Stick to Me (New York Raptors #1)

1. The view isn’t half bad from here.

1

"The view isn’t half bad from here."

Marissa Martin

He's half naked again. Strutting from his bedroom to the kitchen wearing nothing but his boxer shorts.

Why does he have to be so confident in his body? Can't he have insecurities like the rest of us?

I force myself to avert my gaze. Aaron Miles will be the end of me.

Even if I’ve seen it all plenty of times throughout our fifteen years of friendship, I’ll never get used to it. One day, I'll succumb. I just know it. On my tombstone, they'll write “Death by prolonged exposure to incredible abs and muscles.”

“Oh, hey, Martin,” Aaron says, grabbing a carton of eggs from the fridge. “Thought you left for work already.”

I stand up from the couch, where I was curled up reading the perfect enemies-to-lovers book. The kind that’s so good, you get up just a few minutes earlier to sneak in a chapter. “Beth is opening today, but I’m leaving soon. I wanted to wait until you woke up in case I could grab some of your amazing pancakes before I go.”

He chuckles, the low rumble filling the space. “Coming right up.”

Yeah, in addition to his incredible figure, Aaron is an excellent cook—which makes him an even better friend and roommate. He could always eat at the arena like the rest of the guys, but he claims he prefers cooking his own breakfast. And who am I to say otherwise?

I perch at the kitchen counter, pretending I’m not shamelessly ogling him. But to be fair, a sneak peek is my only option when it comes to Aaron. We’ve been friends forever, and that’s all we’ll ever be. I had the guts to put myself out there in high school, asking him to prom, but he turned me down. Since then, I’ve made peace with us being just friends. It was a stroke of luck that our friendship survived that embarrassing moment. Sure, it’s not always easy, between the “pro hock ey player” effect and the “absolutely perfect, no catch” effect, but I eventually came to terms with being on the sidelines. I had to.

Plus, the view isn’t half bad from here.

“There you go,” he says, sliding a plate in front of me. “A stack of buttermilk pancakes, fluffy, just the way you like them. I’ll let you drizzle the syrup yourself so you can put just the right amount. I don’t want another Pancake House-gate situation.”

Cocking my head, I give him a pointed look. “I was ten! And there was way too much syrup on that plate. It was disgusting.”

He laughs, the warm sound filling the room. “I know. Everybody in that restaurant did. Why do you think breakfast places let you add your own syrup now?”

I giggle, drizzling syrup on my pancake. “Proud to have been a catalyst for change,” I say, and he grins. “Anyway, is your hand okay?” I ask between bites. Aaron took a hit during the last game.

“It’s fine.” He flexes his hand a few times. “I’ll work on it some more this morning, but I think Coach will let me play tonight.”

“Good.” I nod, knowing how important that is to him.

“I’m actually heading to the arena early today. Adler is doing drills with me.”

“Are you still coming to lunch with Dad and me?” I ask, finishing my plate.

His deep brown eyes shine with a smile. “Of course. I can’t exactly blow off the coach, right?”

I chuckle, placing both our plates in the dishwasher. “Well, I’m off. See you later?”

“So, you really just used me for my cooking skills, huh?” He sighs, running a hand over his military haircut.

“Absolutely.” I flash a big smile before wrapping him in a swift hug. Don’t want to linger too long when his muscles are so exposed.

He’s still chuckling when I exit the large kitchen, and it takes everything in me not to go back and spend time with him. Alas, we are adults now and expected at work. Not that I mind it. When you’re a business owner, it’s totally different.

I put my boots and coat on, ready to face Brooklyn’s biting February temperatures. Thankfully, it’s only a fifteen-minute walk to Warlington Lane, the small pedestrian street where my coffee shop is located. That’s one reason why I’m still living with my best friend when the arrangement was only supposed to be for a few months. My initial plan was to live on my own for the first time, but once you’ve experienced the luxury amenities that Aaron’s place has to offer—including a hot tub on the balcony—every other option kind of sucks. Plus, no other apartment comes furnished with Aaron Miles—or lets you live rent-free, which is handy when you’ve poured all your savings into your business.

Our little street is now booming with new businesses. When my friend Beth and I bought the building last year, the street was still in development, and a third of the buildings were still unclaimed. Now, we have a handful of food outlets, a hairdresser, a florist, an art gallery, a clothing and accessories shop, a hockey bar, and of course, the Instagram-famous No Shelf Control bookstore, situated right across from us. One of the first businesses on the street, and a real boost for the rest of us.

