Keeping Casey (Keeping Him #1) - Amy Aislin Page 0,40

frowning at the undercurrent of tension in Ethan’s voice.

“Fake boyfriends.”

Straightening, Casey stared at him, half his face bright from the outside light over the kitchen door, the other half in shadow. “You want to fake break up already?” He squared his shoulders, forcing them not to sink. “Is Britton finally off your back? Shall we stage something public and dramatic?” He forced cheer into his voice when all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and sleep. “Should we do it now to the tune of ‘I Put A Spell On You’?” The song from “Hocus Pocus” was muffled through the closed kitchen door, yet easily recognizable. And oddly appropriate—Ethan had put a spell on him a long time ago.

“What? No. How would that work anyway when we’re still friends after? Britton would catch on that something’s up.”

“Hm. Good point.”

“And that’s not what I meant anyway.”

“What did you mean?”

“I meant . . .” Ethan shoved his hands in his back pockets, a hint of color darkening his cheeks. “I meant what if we were . . . real boyfriends. And not . . .” He swallowed hard. “Not fake boyfriends.”

Casey did the absolute wrong thing—he laughed.

Not in a mean way. More of a ha-ha, yeah right, good one. Because in no version of this universe did he think Ethan was serious.

Until Ethan’s entire body wilted, his expression folding in on itself. Had Casey blanketed the sun, the effect wouldn’t have been as heartbreaking. Taking a step back out of Casey’s personal space, Ethan blinked, gaze on his feet.

“Wait. You were seri—”

“No,” Ethan interrupted hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “No, I wasn’t . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

Except he had. It was written all over his face. Holy shit, he was serious. He wanted them to be . . . to be . . .

And Casey had shit on his feelings. He might as well have punched Ethan in the ’nads for all the pain he seemed to be in. What little color had been on his face had fled, leaving him waxen and slumped under the night sky.

Casey’s heart beat too fast, making his head swim. He took a step closer, stomach sinking to his toes when Ethan jerked away. “Ethan, I—”

“Yo, Ethan.” The door slid open and one of Ethan’s teammates poked his head out. That might’ve been a good thing given Casey had no idea what he wanted to say. “The people from Arrive Alive won’t be here for another thirty minutes and we have a hurling freshman who needs a lift back to campus. You coming?”

“Yeah, I’m . . .”

Wait, he was leaving? Now? Casey’s breathing came in small pants, too small to fill the gaping hole he’d wrenched between himself and his best friend. His gaze swung from Ethan to his waiting teammate, prepared to beg Ethan for just one more minute so they could talk.

But with one last glance at Casey’s face, like Ethan was trying to memorize him, like he thought he’d never see him again, Ethan turned and went inside.

Leaving Casey alone, the only sound the muffled music from the lounge and the pained gasps wheezing from his throat.

Chapter Eleven

After his third drop-off of the night, Ethan sat in his car and thunked his forehead against the steering wheel.

Whenever the House threw a party, one of the guys was supposed to remain sober in case the student-run Arrive Alive program was too busy to chauffeur students back to campus or to their off-campus housing. They hadn’t been too busy for the House’s first two parties, but tonight? On Halloween? When there were parties everywhere? Frats, sororities, Mama Jean’s, the dorms, even at the Student Union?

It was Ethan’s bad luck that he’d literally picked the short straw tonight. His car now smelled like stale beer and the sour taste of vomit. His last drop-off had thrown up into a plastic bag Ethan had grabbed from the kitchen just in case, yet the smell lingered. The cherry on his craptastic night.

It was too cold for it, but he lowered the windows anyway.

The street was silent. Not surprising given it was nearing three a.m. Hopefully by the time he got back to the House, the rest of the party will have dispersed, leaving him free to slip into bed and wish this day had never happened.

On his trips back to the House between drop-offs, he’d lost sight of Casey. Maybe that was for the best. Just thinking his name made