Last Call at the Local (Love, Lists & Fancy Ships, #3)

by Sarah Grunder Ruiz

But after twenty-eight years of living with ADHD, I’m so used to making these little mistakes, so used to frustrating the people in my life with them unintentionally, that even the tiny ones feel huge because they’re a reminder that I fall so short of what is expected.

Jack As if I haven’t been looking at you all night.

ahhh

When she lifts her gaze to mine, the first thing I think is, I’ve fucked up, because it’s at that exact moment I realize I’m going to be undone by this girl.

But my problem isn’t that I don’t think. It’s that my brain only has two modes: think everything all at once and make sense of none of it, or think about one thing obsessively at the expense of whatever actually needs my attention.

oh hi it's me

The point being, I am always thinking. Just never about the right things.

So I’ve got no reason to sit here other than I like watching her.

“What did you think? Really?” The wind picks up and blows her hair across her face. I have to put my hands in my coat pockets to keep from tucking her hair back behind her ear. “I said you’re my favorite musician, didn’t I?”

i love that he's her biggest fan

“You’re the silliest person I’ve ever met.” “A role I take very seriously.”

“Tomorrow will be great.” He looks at me as if he really believes that, as if it’s impossible I could do something that wasn’t great, and I decide that I’m at least a quarter in love with him already, if not halfway there.

All the little costs of having ADHD that add up in the long run. Lost customers. Overdue bills. Replacement phone chargers. Time spent looking for things. The way it makes me feel, like a child. As if everyone else is a real adult and I’m just pretending. The frustration that I can’t do the simple, everyday things that most people can. Like laundry, and making phone calls, and remembering to take out something from the freezer for dinner. It’s the missed deadlines for opportunities I could’ve had.

Dealing with OCD is hard enough on its own. Dealing with everyone’s feelings about my OCD is why I keep it to myself most of the time, even when I’d really like to talk about it with the people in my life.

“Isn’t it pretty?” she says. I look at her. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s probably for the best. If we spend too much time together, you’ll get bored of me.” “I really doubt that, ciaróg.”

i love the nickname

I look over at her, but her eyes are on the music. Her hand in mine doesn’t take the thoughts away or make me feel better. But it gives me something to hold on to when I have no idea if I’ll sink or swim. It’s a reminder of why I’m putting myself through this torture.

When he rests his elbows on the bar, I drop my gaze to his hands and think about how it felt to hold his hand in mine. He must be thinking the same thing, because he leans a little closer and his hand brushes against mine and lingers there.

ahhh we love letting it linger!!

I’m not sure either of us is actually paying attention to the conversation. I’m not, at least. Because when he slips his fingers through mine, something neither of us acknowledges, the only thing I can think about is how I don’t want him to leave.

obsessed

“You’re ridiculous.” “Aithníonn ciaróg, ciaróg eile.”

Stop thinking about it and come kiss me or something.” It’s a joke, but Jack doesn’t laugh. He’s quiet for so long, I pull the phone from my ear just to check he hasn’t hung up on me. “Jack?” “Okay.” I pause with the cat toy in my hand. “Okay . . .” “I’m coming to kiss you.” I sit up so fast I see stars. “You are?” “If that’s okay.”

god i love them

“You know, most people try to keep me from going on tangents,” I say. “You practically shove me into them.” “I like to see where that brain of yours will go. It’s a surprise every time. And I like seeing you in my jumper.”

He tugs on a strand of my hair. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

the tugging on the strand of hair is just so cute

He catches my chin in his hand. “Stay very still,” he says. I stare into his blue eyes, and nothing is funny anymore. If he keeps talking to me like that, I’ll do whatever he wants me to. “Okay.”

same

“Tá tú go hálainn, ciaróg.” “What does that mean?” “It means you’re beautiful.”

“Níl mé ag iarraidh go dtéann tú.”

"I don't want you to go" 🥹🥹

When she stands on tiptoe to hold her phone over the wall, Jack’s fingers lightly brush against mine. “Hi, ciaróg.”

the subtle touches get me every time

“I’m laughing because I can’t believe you don’t know.” Her eyes search mine. “Don’t know what?” “How talented you are.”

“Are you happy right now?” She smiles up at me, and I’m overwhelmed by the way I feel when I look at her. “Yeah, I am.”

He wipes the tears from beneath my eyes, then cradles my face in his hands. “How can you think you’re too much, when I can’t get enough of you?”

“You look really fucking sexy in that jumper,” I say. “I’ve spent all day imagining you in nothing but that jumper.”

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

Whenever she really likes something, she pulls it harder, and I decide that if I don’t have a headache after this, I haven’t done a good enough job.

king shit

“Will you show me?” “Show you . . .” “How you touch yourself. It’s okay if you don’t want to. I just . . . fuck, I really want to see what you look like when you’re thinking about me.”

It’s as if I’ve never wanted anything else in my entire life. As if the only thing I’ve ever wanted is to make this woman dizzy with pleasure.

He trails a finger down my side. “You are absolutely incredible.” “How can you say that? I didn’t even do anything.” “Oh, you did a lot of things, ciaróg, and I liked every single one of them.”

He laughs, then takes my chin in his hand and leans closer. “And I am more than happy to fuck you another night. Maybe even on my desk. But right now, I want to take my time. I want to make sure you’re comfortable. I want to enjoy every inch of you.”

gahhh this man

When I look at Jack, I don’t worry about a thing. It’s as if nothing else exists.

At his touch, the universe in my head is distilled to a single star.

I have been touched in these places but not in this way. I have been a means to an end, but I have never been everything.

This is what it must feel like for someone to make love to you. It occurs to me that no one ever has.

I search his face for any sign of annoyance or disappointment and find none.

“Feel whatever you want to feel,” he says. His voice in my ear is the best kind of secret. One that belongs only to me. “But if something doesn’t feel good you’ll tell me, yeah?”

“Good.” He brushes away my tears even as more come. “I love how much you feel. It’s my favorite thing about you.”

just when you think this man couldn't get more perfect

“I love your freckles,” he says. “I love your voice.” He presses a kiss to my mouth and throat, and then he’s whispering into my ear. “I love the sounds you make. I love the way you look when you come. I love being inside you.”

I wonder if he can tell I love him, because I do.

All the parts of myself that seemed out of tune before find their place. Or maybe they were never out of tune at all. Maybe I’ve been listening for the wrong key—A minor instead of C major. Maybe I’m not playing the wrong notes, but starting in the wrong place. All that dissonance because I’ve been trying to play someone else’s song.

“You make it easier.” I laugh. “Me? How do I make seeing your therapist easier?” He takes my hand and kisses it, then laces his fingers through mine and holds my hand to his chest. “You make it feel okay.”

Because when I’m with Jack, I feel like something wonderful. He makes me feel perfectly at home in this body.

It was a place to go, but not a place to belong. You’ve turned this into a place to belong, Jackie. You and Raine both.”

He kisses my chin, then grabs my arm and kisses my elbow. “What are you doing?” “Just making sure I haven’t missed anywhere,” he says, and kisses my other elbow. When he pulls back, he pins me with a stern glare. “No

When I look up at him, his arms loosely wrapped around my waist, it feels like tilting my face up to the sun, like standing in the middle of a new city that somehow feels like home.

You deserve every good thing, even when you’re having dark thoughts. You deserve to be happy, even when you aren’t well. And love—you deserve that too.