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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." 

"He doesn't flirt with me," she rolled her eyes, "he's my friend." 

"That's what I was growing up, where did that lead us?" 

She stared at me incredulously. "You weren't my friend. You liked me." 

"Please," I laughed humorlessly. 

"Shut up," she threw the rag at me but I caught it, staring at her in disbelief. "You hated me until you didn't because one day, you woke up and realized the only reason you hated me was because you liked me. The only reason you would annoy me was because you loved being around me and you hated it when I put another guy first. You used to hate it when I hung out with Damon, for God's sake. That was you when you were fourteen." She walked up to me, stopping a few inches away, closer than I would have thought she would. She smiled in amusement and it was the first real smile I've gotten from her since I got back, so it didn't matter if that was at the cost of my ego. "Are you still fourteen?" 

"Hmm, when it comes to you," I nodded, looking down at her, my eyes falling to her lips. "I still get jealous," I took a step forward, making her retreat. "I still want you to pay attention only to me." She took another step back when I inched closer. Her back hit the counter and I put my hands on the marble countertop behind her, keeping her there. "I still want you all to myself," I nodded softly, my eyes traveling across her face. 

She took in a breath before giving me a soft push and pulling herself onto the counter. "Well, it's just too bad you lost me," she shrugged. 

I stepped closer again, putting my palms on the counter beside her thighs. "And what if I can have you again?" 

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "You can't." 

"What if I can? Want to bet?" I lifted a brow, biting back a smirk. 

"You'll lose," she said. "Both the bet and me. For good this time." 

"Oh, so I haven't lost you yet, have I?" 

"What do you think?" she questioned. 

"I don't think I have. I think I'll always have a part of you. Just how you'll always have a huge part of me." 

She eyed me for a moment, tilting her head back and watching me through hooded eyes. It made me realize how overwhelming the urge to kiss her was. "Are we done for tonight? Or are we still playing? Because I'm tired." She blinked slowly, letting out an exhausted sigh. 

"Of?" I asked softly. 

"Tolerating you," she answered immediately. "I'm sick of you, Ronan." My jaw clenched as she straightened up before letting out a soft chuckle. "You know what?" She leaned forward, coming in closer. "You're suffocating me," she whispered. She pushed me gently and I took a step back, letting her hop off. "See how that feels?" She walked around me, her arm brushing against mine as she left. 

I rested my hip against the counter, letting out a soft groan. "Yeah," I said to myself. "I see how that feels." It fucking hurts. And I can't believe I ever said that to her. 

God, I have mountains of shit to make up for. How did I let this happen? She was my whole world, I would have done anything and everything for her. I still would. 

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The next morning, dreadfully, I walked into The Last Chapter. I thought it would be best to refrain from talking about my work with London because I know a part of her feels like I chose my career over her, but I can't just toss my career and everything I've worked for to the side. She just has to learn to deal with it. I walked to the front table, slowly, resisting an eye roll when I sat Dylan standing behind the counter with her. 

She was organizing books and he was showing her sheets of paper. They seem like sketches. She laughed, sounding delighted. "And who is that supposed to be?" 

"Mr. Darcy, of course," he scoffed. 

"What the hell?" she chuckled, taking it out of his hand. "Let me keep this one." 

He took it back, grinning at her. "No. My sketches are for customers only," he smirked, tucking the sketch into a copy of the book. 

She rolled her eyes, sliding a pile of books over to him. "Get to work, Dylan," she smiled and he took the books, setting them on a trolly and wheeling it away. I made it to her desk and she looked up at me, still standing. "What can I do for you?" she sighed. 

"I'm only here to check on my books, save the sighing," I muttered. 

She sat down and typed into her computer before looking back up at me. "They should be here by tomorrow at the latest, later today at the earliest. Whenever you decide to come by next, be prepared to sign the copies." 

"You won't tell me when they get here?" 

"No?" she replied. "And anyway, how am I supposed to? You changed your number, remember?" 

"You just can't give it up, you have to keep throwing jabs at me," I scoffed, leaning over the counter, taking a pen and a sticky note. I scribbled my number and name onto it before sticking it onto the copy of White Dialogues that was sitting on her table. "There. Now when you get those copies, call me." 

She glared at me subtly. 

"London!" 

She turned around as Dylan rushed over. 

"Somebody stole a sketch," he scoffed. 

"Which one?" she asked. 

"Another Mr. Darcy!" 

She laughed, "I guess people like Mr. Darcy, huh? Even with one eye smaller." 

"I did not draw one eye smaller." 

She nodded, her nose scrunching up. "A little." 

"Well, whatever," he shrugged. 

I looked between them and resisted the urge to roll my eyes or curse at him. It felt like fire was coursing through my skin. An icy-hot fire burning right under my skin. And the only thing that could put it out was getting rid of this guy. 

"Anyway, I'm getting back to work," he said, walking away. Good thing he left when he could. 

She turned to me, watching me carefully. 

"What?" I sighed. 

"I scored a point." 

I blinked in confusion. 

"You said we were playing dirty. Come on, I didn't play that dirty. That point counts," she smirked. "London, one. Ronan, zero." She held up her hand, making a circle to show zero. 

"Fine," I nodded slowly. "You want to bring jealousy into the mix?" 

"Jealousy is always in the mix when it comes to you. You can't quit it, that's your problem." 

"You never want me to quit it. And that's your problem," I retorted. I glanced at the sticky note. "Call me." And then I left.

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Chapter 8

I feel like he wanted to play but she's literally winning lmao

next chapter: power