Page 10 of Ramsay

“Hey, Willow,” Patrick says with a sly grin, breaking me from my thoughts as he looks me up and down like a piece of meat.

I’m a fucking human being. Look me in the eye when you greet me. Dick.

“Hey,” I say with a finger wave, avoiding Sabrina’s sour look.

Beside her, Jensen’s eyes brighten before he licks his lips and I look away, shifting in my heels. I’m no stranger to asshole guys, but this one, there’s a wildness behind his eyes that raises the hair on my neck. He’s such a creepy fucker.

After a year, I can only guess that Sabrina tolerates him because of his status as her boyfriend, which solidifies her own because this is how it is in this cutthroat world of teenage drama. She craves the status only her peers can give her at the detriment of self-respect and common decency.

Still, she may hang off Jensen as a status symbol, but she doesn’t know that I know of her secret crush for Ramsay. I found her attempting and failing to flirt with him toward the end of last year. It was pathetic, to say the least, although deep down I know I’m not much better.

Ramsay barely spared her a glance, and when he did, it was to declare he’d rather fuck his grandmother’s French poodle than her. She laughed it off like it was a joke, but I spied the curl to her brow as she flounced away. Meanwhile, I came away with a new tidbit of information.

Unfortunately, I don’t know how I can use it. I have no proof, and I’m sure Ramsay wouldn’t care enough to confirm her pathetic attempts either way. But I’ve been holding the information close since then, knowing there may come a time when I need it.

Sabrina is never happy in her position unless she’s bringing people down, and it's only a matter of time before it's me.

Tonight, she’s dressed in a gorgeous deep red sheath that hugs her curves and showcases her cleavage, with her hair, and makeup equally on point. Frankly, she looks like she’s headed for an awards show, but to her credit, it’s impressive, if overdone.

Hailey looks sweet in a bronze-colored satin number, which matches her skin tone and ends at her knees. Her dark hair and eyes shine in the low light, and she gives me a friendly grin, which I return before she takes off for the dance floor with her date.

Maxie is already out there, snuggled up to Diesel, the football player whose house we partied at over the weekend. Of all of them, she’s the one to watch out for because she craves popularity so severely, she’ll perform for Sabrina no matter the sleazy request.

I’m pretty sure she’s fucked half the team as a result and the sad part is, she’ll never be more than Sabrina’s lackey, because to make her more would be a direct threat that Sabrina is far too paranoid to allow.

Hoping to avoid her, I reluctantly agree to dance with Patrick and lose myself to the music while he grinds against me from behind.

It’s tolerable if I close my eyes and pretend that I’m somewhere else with someone else. Would the ice-cold Ramsay snuggle up to me with his dirty words? Maybe under the thin veneer of civility, the one he hides behind so easily, he’s a beast on the dance floor?

The song fades to a slow melody, and I sigh, turning into Patrick’s arms. He wraps me up tight and proceeds to rub his erection against my stomach. This guy’s a real Romeo, eh?

“You look fuck hot tonight, Will. I’d like to see what you have under this dress,” he says, touching the fabric.

His fingers brush my neck and I turn my head to hide my grimace, pausing when I spy the Sinners against the far wall. Ramsay wears a beautifully tailored charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt underneath, exuding so much power, he commands the suit, not the other way around.

Oliver leans against the wall, in his slacks and a button-down, looking like the college professor as he does most days, while Diem sports jeans and a button-down.

Tracing my gaze over each of them, I’m caught as I always am in their deadly beauty, each their own sun, although my body orbits helplessly around Ramsay’s.

In the year I’ve been here, I’ve never seen them attend a dance, so I’m appropriately curious as to why this one is different. Who are they here for?

“So? You wanna go in the bathroom? I’ll eat you out,” Patrick says, pulling me closer.

Shrugging away, I rub my itchy skin and eye him incredulously. I’m not sure which to be more offended by, his casual assumption I’d fuck him in a bathroom or that his promise of oral sex should be enough to inspire me.

Oblivious, he changes his angle and leans into my neck, his breath wet against my skin. “You're so hot, Willow. I’ve been thinking about how good it could be between us.”

I shudder beneath him and attempt to pull away, but he just tightens his hold because dicks like him assume a girl can’t resist his charms. My skin prickles and I press my palms against his chest, as he simultaneously groans and pulls me in for a kiss.

He’s completely blind to my displeasure and I gasp when he pinches my arm. Which is all the encouragement he needs to slide his slimy tongue inside my mouth.

Immediately, I’m assailed by the sour taste as he groans and I’m about to do something stupid, like knee him in the nads, when a smooth, tailored voice says above me, “Can I cut in?”

Patrick pulls away, his chest puffing up, but the words shrivel in his mouth when he spies Ramsay standing beside us. I’m no less surprised and I stare mutely, surely slack-jawed.

Ramsay raises a black brow and grabs my waist, pulling me away from Patrick. I would’ve laughed out loud at Patrick’s stymied expression if my heart weren’t beating right out of my chest.

Holy fuck, am I dancing with a Sinner right now?

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