on a plate!” Uncle Dix grouses. “It’s a hell of a note, treating an old man this way. Can’t even get a decent meal.”

I sigh heavily, knowing it’s a waste of time to argue with him. I pad into the kitchen in the darkness and reach for the coffee canister, just getting the lid off when he yells again.

“Anton! You just gonna leave me sitting on the pot ‘til I die in here?”

I’m gonna kill the old bastard. This new setup is stressing me the fuck out. Since Marjorie left, I’m taking care of Uncle Dix all the time when I’m home. I talked to the manager of my high-end apartment complex about getting some emergency help while I’m working until the nursing agency finds a new nurse. Doormen from my building are taking rotating shifts with Uncle Dix for me, and I’m paying them very well for it. They aren’t nurses, but all he really needs is a babysitter to keep him in line.

I get Uncle Dix from the bathroom, pull his pants back up and try to help him wash his hands, but as always, he refuses.

“My own germs aren’t gonna hurt me, you snowflake,” he snaps.

He’s unbearable. I don’t know how any of the nurses lasted as long as they did.

I get the lights on and settle him into his favorite recliner with the tablet he likes to use, then help him get his glasses on.

“The Comets lost again,” he says as I’m starting the coffeemaker in the kitchen. “Alexei better get his shit together.”

“They still have a good standing in the league,” I say.

My automatic response is always to defend my brother. I can call him on his bullshit, but I don’t like other people doing it.

“He needs to get his thumb out of his ass,” Uncle Dix says, disgusted.

“Why don’t you call him and talk to him about it?” I suggest. “He was just telling me he’s hurt that you never call him.”

“Alexei?” Uncle Dix sounds shocked.

“Yeah. Don’t tell him I told you, though, he’d be pissed. He said he loves the way you call it like you see it.”

“Huh. Guess I’ll call him later.”

I’m celebrating inside. Alexei didn’t really say that, but he deserves a nice long phone call with our uncle after what I’ve been dealing with. Uncle Dix will criticize his game, his life choices and even his hair in ten minutes or less.

“We’re having oatmeal with fruit today,” I say as I set a mug of coffee on the table beside his chair.

I found him a Yeti mug with a lid that has a slot to drink out of, because he sometimes spills coffee on himself.

“What the fuck is this?” he demands when he sees it. “A goddamned sippy cup?”

“It’s to help you not spill it, you grouchy bastard.”

He peers at me over the lenses of his glasses. “Anton, I already need help wiping my ass, now I can’t even drink coffee out of a normal goddamn coffee mug?”

“You want a regular mug?” I reach for the new cup. “I’ll get you one, but don’t come crying to me when you spill it.”

He gives me his trademark groan of disdain. “This one’s fine, just go make my breakfast.”

That’s as close as I’ll get to “thanks” from him. I go back to the kitchen and start the oatmeal, pulling up my workout for today on the tablet I keep on my kitchen counter.

It’s back and shoulders day. I’m looking forward to my workout more than usual. I’m very much about my routines, and taking care of Uncle Dix has thrown my sleeping schedule off kilter.

It was off kilter before, when I was picking up Mia on nights I was in town, but I had no regrets. Seeing her for a few minutes was worth giving up sleep. But I haven’t seen or spoken to her in almost two weeks, since she texted me and told me not to come that night.

I don’t want to ask the doormen to come cover me any more than I have to, and I’d feel guilty as fuck if I came home at almost 3:00 a.m. after taking Mia home. Then they’d know I was out doing something personal.

I miss her, though. Even though I didn’t spend a lot of time with her, I felt myself falling for her with every second. Making her smile lit me up in every way. I knew she was compassionate and gorgeous before, but now I know she’s so much more. She’s strong and savvy. Hard-working.

It stung when she told me not to pick her up that night. I was only trying to be a friend to her. I’m pretty sure I was her only one, too, and she still didn’t want me around.

She’s married. To my teammate. And those are both lines I can’t cross. Of all the women in the world I could burn night and day for, why Mia Marceau?

“Anton!” Uncle Dix yells. “I gotta take a shit!”

I shake my head, forced back into my new reality. I can’t fucking wait for the doorman to get here at 5:30.

On my way home from practice later in the morning, I can’t help changing my route home. I park across the street from Mia’s building, seeing it in the daylight for the first time.

I don’t even know which one she lives in, so it’s not like I can knock on the building door. And if she walks out, she’ll think I’m stalking her or something.

My urge to sit on the front steps and wait for her is strong. But I have to get back to Uncle Dix, so instead, I take out my phone and text her.

Me: I’m always here if you need me.

As I pull away from the curb, I can’t believe how much I want her to text me back.

I’ve got it bad for Mia. And though I can’t act on my feelings for her, they’re always present, coursing through my veins every minute of the day.

If only I’d met her before Adam did.