Keeping Casey (Keeping Him #1) - Amy Aislin Page 0,3

whose members had shared interests. In high school, he’d been part of the student council every year. At first, it’d been a distraction, a way to keep himself busy after Dad died. If he kept active, he wouldn’t have to dwell on the giant hole in his heart or the lack of a second parental figure at home.

Thing was, Casey had gotten so used to keeping busy that he’d sort of . . . never stopped. The longest he’d sat idle lately was on the three and a half-hour drive to GH from Lighthouse Bay with Ethan last month.

It was crowded in the Union as freshmen browsed the rows of clubs and chatted with members, picking up brochures and business cards or filling in registration forms. There were the typical clubs Casey had expected to see, like the theater troupe and the dance team and the debate team. Then there were various international clubs, enthusiast clubs, clubs for every offered major, and those associated with charitable organizations or hobbies or career development.

It wasn’t until he’d reached the end of the second row that Casey realized he was eyeing them with the notion that Ethan would be joining too. Except Ethan would be busy enough with hockey and schoolwork when he wasn’t in class. If he had a spare moment to even breathe in the next nine months, Casey would give him a medal.

He consulted the list on his phone, committing to memory the clubs he absolutely wanted to visit while he wandered. As he browsed, he paid more attention to what he would be interested in and not what Casey and Ethan would want to join. Often, they were one and the same. There were a few things, however, that Casey was into that Ethan was not, and vice versa.

Like DS3: The Data Science and Statistics Society. Casey wouldn’t join them on threat of death but Ethan would be all over it. He grabbed a brochure for him, just in case.

The tables were set out alphabetically, and since Casey was hovering somewhere between D and E, he headed to the Hs first.

The guy at the Historical Society handed him a pamphlet. “We’re dedicated to preserving and presenting GH’s history in an interesting and accessible manner.”

Sounded boring and not at all what Casey was looking for. He moved on.

“We’re open to anyone who’s taken or is currently taking a history class at GH,” said the bespectacled junior at the History Students’ Association.

Guess he didn’t qualify then. Maybe he should just join the Hiking Club and call it a day. There were plenty of trails in Glen Hill he wanted to explore.

He turned to head back to row A and— Ooh, a Folk Dance Club. He grabbed a flyer for Ethan. The man had two left feet when it came to dance, but this seemed like something he’d be into. Not that he’d have the time for it, but he’d certainly get a kick out of it.

In the As, he finally found what he was looking for: the Archeology Club.

“We meet weekly on Wednesdays at five.” The student manning the table held a clipboard in one hand and had a button that read Archeologists will date any old thing pinned to her GH-branded, long-sleeved T-shirt.

Casey liked her already. “Can I have a button?”

“Yes! Here.” She thrust a basket at him. “We also have An archeologist’s life is always in ruins, Archeology research is groundbreaking, and I dig you.”

Grinning, Casey took one of each. “How do I join?”

“I haven’t told you what we’re about yet.”

“Don’t care. Where do I sign up?”

She laughed, squeezing his forearm. She was cute—in a button-nose kind of way—and had he met her anytime in the past two years when Ethan was in Ohio playing for the juniors, he might’ve made a pass. But Ethan was back in his life full-time now and that made every mushy, romantic feeling Casey had for him take too much space in his brain, making it impossible for him to be attracted to anyone else.

“At least let me tell you my spiel that I worked so hard on. You an archeology major?”

“Yeah,” Casey said, pocketing his buttons. “You?”

“Classical studies with a minor in anthropology. But I have an interest in archeology.”

Running a thumb over the old coin on a chain around his neck, he smiled softly. “Me too.” He stuck out a hand. “I’m Casey.”

“Erica. So, like I said, we meet Wednesdays at five. Here.” She picked up a flyer from the dwindling