Reunion Girls by J. J. Salem Page A

slits.
    "Walking down the aisle to the wedding march..."
    She attempted to push him away, but Jake was as solid as a brick wall. "He told me that I could do better than you," Babe hissed.
    "Oh, yeah?" Jake taunted her, his fingers still doing their work. "Why haven't you, then?"
    Babe's emotions were at the boiling point. She wanted him to throw her out and tell her never to come back. She wanted him to push her onto the bed and ravish her. The bastard repulsed her emotionally but enslaved her physically. Desperately, she lashed out against the carnal longing. "He still thinks you're a nobody, Jake. You can make a fool of yourself on that little TV show that doesn't even register a full ratings point." She laughed in his face. "You might as well be on cable access. And you can write your stupid book, the one you had to pose half-naked on the cover for to get anybody's attention." She jabbed at his chest with her index finger. "But no matter what you do, you'll always be a poor, scrappy nobody in the eyes of Dean Paul Lockhart and everybody like him. You'll always be a joke."
    Jake's eyes flashed with such fury that Babe experienced a nanosecond of fear that he might strike her. But then he gave her a hint of a secret smile and angled his fingers up to the spot that drove her crazy every time. Suddenly, he withdrew, tossed off his towel, and brought her hand down to his hardness. "Is this a joke to you?"
    The sigh of pleasure that came next was involuntary. In that moment, Babe wanted Jake so badly that it felt like a psychotic compulsion. She peeled the T-shirt off her body, slid onto the bed, and opened her legs.
    "I didn't think so," Jake said. And then he mounted her with passionate aggression.
    A half hour later, Babe was searching for her bra and itching to get out of the grungy apartment when her cellular rang. She followed the noise and found the phone underneath a stack of cover flats for Jake's new book. The number on the ID screen didn't look familiar. "Hello?"
    "Babe, it's Lara. Have I caught you at a bad time?"
    "I'm at Jake's place, so I'm not sure how to answer that. Part of me wants to say yes."
    Lara hesitated. "I'm sorry. I'll—"
    "No, it's fine," Babe assured her. "Jake's not here. He just left for the studio. I'm trying to find my clothes and what's left of my dignity."
    "Have you heard about Dean Paul?"
    Babe laughed. "Shit, that's all I've heard. Jake's having a field day with it."
    "He didn't mention a single word about it yesterday," Lara remarked crisply. "And now he's in Greece. I just heard from one of the Hollywood Live producers that he's going to be covering all my events."
    Babe found a bra. An expensive one in a size not her own. She threw it down. "Son of a bitch," she muttered.
    "What?" Lara asked.
    "Where are you?" Babe countered.
    "In SoHo. Why?"
    "Meet me for a drink. We'll hash all of this out. I like the bar at the St. Regis. It's classy. Nobody will hit on us. Are you game?"
    "I can't drink, Babe. Seriously. Not today. I'm lucky to be alive after last night."
    "So nurse a club soda. I'll drink for both of us."
    Lara considered the offer for a moment. "Okay. I'll meet you there. What time?"
    Babe spotted the strap of her bra peeking out from underneath the bed. "One hour."
    "Perfect."
    She hung up and finished dressing, taking in the surroundings. Boxing gloves, sweat clothes, and athletic shoes were littered throughout. The pitiful excuse for a kitchen was filthy. Basically, the whole place gave off college jock vibrations.
    She scanned the room for stray items. Once more, her eyes fell on the mystery bra. Impulsively, Babe stuffed it into her purse. Ha! Maybe she'd figure out whom it belonged to and return it with a personal note suggesting that the bitch should know a cheap bastard like Jake James wasn't worth nice lingerie.
    Babe had just enough time to stop by her own crappy apartment to shower and change clothes. It wouldn't do to show up post-coitus to meet a woman like Lara Ward