Bancroft’s tongue peeks out and then disappears. “You know, I’m going to be home soon and I’ll be able to get you back for all this tormenting.”

“You think I’m tormenting you?”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re not, with the way you’re moaning, rolling around on my bed, dressed the way you are.” He gestures to me from his side of the screen.

I push up on my arms. My tank gapes at the chest as I sit back on my heels. It’s one of those ones with the built-in bra. I run a hand over my camisole. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”

“Are you fucking shitting me with that question, Ruby?”

“I’m ready for bed.”

“I can see your nipples.”

I cup my breasts. “It’s cold. The air-conditioning is always on full blast in here.”

“Are you even wearing a bra?” Bancroft’s arm unfurls, the hand tucked behind his head is suddenly on the move, down his chest and then out of sight.

I lean in, as if it’s going to change my view. “What’re you doing?”

“Aren’t you going to answer my question?”

His bicep is flexing. What the hell is he doing?

“Ruby?”

I shift my gaze up. “Huh?”

“My question? Are you going to answer it or not?”

I’m too busy trying to figure out where his hand has gone to pay attention to questions. “Um . . . what was it again?”

“You’re not wearing a bra, are you?”

“No.” His bicep keeps flexing, it’s mesmerizing.

“What about panties?”

Dear lord. When his voice drops like that it makes me want to take off all my clothes.

“You should just do that.”

“What?”

“Take off all your clothes.”

Shit. I must have said that aloud. “You want me to roll around on your bed naked?”

“Yes.”

“While you watch?” I can’t tell if he’s serious or joking.

“Fuck yes. Or maybe just in your panties if you’re feeling shy.”

Sweet baby Jesus. I’m pretty sure we’re crossing every platonic line there is tonight. I also think Bancroft might be a bit of a dirty boy, which is fine by me. “What if I’m not wearing panties?” I rise up on my knees which means only my chest to mid-thigh is visible to him.

“Even better.”

I ease my hands down my sides until I reach the waistband of my shorts. As far as shorts go, they don’t really cover much, and half the time they double as underwear, which is pretty much their function right now. I hook a thumb in each side of the waistband and drag it down over my hips.

“Oh shit,” Bancroft groans.

I keep pulling them lower, but I stop before I give him a real peek at the goods. Then I trail the fingers of one hand back up. Catching the hem of my cami I start lifting, up over my navel.

“Tell me about the belly ring,” Bancroft says.

“This?” I look to where his eyes have gone and circle the little jewel dangling from the barbell with a fingertip.

“When’d you get that?”

“When I was a teenager. My father forbade it, obviously.” I give him a cheeky grin. “See how well that worked.”

“Of course you didn’t listen.”

I shake my head and lift my tank higher, past my ribs.

“Such a naughty girl, aren’t you?” Bancroft asks, eyes following the increasingly visible skin.

I pause when I graze the underside of my breast and let out a little moan. It’s not fake. Bancroft’s full lips are parted, his stare is rather intense. I imagine if we were in the same room I’d already be naked and under him. And I still have no idea what’s going on with his hand that’s disappeared. And that’s when I realize what I’m doing probably isn’t a great idea. What exactly am I going to do if I follow through on getting naked? He’s not here to help me out and there’s no way I’m going to masturbate for him on video chat. We’re not exactly at that stage in our relationship. We’re not even in a relationship.

I let the tank drop.

“Wait. What the fuck.”

My shorts snap back into place.

Bancroft’s expression is the most comical thing I’ve ever seen. “No, no, no. Babe, what’re you doing?” He reaches out and snatches up the phone, as if he can climb through it. “Why’re you stopping?”

“It’s after midnight. I need to go to bed and you need to go to work.”

“Fuck work. You need to get naked like you said you would.”

“I never said I’d get naked, you just suggested it.” I pick up the phone and roll onto my back, I pucker up and give him an air smooch. “Have a great day. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait, wait!” His eyes are wide and darting around. “I—I forbid you to take your clothes off.” His smile screams of victory.

I laugh. “That’s not how it works, Bane.”

“Come on, Ruby, that’s not nice.”

“I’m not always nice.” And then I hang up and put my phone on airplane mode.

I spend the next twenty minutes making myself feel good. I have the best damn dreams ever.

* * *

Over the next few days Bancroft and I play phone and message tag. He makes no mention of what went down the other night, or what didn’t, and neither do I. Conversation timing shifts again. Instead of talking while he’s getting ready for work, we talk while he’s eating dinner, usually at a desk with a noisy background that makes real conversation impossible. It’s lunchtime for me, which means I’m stocking up on carbs so I can manage to make it through hours of dancing in heels.

As the weekend approaches I become increasingly anxious and giddy. Anxious because Sunday night I’m being given my first shot at the third set. Sunday is the quietest of the weekend nights, but it still pulls in a decent crowd.

I’m giddy because Bancroft is scheduled to return at the end of next week. I have his flight times marked on the calendar. I’ve made sure to schedule the cleaning lady early and order groceries so his fridge is stocked for his return.

My job at EsQue is going well. As I gain more hours the tips get better and better. If I can keep making this kind of money consistently for the next few weeks I might actually be able to get a down payment for an apartment together. So, when I’m offered a small part in an Off-Off-Broadway production, I have to seriously weigh what I’ll make against what I’m pulling in at EsQue. It’s not comparable, so I end up turning it down.