Addiction| 18+

21|ice cream

Hayley

I hadn't expected him to ask. Grey, standing in the doorway, casual in a black T-shirt and jeans, hands in his pockets, calm. "Want to get ice cream? Just a walk. Nothing fancy. You can leave anytime."

Safe. Public. Harmless. I nodded. "Sure."

One of his bodyguards trailed behind at a discreet distance. Grey didn't acknowledge it, and I didn't either. Walking beside him, I noticed things I hadn't before—the quiet precision of his movements, the way his gaze moved around the street but kept returning to me, the subtle way he shifted his weight. Every step he took seemed deliberate, and I realized I was watching him more than I should.

The ice cream shop was small, warm, and smelled sweet and cold. I froze for a moment in front of the tubs, uncertain what to pick.

"Chocolate chip cookie dough?" I suggested.

"Rocky road," he said immediately, scanning the options.

"Chunks?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Exactly," he said. He looked at me, calm, almost amused. "You?"

"Cookie dough," I said.

"Predictable," he said, observing me like it mattered.

I smirked faintly. "Maybe."

He smirked back, slight, controlled. "Better than plain."

We grabbed our ice cream and found a table by the window. I sat across from him, careful not to fidget too much. He took a slow bite, and I noticed the subtle details—how his jaw tightened when he concentrated, the faint crease in his brow, the way his posture was relaxed. I realized I was aware of him in a way I didn't expect. Something felt foreign.

"So... movies," he said spooning out some ice cream. "What do you usually watch?"

"I haven't watched any in a while, but maybe comedies," I said cautiously.

"Romantic ones?" he pressed, leaning forward slightly.

"Sometimes," I admitted. This felt so weird having a conversation with him.

"Music?" he continued. "Any artists in particular?"

"Depends," I said. I loved all genres but I specifically loved lower music.

"Give me an example," he said, watching me.

I named a few for him. He raised an eyebrow. "I like them too. Surprising taste."

I shrugged, keeping my response light. "I like what I like."

Grey didn't comment further. Just tilted his head, observing. The way he watched me made me aware of every little movement I made.

"Do you read?" he asked, casually. "Comics, books, anything?"

"Books, sometimes," I said.

"Of course," he said, almost like it was expected. "Anything else?"

"No," I said. I've never had an interaction like this with someone from the opposite sex for a long time. This felt so new to me. I didn't know how to start a conversation or keep one going.

He smirked faintly. "Quiet. I like that. Makes me ask more questions."

I didn't respond. My pulse ticked up anyway. I couldn't think of anything to say.

"Family?" he asked. "Siblings?"

"My brother," I said cautiously.

"Have you talked to him?"

"No, not since—" I paused thinking back to the wedding. How that day brought me to be here in this very moment. "The wedding."

Grey nodded slowly, not pressing further. I wasn't sure if he knew whether or not about Warren and how I had no idea about the wedding until the night before."Understandable."

We fell into a quiet rhythm. His questions came in small bursts, casual, measured. He didn't pry. I answered in short, guarded sentences. Yet the tension in the air wasn't unpleasant it was sharp, like the room itself had tightened around us.

I started noticing details. How his hands rested lightly on the table, the faint tan of his arms, the slight crease of thought on his forehead when he considered something, the calm, deliberate tone of his voice. Everything about him demanded attention without trying. I felt that foreign feeling again.

"Do you notice little things about people?" I asked, trying to ease the tension.

"Depends on the person," he said calmly.

That simple answer made me aware of everything about him—the tilt of his head when he listened, the way he held his cone, the subtle control in the way he breathed. I couldn't stop noticing.

"Ever get bored?" I asked lightly, trying to break the tension.

"Rarely," he said. "Life keeps you busy if you notice it."

I looked at him again, and for the first time, I realized I was paying more attention than I should—how small gestures carried weight, how calm and deliberate he was in everything, and how easy it was to want to know more about him.

We talked a bit more about music, toppings, small jokes. Short exchanges. Nothing revealing. Yet I felt the weight of his presence with every word, every glance.

By the time we walked back to the house, ice cream cups mostly empty, I realized I wasn't relaxed. Not really. Not yet. But I was aware. I was curious.

****

End of chapter 21

Well they started to talk a bit... that's a sign right?? LOL