Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Raul padded to the kitchen, hoping he could find a snack without waking anyone. Somehow he was starving, even though Joa’s Mai had fed them enough to keep a small army alive only five or so hours ago.
He smiled. He did adore Joa’s mama.
They had worked off a meal or two in the bed, though. He supposed that explained why he was so ready for something to munch on.
Joa had a huge fondness for all snack foods American—Twinkies and Ding Dongs, Bakenettes and Funyuns, Doritos.
Oh, Deus. Doritos.
His eyes crossed and he grabbed a bag of the ranch-flavored ones.
Those were like a drug. A greasy, fake-orange, awful, amazing drug.
The smell of them should turn his stomach when he opened the bag, but Raul breathed deep and hummed.
They had to put something illegal in there.
Now, if he could just find a root beer. Oh, he loved root beer.
Sweet but somehow just bitter enough to take the edge off…
“Ah, you too?” Balta stood in the doorway, watching him, a tiny smile on those full lips.
“Sim. Starving.”
“There’s cold meats and cheese, too.” Balta opened the fridge and handed him a root beer without him needing to ask, and pulled out plastic trays of food.
Raul watched, bemused. He had no idea what Balta really wanted from him. They were…friendly, if not friends. They slept in the same bed and loved Joa—
Oh, sim, he loved Joa. Very much.
Balta grinned at him, the expression easy and comfortable, making him wonder at his own worries. “Table or couch?”
“Couch.” Why not? He had on a pair of sweatpants with everything else bare, and he felt odd sitting at the kitchen table.
He grabbed his drink and the Doritos while Balta added a loaf of bread to the tray of meat and cheese.
They headed to the family room, where they wouldn’t wake Joa if they put on a movie.
They lay the spread down on the coffee table and Balta sat, not leaving a cushion between them, but landing right next to him with a bounce.
The motion surprised a laugh out of him, and Balta gave him a goofy grin. “I love to sneak in snacks while Joa is not watching. He worries about my back so and says extra weight is bad.”
“He’s obsessed.” He’d seen it, Joa’s hours and hours of exercise to make up for sweets and treats and indulgences.
“Sim. But it is fun to work around it.” The glimmer in Balta’s eyes just proved it. The man was a demon, as Joa said.
Raul snorted. “We benefit from it, for certain.” Strange, to say ‘we.’ To feel as though he belonged. Balta was treating this as if Raul was with them to stay, not just a guest or a game. He wasn’t sure that three was a number that worked.
He munched his chips, and Balta found some futebol on the television—Brazil versus Argentina. He grinned at the sight of the yellow jerseys, and Balta crowed, settling in deep on the couch.
Raul watched the game with half his attention, focusing on Balta with the other. Balta made a sandwich with meticulous care, the meat and cheese stacked just so, a few pickles piled on for crunch and flavor, he supposed.
“I know, I know, but I like what I like, you know? And if I can have it, I take it.”
Raul nodded slowly, reaching over to steal a pickle. Yes. That was Balta all over. Raul had watched him a lot, wanting to emulate the famous first rider to go from Brazil to America and win. He admired the strength of will as much as he liked Balta’s basic good nature. For a demon.
He’d seen the fallout when someone crossed Silva, too. The way Baltazar could single-handedly destroy someone’s career for a slight that didn’t come with an apology. The disgraced rider would disappear back to Brazil, never to be heard from again…
Careful steps. That was Raul’s plan.
“You are thinking too hard, gato,” Balta told him. “Try the mortadella.” Balta held up a piece of meat.
He opened his lips, the action immediate, and Balta popped the bite in. “It’s good, sim?”
The fatty yet melt-in-your-mouth flavor took him back home, and Raul blinked as he swallowed, amazed at how homesickness took him. He sat very still, not sure what to say.
Balta frowned. “You are pale. Is the meat bad?”
“Nao. It tastes of home.”
“Ah.” Balta nodded and surprised him by leaning over and kissing him, just bringing their lips together in an oddly-gentle caress. “It is not so hard for me. It has been so long and Joa has worked hard to make life easy. You will learn, sim, and you will find this home one day.”
Balta sounded so damned sure.
Raul tried to nod, but he felt unsteady. Unsure. Balta wrapped an arm around him and tugged him into the lee of that solid male body, the warmth almost shocking.
So he leaned, gathering strength from Balta’s abundance.
They fed each other bites, cheering and groaning at various turns depending on the play on the television. By the time Brazil took the game, the food was demolished and his eyes drooped, so heavy.
“Joa will be in the middle of the bed, Raul, missing us.”
“Mmm. He will. Thank you for the snack.” He kissed Balta’s jaw, feeling bold.
“Thank you for sharing it. It is better than sitting in the dark alone, to be with a lover.” Balta winked, the look so naughty. “Joa needs his sleep, you see. All of it. Otherwise he is a caipora, sim?”
Oh, Raul could not see Joa ever being a monster, hiding in the trees and waiting to take down an unwary child… Still, the idea made him snort out a chuckle. Then he thought on what Balta had said before that. “I don’t need as much sleep, hmm? Anytime you need me…”
“I believe I do, meu lindo.” Balta gathered the trash in his broad hands as he stood, stared.
Raul rose, helping to gather their things before turning off the TV. His body tried to tell him things he wasn’t sure Balta meant by the words, but those dark eyes held promises.
Then Balta wrapped one arm around his waist and began to walk them back to the bedroom. It was dark and, as Balta had said, Joa was curled in the center of the bed.
They both stripped out of their pants and Balta stopped him, tilting his head back to kiss him as if there was no tomorrow, tongue pushing in, conquering his mouth.
Oh.
Oh, he stepped in, meeting Balta more than halfway, slamming them together with a muffled moan. The broad, fuzzy chest was so unlike Joa’s smooth skin, and Balta’s kisses were like the fireball whiskey Landon Gaudet had made him try on a dare just before the finals.
Hot and burning, lighting him up from the inside—they were totally unlike Joa and his sweet, yielding mouth that threatened to draw him in. No, this was not an invitation to take the reins. Balta simply overwhelmed his good sense.
Raul wrapped his fingers around Balta’s hip, thumb rubbing over the soft skin he found there.
There were scars, as well, webbed across Balta’s lower back, one puckered monster scar on Balta’s lower ribs.
Deus, he remembered that from watching it on the television.
Balta had been gored, and they had all held their breath, hoping he made it through.
He’d prayed for days, lighting a candle every morning, every night, for Baltazar Silva’s life.
Joa stirred on the sheets, then sat up, blinking at them. “Midnight snack?” he asked, and Raul felt Balta laugh against his lips.
“Shh, doce. We were just coming back to bed, sim?” Balta eased him in next to Joa, who moved over to give them room. Balta snuggled in close, the furnace of Balta’s body making his eyes cross with pleasure.
He’d never been so close to anyone that he spent the night with them this way, and now he had two. He was—Raul felt blessed.
Blessed and sated and ready to rest.
He curled his hand around Joa’s waist, and Balta’s entire body ended up plastered against his back.
Raul breathed deep, smelling musk and man and a hint of Doritos. Yes. He was a lucky man.