Page 9 of Circle of Strangers
Happier than ever.
“I thought you liked Mara,” I say as our gazes drift toward the attention-grabbing blonde. “You were saying all kinds of nice things about her the other day.”
“I told you,” she says with a sniff. “One big, happy, dysfunctional family.”
“Just because she’s your neighbor doesn’t mean you have to like her. Maybe you’re taking this whole family analogy too seriously.”
Hard truths are always fun to deliver to those with little self-awareness. It tends to go over their heads, much like everything else, so you can get away with saying just about anything.
Sozi laughs. “You stick around here long enough and you’ll see how it is. There’s a lot of love and a lot of hate in our little circle. But at the end of the day, we always have each other’s backs. It is what it is.”
I loathe that tired saying.
Across the patio, Mara catches my eye and gives me a cheerful wave, her grin wide and innocent. I raise my glass in return, mirroring her smile. But all I can think about is the way her hand lingered a little too long on Will’s arm and the way Sozi whispered about it in my ear like she was doing me a favor.
I dare Mara to try to take Will from me. She won’t succeed, but depending on how stupid she is, she might die trying.
5
“Oh. My. God.” I clap a hand over my mouth and sit up in bed Sunday morning.
Will was up before the sun, all but ordering me to sleep in while he made the kids breakfast and took them on a bike ride around our little community. Warm in my covers and slowly waking for the day, I made the rookie mistake of reaching for my phone. It’d been a couple of days since I’d touched that dating app, and still half asleep, I gave it a tap.
Out of the five hundred and thirty-seven “likes” I’ve received since Friday, never did I anticipate one of them being someone I know ... someone who lives next door.
Oscar.
Scrolling his profile, I swipe through the three pictures he has until I’m certain it’s him. His bio is empty—a typical telltale sign that a man is looking for a hook up or he’s less serious. Makes sense in his case since he’s married. The only other identifying information is limited. He has a graduate degree. He works in business management. And he’s a Taurus.
I screenshot everything, just in case. And then I “like” him back and send him a message immediately. With my AI photos, he’ll never know it’s me.
The icon next to his name is green, telling me he’s online.
He replies within seconds.
Biting my lip, I set my phone down, unsure of how I want to handle this. Based on what I’ve seen and heard, I can’t imagine beingmarried to Mara is a walk in the park. But cheating and victim blaming is never okay. Then again, if Mara was openly flirting with my husband at the cookout Friday night, maybe she and Oscar have an agreement?
I begin to type a new message to him:Quick question. And don’t be offended. I’m new to this app, and I’ve had the unfortunate luck of matching with married men lately. Please tell me you’re single. Truly single.
He replies with a quick:I am 100% single.
Groaning, I contemplate my next response. I was hoping it’d be easier than this, that he’d clarify that he’s in an open marriage or possibly even on the verge of separation.
He replies again:How about you? Are you 100% single? Because I really don’t like to share.
Anyone can say anything online. Clearly Oscar has no problem lying. But if his most recent comment has a shred of truth, I can’t imagine how he must’ve felt when Mara was making her rounds the other night.
I respond:If I weren’t single, I wouldn’t be onthis app.
Oscar replies almost instantly:You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that. You’re stunning. I’d be the luckiest man on earth to take you out.
I reply with:Not so fast. I’d like to get to know you a little better first ...
He types back:Ask me anything. I’m an open book.
I ponder which of the millions of questions swarming my mind I want to start with first, except the moment I land on one, the front door opens and closes, followed by the familiar cacophony of my children arguing over something inconsequential.
Oscar will have to wait, which is fine—because I’m going to need time to strategize.
