Guilty Love

8| Fire

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Fire

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Chapter 8: Fire (Ronan's POV)

"I better clean up the table, you both continue," Mom said once we all had finished eating. It was just Mr. Ryan and my parents that were talking while London and I sat awkwardly. 

"I can clean up," London volunteered before my mom could even stand up and grab a dish. 

"Oh, I can't ask you to do that," Mom chuckled, "it's okay." 

"No, really. I'll clean up." London stood up, grabbing her plate and her dad's. "It's okay. You guys can talk," she smiled. 

My mom sighed before clicking her tongue. "You're such a darling. Ronan, help her." 

London's eyes flicked to mine. "I can clean up by myself," she chuckled awkwardly. 

"Oh, hush. You're a guest here tonight, if you want to clean up, at least let him help you." Our parents got back to their conversation and she turned around, going to the kitchen while I picked up whatever dishes were left and took them in. 

We both took two rounds to grab all the plates and then the leftovers. While I started doing the dishes, she started putting the leftovers in the fridge. I unbuttoned my sleeves and rolled them up to my elbows, watching her. She walked over, grabbing a rag, ready to dry the dishes as I passed them over to her. "Why do you—" 

She cut me off, "Don't talk to me." 

I sighed and started washing the dishes, handing them to her as I scrubbed them clean. "What's your deal with that guy?" I asked. 

She let out a huff, putting the plate in the cabinet. "What guy?" she asked, already sounding frustrated with me. 

"The guy at your store," I replied. 

"Dylan?" 

"Hmm," I mumbled. I felt her eyes on me and turned to look at her. It seemed like she was in thought. 

She blinked and turned her attention back to the plate in her hand. "What's your deal with him? You hate him without even knowing him." 

"I don't hate him," I scoffed. 

"Yeah, you do," she argued. "Look at you." 

I bit back another exhale of frustration and stared at her. "I think you know damn well why I hate him. If I do," I reasoned. 

"Amuse me anyway," she scoffed. 

I didn't answer and washed my hands before turning the water off, drying myself before tossing the towel on the counter. 

"You don't have any right to be jealous," she said as she closed the cabinet, putting the last plate inside. 

I leaned against the counter, watching her. "I have every right to be jealous." She turned to me, daring me to say that again. "As your ex-boyfriend, I have every right to be jealous if another guy is flirting with you."