Chapter 2 #2
“I don’t know, huh? I was going to ride with Sammy Bass, but he got his head busted tonight.”
Sam Bass was always landing wrong.
“He needs to learn to stop landing on his head.” Joa didn’t have to think even a second before making his offer. Balta was…Balta. “You want to ride with me? I’m driving.”
“Pois nao!” With that bounce and grin, he could honestly believe Balta meant the ‘with pleasure’ part.
He blushed, unaccountably pleased. All of them looked up to Balta, to have the man as a traveling partner was…an honor.
“So, what do you want to eat, Joa? I think maybe a steak.” Sometimes Balta’s choices reminded him that Balta always had some ready cash. The man had won more money than most of them ever saw.
“A steak is good.” They had decent beef here, good service, and their English was clear enough that they were treated well. “Do you know a place?”
“I do!” They got in the truck, Balta groaning a bit. “How are you, Joa? Not too bruised, huh?”
“Nao. I’m good.” He patted his ribs. “Someone caught me.”
“Yeah? He must be very smart.” Balta patted his thigh. The man was touchy tonight, fingers on him at every chance.
“He is. Very. And a buon bullfighter, sim?” Joa’s cock was aching, hard and swollen.
“Nate? Sim. He’s a good man.” Easing his legs around, Balta sighed happily. “Better.”
“Which way?” He thumped himself hard, telling himself to not watch, not have such sinful, dirty thoughts about the man beside him.
“Right, I think. Onto the highway and then three exits down.” Balta would not steer him wrong. Well, unless they were in Brazil. That one time, they had almost ended up in Brasilia…
His cheeks heated, and he chuckled, nodded. “Sim, Balta. Three exits.”
Him, Balta, Eduardo. In a truck in the middle of nowhere. It had been funny and annoying and a little hot, which he hadn’t wanted to admit then, and decided to forget now. He just drove while Balta hummed with the samba music on the CD.
The steakhouse parking lot was full of pickups and cowboy hats. He grabbed his hat, nodding. Balta moved through the crowd at the door, smiling at the hostess, who recognized him. It took them three minutes to get a seat.
He nodded to AJ and Hank, to Coke and Nate. “Must be a good place, hmm?”
“It is. Big steaks, lots of salads. It’s not as good as a churrascaria, but it will do.” They got settled and the bread came, and that made it all worth it already.
He ordered a steak, a potato, two salads. At Balta’s glance, he shrugged. “I’m hungry.”
“Ah, I miss being young.” Balta often complained about being fat. He wasn’t a small man, just old and fat.
“You are not old. You are a strong man.”
“I am not so strong when it comes to working off mortadella sandwiches.”
Oh, yes. Those were Balta’s weakness. He had stopped at every stand in the market at Sao Paulo.
“You could come do crunches with me, Balta. That works off even mortadella.”
“Hey, my lower back doesn’t bend that way, huh? Nao. I will swim or something.”
He nodded, chin down—both at the thought of Balta in the pool and of that poor, stiff lower back.
“Oh, now. No pouting! This is celebrating your ride in the short-go!” Balta waved down the waiter, ordering a bottle of wine once he stopped.
“I don’t pout!” He chuckled, grateful that Balta couldn’t order caipirinhas here. He’d nearly embarrassed himself in Sao Paolo with the drinks.
“You have the lips for it, doce. They can be very pouty.” Balta stared at his mouth for a moment, a flash of heat sweeping him.
He pursed his lips, eyes crossing as he looked down, or tried to. “Do not.”
“Sim. Oh, sim.” Now Balta was really staring, licking his own lips.
Joa’s cock was heavy, balls aching in his jeans. His belly went tight, hard. “I… I… I…”
“Shh. Hush, now. Your salad is here, huh?”
His salads. Oh, they looked good. He grabbed the salt, and his fork, and then dug in.
Balta sprinkled a bit of vinegar on his salad before joining him in the munching.
Conversation died down, because the food was good.
He ate both salads and more bread, his body demanding the food.
The waitress flirted with Balta, bending close and shaking, making Balta laugh.
They never flirted with him. Maybe he was just too much of a…how did they say? Dork. Or maybe it showed that he would rather be flirting with Balta.
Deus.
Please, no.
He bent to his steak, lecturing himself with every bite.
