Page 12 of Circle of Strangers
Oscar:Fair enough. And not surprised. Let me think ... You should consider me because once I have my sights on you, no one else exists. I’m diehard loyal. I’m possessive but in a healthy way. I’m generous in every way imaginable—emotionally, financially, physically. I have a great job and make more than enough money to provide a comfortable lifestyle. I’m just looking for someone to enjoy life with. Someone playful, someone intelligent, someone who can be my counterpart. I take relationships seriously and expect the same.
Oscar’s response is clearly full of shit, but given that our conversation has been superficial so far, I’ve got nothing to call him out on ... yet.
Nevertheless, I reply:Have you ever been married before?
Oscar:Yes. You?
I respond:Yes. Why didn’t your marriagework out?
Oscar:You could say we brought out the worst in each other. That and we had very differentdefinitions of loyalty. What about you? Why didn’t yours work out?
Again, he’s spewing lies, but I type out a quick:Mine loved his job more than heloved me.
Oscar:I’ve always found those kind of men to be pathetic. A job won’t love you back or keep your bed warm. Smart woman. You did the right thing ditching someone who doesn’t deserve you.
“What’re you looking at over there?” Will’s voice sends a hard start to my heart. I hadn’t heard him get out of the shower. I gasp and drop my phone. Fortunately it lands screen side down. “Whatever it is, must be intense. You had a look.”
With his damp dark hair, a towel secured around his hips, and a mischievous smirk on his handsome face, I momentarily envision a horrifying scenario in which the phone did not land screen side down and I have to explain to Will why our next-door neighbor is asking me out on a dating app.
“Sorry. Sozi sent me this article and I was reading it,” I lie.
“Oh yeah? You two becoming fast friends?” His lips curl up at one side. He’s always wanted me to make friends, but I’ve never seen the point. Most friendships are transactional by nature. They’ve never served a point for me, though perhaps that’ll change with Sozi. She fills the bored spots of my day and keeps me abreast with the latest Moreno gossip. That’s got to count for something. “What’s the article about?”
“Kids and social media, the effects on mental health, that sort of thing. She used to teach media studies or something. It’s fascinating.”
He changes into clean boxers and tugs a pair of jersey-soft pajama bottoms on before climbing in bed next to me. Pulling me close, he nibbles my ear and says, “Tell me all about it. I want to hear everything.”
Thinking fast, I switch gears. “I don’t know, I’m not feeling like doing much talking now that you’re here.”
My words, while cheap, light his eyes and seem to make him forget all about the bogus article story. In the twenty minutes that follow, I do one of the many things Camille Prescott does best. When it’s over and Will’s out cold, I close out of the app and retire my phone for the night.
I need to be more careful.
8
“Hey there.” A vaguely familiar voice beckons me as I get the mail Wednesday. Before I have a chance to flip through the flyers and mailers and ensure there’s no trace of Lucinda, Mara’s flagging me down from her mailbox next door. “Cami, is that right?”
“Hi.” For someone who was making herself all too familiar with my husband last week, I’d think she’d at least have the decency to learn my name. “It’s Camille.”
She strides my way in her ecru cashmere robe, her hips swaying ever so with each effortless step. Her blond locks practically bounce off her shoulders, slow motion, like a walking Bumble and bumble billboard. Tucking a strand of hair behind one ear, she gifts me a sunshine-warm smile that might charm the average person, but I’m far from average.
“I feel bad, we didn’t get to talk much at the barbecue the other night,” she says before biting the side of her lip. “Sorry you got stuck with Sozi.”
“Sozi’s been very welcoming.” I’ve no desire to get between these women and whatever their petty neighborhood family drama may be. Besides, it’s the truth. Sozi has been a one-woman welcoming committee at every turn—and bonus points for the fact that she keeps her hands off my husband.
“Well, that’s good.” Her warm expression is a contrast against the insincerity in her voice. “I was just about to enjoy my morning coffeeif you want to come over for a few? I promise I won’t talk your ear off like some people around here ...”
Her eyes point to Sozi’s two-story.
I get the sense she wants to vent about Sozi or do some “damage control” since this neighborhood loves their gossip.
I think about Oscar, his last messages to me. He was demanding almost. Desperately persistent. Too eager. A stark contrast from his sullen persona at the party. People can pretend to be anything they want online, though.
Mara toys with the gold pendant on her neck, a letterMand a letterO, and as she does so, the pear-shaped diamond on her left ring finger sparkles in the sunlight.
“Sure. I could use some coffee,” I say. It’s not like I have anything more pressing to do. The kids are at school. Laundry’s caught up. The house is immaculate. I could waste a few hours trying to find more married men to catfish on True Spark, but something tells me a conversation with Mara might give me some invaluable insight.
That and I want to make it crystal clear that Will is off-limits.
