Chapter 15 #2
“Sim. Salad?” Joa grabbed the phone and ordered the pasta and a steak, salads, cheesecakes, coffees and waters, fried cheese and an order of French fries.
Someone was as empty as could be. Joa would groan and pat his belly after sucking down half the food, and Balta would wake at six when Joa slipped out to go to the fitness room…
Sweaty Joa. He reached out, snagging Joa’s hand and drawing him close.
Joa rolled close, one hand on his bare belly, fingers curling through the heavy mat of hair there. “Baltazar.”
“Hello, doce. Kiss me?” He rarely took such a passive role, but it felt very nice to lie there and let Joa pamper him.
“Of course.” He loved the way Joa’s dark eyes moved over his face, exploring him as if he was a lovely surprise, still.
Balta licked his lips, waiting, and Joa finally lowered down, kissing him so gently, like a feather brushing his mouth. Balta groaned, sliding a hand behind Joa’s head to hold him there because he needed a firmer, deeper contact.
Joa laughed for him, then settled to give him what he asked for, exploring his lips, his mouth as if his needy lover never wanted anything else.
He stroked Joa’s neck, then his back so he could pull up Joa’s shirt and get to the smooth, tanned skin beneath. He traced the lines of a scar that marred Joa’s ribs, proof that his love was strong. Fierce.
Joa chuckled and wiggled against him. “Tickles, Balta.”
“Oh? You mean here?” He dug in with his fingers, knowing Joa would shout and struggle and not mean any of it for a moment.
“Balta!” The laughter soothed more than the electricity, the ease in Joa’s face sorely missed, now that he could see it.
They all feared an injury such as Sam Bell’s. They all crossed themselves and said ‘please God, not me’. Getting away from that would be better.
It had to be. Balta was too tired to have it be otherwise.
Joa collapsed against him, drawing a grunt, but Balta had to laugh at the goofy bliss on Joa’s face.
“You are something else, Doce.”
“Something good, I hope.”
“Very good. I couldn’t make it without you.” Balta tried to say what was in his heart, because he knew he didn’t show it sometimes. Often.
“Of course you could, Balta. You’re…Baltazar Silva. Of course you could.”
“Mmm.” Balta grinned and stroked Joa’s back. The shirt had come off and all that golden skin beckoned him. They had no time for anything strenuous before the food came, but he had much to admire.
Joa kissed his collarbone, right above his heart, then settled again, cheek on his chest. It always surprised him, how light and curly Joa’s hair could be, when he went too long between trims.
He loved the springy mass, loved how smooth Joa’s skin felt. That crooked nose drew him to kiss it, too. Joa chuckled for him, fingers drawing shapes on his belly, the touch just hard enough not to tickle.
He sucked in a breath, his muscles quivering, trying to get away and get more. Balta needed to remember that Joa loved having sex with him, but seemed so happy just to be there, touching, sharing air.
“Your heart beat is like a rumba, Balta.”
“Better than a samba, nao?” He grinned. That beat was for when he was about to ride.
“That is too fast. That would be Raul, sim? He sambas now, when he rides. The women scream.”
“You like Raul.” Balta scratched at the spot under Joa’s shoulder blade that always itched.
“Mmm. Right there.” Joa arched and stretched. “I do. He’s a good rider and I think he’s lonely. His English isn’t good, you know? That makes it hard.”
“Sim. I know how that isolates.” Deus, when he had come to the big tour in America he had been the only one.
The first. The few riders who spoke Spanish had tried to talk to him, but he had no clue what they were saying.
He’d worn more than one black eye because a rider thought he was ignoring them.
Now no one would dare take a swing at him.
He grinned at the thought, though. Joa was lovely in a fight, quick and brutally strong, with his tight core. People expected Joa to be something of a coward, with his pretty face and man-scaped body. They were wrong. So wrong.
“He’s pretty,” Balta murmured.
“Hmm? Who?”
“Raul. He’s like a model, you know? Very nice.” He pinched Joa’s buttock, teasing.
“A model? Do you think? I don’t think that suits at all.” Obviously his Joa had considered this.
“An actor? A beach bum in Rio?” That would make Raul someone who had sex for money, and he was a bit too hairy for that, Balta thought.
“No. A good man, like someone you don’t see and then he’s smiling and you can tell he’s decent.”
Oh, his still innocent love. Raul’s eyes promised something so much more interesting than good. At least when they followed Joa. Raul was more cautious with Balta, more reserved.
Almost guilty.
Interesting, for sure.
“You have been helping him, Joa?”
“I have. He went home to Sao Paolo for Christmas. He won Rookie of the Year.”
“Did he?” Balta raised his eyebrows. “Good for him. He’s consistent. That will go well for him.”
“Sim. Way more than me.”
Yes, well, his Joa was the Babe Ruth of bull riding—ninety or nothing. A home run hitter all the way. Joa made plenty of money, but he would never win a championship. He had too many falls.
Balta said a prayer that the falls never damaged too much.
He needed Joa like breathing.
Balta woke up when the knock came on the door, the sound jolting him. “I napped.”
“Shh. You did. I have this. Stay.” Joa shrugged on a shirt, leaving it unbuttoned and open.
