Keeping Casey (Keeping Him #1) - Amy Aislin Page 0,10
to shoulder, thigh to thigh. Holding up one arm, he sighed when Casey placed his palm against his, goosebumps pimpling his forearm when Casey ran a thumb over his wrist.
“Okay?”
Guess Ethan hadn’t been as discreet as he’d thought. Turning his head, he traced Casey’s profile, charmed by the hair curling over his ear. “Okay.”
They stayed that way, palms pressed together, decompressing in each other’s silent, familiar company until they fell asleep, waking only once when Jasper returned and let the door slam closed behind him. Divesting themselves of their pants, they snuggled under the blanket and went back to sleep, neither of them caring that they had to wrap themselves around each other to fit on the bed.
Chapter Three
Casey didn’t often find anything of historical or cultural interest at garage sales. For the most part, it was old toys and games, handbags and shoes, books, workout equipment, gently used clothing, tools, furniture, and costume jewelry. He kept seeking them out, though, because sometimes he found gems on the cheap, like his and Jasper’s bench seat, little coffee table, and bean bag chairs in what they’d affectionately started calling their “salon.”
Or, once, a long time ago, the coin he now wore on a chain around his neck. Digging into its history with his dad was what had sparked his interest in old things, where previously he couldn’t have cared less, no matter how often Dad dragged him antiquing.
He eyed a hot plate. That’d be handy to have in his dorm. Sadly, the dorms didn’t allow cooking appliances. Leaving it, he searched for Ethan, finding him perusing a table of books.
“Anything?” Casey asked, bumping their shoulders.
Ethan dropped a well-loved copy of Wuthering Heights onto the table. “Nope. You?”
“Nothing. What about over there?” Casey jerked his chin at a nearby table holding a vintage sewing machine and all sorts of fabric and sewing tools. Sometimes Ethan found craft supplies at these things.
“No luck. Want to head back to Glen Hill?”
After Ethan’s weekly Saturday morning swim, they’d driven thirty minutes to Barre for the garage sale. Three garage sales, actually, this being their last for the day.
As Ethan took scenic country roads back to Glen Hill, Casey shoved his sunglasses to the top of his head and turned to look into the backseat. “Not the greatest haul.” A couple of thrillers and some yarn for Ethan. Two brand new and unused notebooks for Casey. Turning back around, he said, “What are you going to make with the pink yarn?”
Rubbing his jaw, Ethan slowed for a wide bend in the road. “Maybe an octopus for Laura.”
True, Ethan’s twelve-year-old sister was currently obsessed with sea creatures.
Casey lowered his window, the warm wind caressing his face, his hair. Outside, the landscape was lush, green grass on one side of the road and tall, leafy trees on the other. The air smelled like sunshine and summer, the type of fresh and clean that was only found in the country. And, although he couldn’t see them, there was an underlying stench of cow.
Elbow on the windowsill, Casey extended his forearm, letting the wind sift through his fingers. “Reminds you of home, doesn’t it?” Once you escaped the touristy area that was downtown Lighthouse Bay, it, too, was all green fields and tall trees.
Ethan’s smile was soft. “Yeah. It does.”
With the sunglasses and the muscles straining his T-shirt and the short, brown hair several shades lighter than Casey’s own chestnut, Ethan kind of looked like a badass. It was funny because Ethan was as much of a badass as the little hootie he’d gifted Casey with just two days ago. Not to say that he was soft, or a pushover, or didn’t speak his mind. He wasn’t any of that. He just liked what he liked in his quiet, unassuming way and didn’t particularly care what other people thought about it. A needle felting addict in a six-foot, one hundred and ninety-pound, hockey-playing package.
Unable to do anything else, Casey reached across the console and cupped the back of Ethan’s neck, his hair soft against his fingers. If he had to fight the urge to lean over and kiss Ethan’s cheek too, that was nobody’s business but his own.
“Thanks for coming with me today.”
This time, Ethan’s soft smile was for Casey and Casey alone. “Anytime. You know that.”
The words settled something in Casey’s chest that had been anxious and fidgety ever since they’d arrived in Vermont. It was a self-conscious something that tried to convince Casey that Ethan would make new