“Hey, you. Are you all right?” Balta’s boot nudged his under the table.
“Sim. Sim, buon.” He gave Balta a smile, a nod. It wasn’t Balta’s fault that he was…sick. “How’s your steak?”
“Yummy. It’s just right. Did they do good on yours? Juicy?” One eyebrow went up and down.
‘It’s good.” Especially now that he slowed down to taste it. “Not as good as Pai’s, sim?”
No one’s food was as good as Dad’s, though.
“Never. Still, I like the spices they use.” The toe of that boot nudged his again.
He shifted his feet, not sure if he was in the way or if Balta was just playing. A sharp prod along with a huge grin from Balta answered that question. Silly man. Joa chuckled, then nudged back.
Balta trod on his toes, making him jump a bit. “Do you want dessert?”
“We could. They have anything good?”
“They have, uh, tres leches cake, carrot cake, and some amazing cheesecake thing.” Balta loved American cheesecake.
“Carrot cake for me, I think. Something healthy.” He winked, loving that hearty, healthy laugh.
“Carrots are good for your eyesight. I will have cheesecake, huh? With fruit.”
“Fruit? See, healthy!” They were laughing hard enough that people were beginning to watch.
Coke wandered by, slapping Balta on the back. “Y’all are getting your fun on.”
“Sim, sim, Coke. It is good to be us, huh?”
“You know it, Fox. You so know it.” Coke grinned, and nodded to him then. “Eat some of that cake for me, huh?”
“Yes, sir. I can do that.”
Coke moved on, whistling, drawing some stares of his own. He was a funny man—Joa liked him.
Not as much as Joa liked Balta, though.
No one was Balta.
Balta caught him staring, smiling hugely. “I think he likes you. Coke isn’t everyone’s friend, you know?”
“Sim. He doesn’t have a monkey’s face, eh?” Joa thought the bullfighters were all touched by God, to hurt so badly and keep coming back.
“Nao.” Balta stretched, patting his belly. “Mmm. I will sleep well tonight.”
“I think I will, too, Balta. I think.” He had some beer in the room—it would feel good going down.
They sat silent while they had coffee, and he squirmed, because Balta looked at him like he was more important than cheesecake. Better.
“I…I have some cerveja in the room, if you want.” He’d…he’d share his beer with Balta. Not in the room, though. That was too much temptation.
“Do you?” One dark eyebrow winged up, Balta tilting his head. “I would like that.”
“Bom.” Oh, Deus. Temptation, temptation, temptation.
They paid then headed for the door, nodding to the fans who recognized them. There were many, and they were forced to stop just inside the door for a picture and an autograph for a young boy. From Balta, of course.
No one knew him. Not yet. Maybe not ever, but that didn’t matter. He made money, good money.
Balta clapped him on the back before the fans left, smiling. “And this is Joa. You know, he dances with Dillon when he rides, huh?”
The boy clapped and bounced. “I know you!”
“Yeah? You like to dance?” He bounced and shook it a bit, watching the boy’s pale eyes sparkle.
“I like to ride. You ride good.” Before he knew it, he was signing the little one’s hat, too.
Joa was beaming when they walked out, grinning from ear-to-ear. “That was fun, hmm?”
“It was. And now you owe me a beer.” He would swear Balta touched his butt when they moved around the truck.
By the time he’d driven them to the hotel, he’d convinced himself he was hallucinating, was being tempted by a demon.
He pulled into the valet parking, took the ticket from the man, and grabbed his gear. Balta hauled his bag, the limp mostly gone. In fact, Balta looked better than good. Almost bouncy.
Joa watched all the way to the elevator. Watched that denim-covered backside bounce.
Balta jabbered at him all the way, switching to Portuguese when they gained some company on the second floor. It was probably a bit rude, but it kept their conversation private.
Balta’s room was on the eighth floor, his on the tenth. “Do you want me to bring you a beer down?”
“Hmm. You’re sharing with Eduardo, huh? Yeah, bring it down. See you in ten?” Balta winked, his long eyelashes fluttering.
“Sim, sim, Balta. Ten.” Ten would be enough time to…take care of the problems his body was having so that he could treat Balta with the respect the man deserved.
As the elevator doors closed, he pressed his wrist against his aching cock. He might not need ten minutes at all.