The New York Raptors, the hockey team my dad coaches and Aaron plays for, actually helped renovate and promote the bookstore since one of the bookstore owners has a brother on the team. The Raptors also helped Beth and me when we set up shop, and they’ve made our little venture more successful than it would have been on its own.

Three customers are waiting in line when I enter the small but cozy space. The shop is decorated in white and beige, with bright wood paneling and a few Raptors banners. But my favorite part of the decor is the giant frame packed with thousands of coffee beans hanging right behind the counter with our shop’s name on it—Rise & Grind. The café isn’t big enough to accommodate a lot of eat-in customers, but we do have two round tables on the right.

“Good morning,” I say, recognizing two of our regulars. I step behind the counter and go wash my hands in the back room.

“Hey.” Beth flashes a bright smile, carrying a tray of freshly-baked cookies.

I tie my strawberry-blonde hair into a ponytail and tie my apron on to start working. Beth and I always take turns opening and closing, but we work together the rest of the time. Celia, Beth’s cousin, comes to help out when one of us is away for a few days.

I start brewing a new pot of our house blend, the star of our shop and what earned us the Best Coffee in Brooklyn Award from a renowned local magazine. It took us a lot of shopping around and numerous tastings to find the perfect beans for our coffee, but it was so worth it. Last summer, we even provided coffee for the entire crew of the Velvet Kisses movie that was produced on our street.

More customers stream in, and we’re too busy to chat this morning, but I love it. I never thought I’d manage to run a successful business with one of my best friends. After suffering in corporate America for two years, I’m glad I took the plunge. The amazing ladies across the street were a great inspiration and a big help too. Plus, it’s a great way to feel close to my mom, despite never having known her. She was a fantastic baker, and all our pastry recipes are either from her or Beth’s grandma. It’s like I have part of my mom with me every day. But it’s weird, I miss her even though I’ve never had her in my life. I just hope wherever she is, she can be proud of me.

“How was last night?” I ask Beth when we have some quiet time. She had a big talk with her on-and-off boyfriend.

She sighs, throwing a towel over her shoulder before applying some lip balm. “Good. He apologized, and I think we’re finally on the right track.”

I force a smile. “I’m glad.”

“No, you’re not.” She rolls her gray eyes, a chuckle escaping her.

“Okay. I’m not Lucas’s biggest fan, but the heart wants what it wants, right? I just wish he wasn’t a Shark, that’s all.” I laugh softly. Although that’s not the main reason why I’m not Team Lucas.

“Tell me about it. Every time he steps into the shop, he sees red. Literally and figuratively,” she says, her gaze falling on the Raptors banners hanging on the wall. We even have a small official merchandise table.

We both laugh. Beth dating a play er from the opposite team isn’t ideal, especially given the fierce rivalry between the two New York teams, but hockey doesn’t come between friends. Beth and I have known each other since college, and no guy will ever put an end to that. Still, my heart is with the Raptors. How could it not be? Two of the most important people in my life are part of that team.

“Oh, speaking of New York’s finest,” she mutters, glancing at the door.

Aaron and his teammate James Adler saunter into the coffee shop, bright smiles on their faces.

“Top of the morning to you, ladies,” James croons, his usual cheery tone warming the place.

“Hey,” I call, and Beth does the same, rolling her eyes. She’s not always a fan of James’s constant flirting.

“Can we grab two cups to go?” he asks, sitting on the stool. “Gotta run to practice and make sure this one is in shape for tonight.”

Aaron just shakes his head, handing me his bright pink tumbler. I smile as I take it and fill it with coffee. Aaron lost a bet against me last year, and now he has to proudly drink all his to-go coffee in his sparkly cup. But to be fair, he has enough masculinity in him to more than make up for the girly accessory.

“There you go. Can we tempt you with some freshly-baked goods? We just pulled a batch of chocolate chip cookies and blueberry muffins out of the oven.”

“Not now,” Aaron says, patting his strong stomach. “But I won’t say no after lunch.” He winks.

A smile pulls at my lips. “Fine. I’ll bring some for dessert.”

“So, are you coming to the game tonight, Elizabeth?” James asks as he leans on the counter, his deep blue eyes fixed on her.

“It’s Beth,” she shoots back, shaking her short blond hair. “And yes, I’m coming.”

“Wonderful.” He clasps his hands, his smile bright. “I’ll see you there.”

“Have fun at practice,” I say, waving at them. “And be careful,” I add to Aaron.

He flashes his signature killer smile. “I will.”

And just like that, I’m a dead woman. Or maybe just a masochist.