“Your dream girl?” “She’s not my dream girl, Sloane,” I say, running a hand through my hair. She was just a girl I thought was my dream girl before she ghosted me because I came on way too strong. And now it’s like my fucking sisters are repeating history. “If I remember when you were drinking that tequila, you told me you’d met your dream girl, hung out with her for two nights, and thought you were going to marry her just like Dad did with Mom. Then she disappeared,” Claire recalls with a smug smile.
