Page 52 of Ramsay

Fucking Hailey and the red dye, although I can’t be too pissed about it, I did get a good fucking from Ramsay as a result.

The students erupt into cheers, and the girls stand with their pom-poms, heading out onto the court as loud bass music takes over the sound system, and they gyrate their hips to the beat.

Staring at the bitch and her lemmings, I give a passing thought to be grateful I no longer have to stand out there and dance to the players' avid eyes.

All of a sudden, the music stops, and they all stumble in place, glancing around in confusion, while over the loudspeaker, Sabrina’s voice blares loudly.

“Don’t bother, Penny. I don’t need underwear. I’m gonna lose my cherry to Ramsay tonight if it kills me.”

Penny chuffs and says, “I thought the Sinners were scum?”

“Ha! They are, but who can resist those blue eyes? I’d give my left tit to get a dicking from him!”

The camera pans in on Sabrina looking around the room frantically, her face a glorious shade of pale as she backs away from center stage.

“Whatever, Sabrina, I think you’re crazy.”

“Mm, nope. He’s mine, at least for tonight. Tomorrow I’ll decide if I want to keep him.”

Her boy toy, Jensen, stands in the background, a dark look on his face as the entire student body erupts into chaos and the screen goes blank.

I should be pleased as fuck, but curiously, all I can focus on is whether she did indeed lose her virginity to Ramsay that night. But since I have a modicum of self-respect, I swallow the question, even if it causes an ache in my stomach, that I refuse to analyze.

Ramsay closes out the screen and stares at me expectantly while Diem huffs behind him and says, “I don’t—“

But Ramsay cuts in, “You’ve gotten what you wanted. Now it’s time for mine.”

“And what is it you want?” I ask through dry lips because facing off against Ramsay while sitting in his fucking house is so surreal, I feel dizzy for a moment.

“Distraction.”

“Huh?” I mutter.

His mercurial need to be fucking mysterious is maddening and hot. Shit. Squirming in my seat, I level a scowl on him—get to the fucking point.

He merely smirks at me, raising his eyebrow, and when I continue to glare at him silently, he shoots Diem a look and says, “You’ll accompany me to a party this evening. When I’m ready, you’ll distract the host. Once I’m done, we’ll go, and your debt is paid. Easy.”

“Distract him for what?”

“You don’t need to know,” he says.

I open my mouth to argue but close it quickly because maybe I don’t want to know. I’ve already got a passel of my own shit to deal with, and I shouldn’t borrow theirs.

“Fine. What kind of party?”

Behind me, Diem swears viciously and stalks from the room while Ramsay smiles. Holy fuck, but it lights up his face and I’m reminded once again of why he should never smile, ever.

Liquid heat flows through my veins, warming my body through, and ignoring it and him, I turn my gaze to the wall because I need a minute to regain my bearings.

When he shifts, I return my gaze to his face, finding him looking at me curiously. My heart clenches and feeling dangerously exposed, I raise my own brow, to which he sits back with a satisfied grin.

“It’s a cocktail party, but these assholes will be shitfaced before we arrive. Wear a dress and heels. You’ll be fine,” Ramsay says with a flick of his wrist.

Right. Because I fit in with any sort of social function that includes the word cocktail. Whatever, not my deal.

Nodding stonily, I stand and say, “I’ll need a ride home. What time are you picking me up?”

A strange expression crosses his face before he, too, stands. “Eight pm. Oliver will escort you home.”

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