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“In bed.”

“What are you wearing?”

A nervous laugh brushes my ear. “You lasted eleven seconds.”

“I have waited almost six months to hear your voice. I’m finished pretending conversation is the first thing I want from it.”

“What do you want?”

“You know.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

My hand moves to the front of my pants. “I want to know what you’re wearing while you lie in bed waiting for me to call you.”

The rustling becomes louder. “Your jersey.”

“Which one?”

“The obscene one with the bows.”

Heat tightens low in my stomach. “Anything underneath it?”

“No.”

The answer lands against my cock.

I stand and push my jacket from my shoulders while crossing the apartment. “You’re lying in bed wearing my name without anything beneath it?”

“Yes.”

“You planned this.”

“I hoped you would call.”

I enter my bedroom and close the door behind me, although nobody else is inside the apartment. “Were you touching yourself while the phone rang?”

“No.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“I promised I wouldn’t do that anymore.”

“You promised me a lot of things.”

The words emerge sharper than I intend, but Charm doesn’t retreat into silence or attempt to turn them into something gentler.

“I know,” she says. “I’m telling you the truth now.”

My body remains hard enough to make the zipper of my pants painful. I lower myself onto the edge of the mattress and release the zipper.

“What were you doing?” I ask.

“Staring at your name while deciding whether I could answer without coming apart.”

“You answered.”

“I told you I would.”