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“I don’t know—”
“Gigi, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Tomorrow night, you put on your tightest dress, dark, smoky eyes, and highest damn heels you own. And you go out with the girls. Only the girls. No jackass hockey players allowed.”
“And then you call me the next day and tell me all about it.”
We chatted for a few more minutes. Amazingly, I no longer felt like crying. My anger had morphed into a simmering—sadness? If I wasn’t enough for Beau, that would suck. Big time. Better to know now rather than in six months or a year.
I didn’t think Francisca’s advice was the right way to go about things. It honestly sounded really immature and made me uncomfortable even thinking about doing anything like that.
Hearing her—their—trials and tribulations, especially seeing how bad Isaac still felt about his actions, had helped.
But there was no way I was going to retaliate like that.
