Keeping Casey (Keeping Him #1) - Amy Aislin Page 0,2
took it back once Laura was out of her dress-up phase.”
“He also still has the Cowardly Lion onesie that he stole from the props room after your final performance,” April said.
“Oh, I know.” Casey shot Ethan a fond look.
“Fuck you both. It’s warm,” Ethan grumbled.
Laughing, April stood and shrugged on her backpack. “I’m getting something to eat. Either of you want anything?”
“I’m good, thanks,” he said. “I’m heading to the athletics facility for a swim before practice.”
“And I’m heading to Club Meet Day at the Student Union,” Casey added.
April waved and headed for the food counter with a “See you later, then” thrown over her shoulder.
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to swim after practice?” Casey asked.
“Yeah, but the pool is closed by the time practice ends,” Ethan told him. Hauling his backpack onto his lap from where it lay at his feet, he dug out his evening meds and downed them with the last of the water from his bottle. “Don’t you have that information session tonight?”
“Yeah, but it’s in, like, an hour. I’ll head over after I scope out the clubs.”
“Which club are you joining?”
“Not sure yet.” Tray in one hand, Casey stood, fitting the strap of his messenger bag over one shoulder. Ethan grabbed his gear bag and his backpack and followed him to the trash bin. “I made a list of the booths I want to visit.”
Shocker. “Is it laminated?”
Casey flipped him off and kept talking as though there’d never been a break in the conversation. “But there’s, like, fifty clubs to choose from. Everything from an animal liberation club to beekeeping to calligraphy.”
“Hmm.” Ethan led the way out of the cafeteria and into the mid-September evening. The sun had dipped behind the nearest buildings, casting shadows across the quad. The campus quad was lush and green, leafy trees providing shaded areas of study, and paved paths crisscrossed in multiple directions. “None of those sound like you.”
“No. They sound like they’re for someone who wears socks with sandals,” Casey teased, bumping their shoulders.
Ethan glanced down at his footwear. “It was a little too chilly for bare feet.”
“Running shoes?”
“It was too warm for them,” Ethan mumbled, acutely aware of Casey’s laughter and how it made his stomach bounce.
“Honestly.” Chuckling, Casey threw an arm around Ethan’s shoulders. At their matching heights of six feet, it was easy for him. “You’re still the nerdiest jock I’ve ever met.”
His arm was a solid and comforting weight on Ethan’s shoulders, and Ethan silently cursed the fork in the path that would take Casey to the Student Union in one direction and Ethan to the athletics facility in another.
“See you tomorrow?” he said, moving away from Casey before he did something stupid like kiss his nose.
“Yeah.” Casey turned to walk backward. “Have a good practice. Stay safe.” His parting words for the last five years.
Ethan said, “Always,” and headed for practice.
As a freshman, Casey probably didn’t need to be thinking ahead to grad school so soon. At this point, he didn’t even know if it was something he’d need. But it didn’t hurt to plan for every contingency—hence signing up for a club. It would look good on any future grad school applications, right?
Glen Hill College might be a small school in a small town in Glen Hill, Vermont, roughly twenty minutes south of Montpelier that wasn’t on any bus routes or tourist maps, but its varsity teams were top-notch and its school spirit was unparalleled.
The Student Union was Casey’s favorite place on campus. First, there was the Café Bar, a combination eatery/pub and hangout spot that made the best three-cheese artichoke dip ever. There was also parcel pickup; the GH Bookstore; a small convenience store that sold everything from Post-its to notebooks to canned pasta sauce to milk to condoms; offices for emergency response, campus police, the student-run GH Arrive Alive program, and various other programs and services; The Bean Bag, for the students’ coffee-related needs; a tutoring center; and other odds and ends he’d yet had the time to explore.
In the center of the Union was an open space usually filled with tables and chairs that was more often than not used as a study hall of sorts. Today, it had been taken over by rows of tables staffed by excitable students pimping their club activities.
As he eyed the tables set up in neat rows, he rubbed his hands together, a thrill thrumming through his bones. In the two years since high school graduation, he’d missed being part of a group