Reunion Girls by J. J. Salem

the shower.
    "Asshole," Babe hissed.
    He was always impossible in the last hours that led up to him leaving for the studio to tape In the Ring with Jake James. Horny. Full of himself. Pugnacious. And those were the better qualities.
    Babe slipped on one of his T-shirts and grinned to herself. Jake could put on that macho game face, but she knew he was still smarting from the announcement about Dean Paul's new job. Most notably the part about salary. His college rival would be waltzing into his first broadcasting gig earning more than Jake. And it burned him up.
    It occurred to Babe how unhealthy this relationship was. Besides an active sex life, they rarely enjoyed each other. Sometimes she felt like Jake was just using her to mark his territory on one of Dean Paul's exes. Shit. Could she blame him? After all, Babe was using him for the same reason. Dean Paul hated the fact that she had hooked up with Jake.
    Babe looked around the cramped, cluttered Union Square apartment. Jake had the bucks to live better now but just hadn't taken the time. He insisted that they meet here because it was convenient for him. Everything always operated on his terms.
    Jake stepped back into the bedroom. There was a short towel tied around his slim hips. Droplets of water trailed down his tanned and defined six-pack abs. Even without the benefit of an erection, the imprint of his manhood was impressive.
    Babe experienced a tiny rush of desire. Sex with Jake had become a drug. But it wasn't good for her anymore. She needed to detox.
    He shook the water from his hair with both hands, flexing his big, boxer-perfect arms in the process. "Still pissed at me?"
    Babe could feel herself thawing out... and heating up. "I'm always pissed at you, Jake. It's our thing. Didn't you know?"
    His lips curled into a half smile. "I want you to watch my Shadow Boxing segment tonight."
    "Let me guess," Babe said. "You have an opinion on Dean Paul's career direction."
    Jake moved toward her, placing his hands on the top of her thighs and moving up and under the T-shirt to cup her buttocks. "You can bet your ass on it." He squeezed.
    "Why do you care so much, Jake? Why can't you just let it go? At least I have the excuse of having been in love with him." She paused a beat. "What's yours?"
    He shrugged. "You wouldn't understand. It's a guy thing."
    "Oh, really?" Babe let out a tinkling little laugh that filled the air with ridicule. "Are you sure it's not a homoerotic thing?"
    Jake stiffened. There was an instantaneous angry glint in his eyes. She was pushing his buttons.
    "Maybe you should talk to a therapist," Babe went on silkily. "It could be a latent homosexual obsession that's manifesting itself in animosity. I don't know. I'm just a girl throwing out a theory."
    His right hand skated around her hip and across to her inner thigh, stopping just short of its intended target.
    Babe took in a little breath. She felt a hot anticipation.
    "If there was an ounce of gay in me, I'd need more than two fingers in a crowded restaurant to make you come." His hand journeyed up. It was right there . . . at her opening.
    Babe remembered their first frenzied weeks together. She had snapped his photo with Joe Scarborough at a MSNBC anniversary party. They met for a drink a few days later and caught up on their post-college lives and their mutual hatred for guess who. The wild sex started that night. In the days that followed he asked her not to wear underwear. No matter where they were—a restaurant, a bar, a taxi—he would find a way to bring her to climax. And two fingers and two minutes was all that it took.
    Jake kissed her roughly, pushing his thick tongue into her mouth and pulling back just as she started to respond.
    Babe moaned out loud as he trapped her lower lip between his teeth, nipping playfully, as those two magic fingers dipped into her very core.
    "I know you pictured yourself in that girl's place," Jake whispered.
    Babe glared at him. She knew her eyes were mere