The Ritual

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

                My bedroom—or should I say my side of the bedroom—was starting to look up. I had put on my sheets and my comforter—a beautiful silk lavender comforter with velvet swirls on it—and added my black diamond lamp onto the dresser. I spread my rug on the floor, which had a really pretty design of birds and trees and things like that, and I had taken down the thick, dusty, old velvet canopy that had basically been suffocating the entire bed.

                All of the little things—pictures, wall hangings, et cetera et cetera—were in their proper places, and I had put all of my clothes and things in my dressers and closet. So now, I suppose, would be the time to explore—my favorite pastime—the college.

                I walked out of the room and proceeded down the hallway. I got about five steps before I heard, “Incoming!” and got rammed into by something tall, muscular and smelling vaguely of mint and a lot of heated testosterone. The dude was seriously sweating.

                I blinked and looked up into the face of a supermodel. No, seriously. He had perfectly toned, flawless skin, high cheekbones, arctic blue eyes, and raven black hair. The eyes and hair seriously contrasted, but somehow he made it work. He had broad shoulders, long legs, and arms that were well-muscled but not to the point of being gross, because I can’t handle guys with too much muscle. But this guy, he had just the right amount.

                He seemed shocked to see me, although I couldn’t see why. I mean, he rammed into me. Suddenly, though, he seemed to regain his composure, and smiled a million dollar, mega watt smile at me. I felt my face heat up.

                “I am so sorry,” He said, holding out his hand. I took it, and he pulled me up. He had an American accent, and his voice was deep and commanding, yet somehow gentle, too. I noticed that he was wearing skates and a hockey shirt, and had a hockey stick in his right hand. A group of tall guys in matching uniform were standing some yards behind him, right at the curve of the hallway. Hm. Didn’t have to guess what he was doing.

                “Oh, that’s fine,” I said softly, smoothing my—somewhat battered, I didn’t realize until standing so close to this sex god—faded Pink Floyd t-shirt that used to be my mom’s. You could roast a marshmallow from all the heat coming off of my face. “I should have been watching where I was going, so—”

                “No, it was me,” He insisted, interrupting me. “I guess that’s what I get, though, hm? For going against the rules, doing sports in the hallways? At least the girl I ran into was beautiful, though. So that part wasn’t really a punishment.” He flashed me that smile again.

                Okay. I wasn’t really going to argue with such a valid point, now was I? “Um, yeah,” I said. Good Lord, what was wrong with me? Usually I’m really easy-going with people, but with this guy I was getting majorly tongue-tied. I regained some of my composure and held out my hand. “I’m Edie. Formally known as Etienne Barnes.”

                Gorgeous guy shook it, and tilted his head at me in this really adorable way. “Logan Forrester. Nice to meet you.” One side of his mouth lifted in this cocky half-smile, and I felt my legs turn to the equivalent of Jell-O.

                “So,” he said, “you’re new here, right?”

                “How could you tell?” I joked. He smiled.

                “I’m a junior. I could show you around sometime. You know, help you learn the ropes.” He made a gesture with his arms, like he was pulling a rope down from a ship or something. I watched the muscles in his arms flex and release as he clenched and unclenched his fists, and my heart raced at a pace that I was sure was not normal.