While he mourned the loss of the view, Balta was glad Joa wasn’t showing off for the server, who wheeled in a wee table. Oh, that smelled amazing, making his mouth water.
Joa stood between the waiter and him, protecting him without thought, and Balta smiled, shook his head. His knight in Luchesse.
After scribbling his name on the check, Joa showed out the server, then came back to him. “Do you want to eat in bed or sit at the table?”
“Is it too decadent to eat in bed? You made the pillows so good for me.”
“For Balta Silva? Nothing is too decadent.” Joa laughed at his own tease and brought him a covered plate. “Take this and I’ll bring the salad and bread to you. French fries in the middle?”
“I would love that. So we can share.” Balta opened the tiny bottles of ketchup. He was so addicted to the sicky sweet gunk.
“Sim.” Joa’s steak smelled of heaven on a plate, and the garlic bread was a heart attack all by itself. Amazing, how decent hotel food seemed like manna when hospital and fast food were the norm.
Balta grabbed a fry, pleased to find it crispy and salty. He chomped it, then they simply started to eat, sharing bites and laughing as they juggled plates, caught silverware before it hit the mostly clean sheets.
It felt a bit like riding a bull. All timing and free-hand adjustment. Everything could feel like a good ride if you let it. Balta licked sauce off his lips and pondered the cheesecake.
“I think dessert later for me,” he said.
“Sim. I ate an entire Hereford.”
“I think you might have. That was a Texas-sized steak.” They’d been to one of those places in Texas once where if you ate the whole steak you got it free. Joa had been like a python after, but he’d done it.
“I’ll work it off.” There was no worry there. None at all. Joa and his crunches were legendary.
“You will.” Balta pushed open Joa’s shirt to touch each ridge of that hard abdomen.
Joa chuckled softly, then flexed for him, pretty as a picture. They both knew how perfect those abs were. Balta wished he could have that for dessert every day.
“We’ll leave in the morning, head for Texas. You looking forward to going home?”
“Sim. So much. Riding and having good food and working on the house. I miss it when I’m gone. It will be good for you, too, to be out of the cold.”
“I know! This snow. So cold here already.” Balta thought that was just unnatural, but the ski areas were apparently very excited at the early snowfall. Skiing. Gracious.
Christmas was meant to be spent at the beach, enjoying the heat.
Balta’s eyelids began to droop, and he knew they needed to clean off the bed before he fell asleep. He patted Joa’s butt. “Let me up. I’ll help clean and brush my teeth, at least.”
“I’ll put the table out and keep the cheesecake for later.” Joa helped him sit up all the way, one hand hot on his spine.
Moaning, he pressed back against Joa’s hand for a moment, the warmth welcome, addicting.
“Mmm. I’ll rub you as soon as we’re back in bed, sim? Make it better?”
“I would love that.” In fact, he craved it with an intensity that shocked him. He’d let go of some of the worry about Sam and now he hurt as if Boogerbutt had stomped on him. That was one big bull.
“Then you will have it.” Joa kissed his cheek. “Brush your teeth and I will clear off.”
Balta crawled off the bed, gathering plates and forks to help. Then he took their kit bag to the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth. He took two of his anti-inflammatories, knowing they would help release his shoulders and hips. In bull-riding it was not if you got hurt, it was when.
He was lucky. He had Joa there to help him.
“Bom Natal, Raul.” His youngest brother’s sweetheart, Feliciana, had grown up a lot in the last year. Their wedding was set for August, and he would use one of his event byes from winning Rookie of the Year to come see it, he hoped.
“Obrigado,” he told her, kissing her on each cheek It was so nice to hear his native language. “How were your exams?”
She wrinkled her nose. “They were okay. I didn’t do so well on the anatomy.” Feliciana wanted to be a nurse, but she was an indifferent student. “Your mama says you won an award. Congratulations.”
“I did. Rookie of the Year.”
His mae sniffed. “Rookie. Hah. You have been riding since you were twelve.”
“I know, mae. I know.” His ears went hot. Two national championships in Brazil, and people were more excited about him being rookie of the year in America. All but his mother, who thought the whole trip to the US was ridiculous.
“You should have bought land here. Stayed. Raised bulls.”
He shrugged. It was because of his bull-riding that all of his younger brothers and sisters could go to school, that his mae had a new sewing machine for her cottage industry making dresses and shirts.
She missed him. He knew it. But they were all better off with him away from home.
That way, no one asked why he had not settled down and started filling a wife with babies.
That was not what he wanted. In fact, Raul was pretty certain what he wanted was Joaquim. He belonged to Balta Silva, though. Joa was not for him, but they could be friends for sure.
“Raul, come help me pour the feijoada into bowls.”
“Sim.” He shook off his funk. This was Christmas and he was with his family and friends.
He’d been pissing and moaning for months, as Coke Pharris would say, about being all alone and missing Brazil.
He needed to take advantage of this time.
The season would start again soon enough, and he would be back on tour where he could admire both Joa and Balta from a distance.
“Feliz Natal!” Raul’s brother Claudio hugged him. “Let’s help mae, huh? Good to finally see you.”
Raul grinned and nodded, the smell of black beans and stewed meat so familiar it hurt. “It’s good to be home, Claudio,” Raul said, and he meant it.