Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The first event of the year was in…Boston.
Boston. In February.
Balta stomped his feet, swaying from side to side to try to keep warm. Whose idea was this? He wanted to hit them. Hard.
This was cold that was deeper than he’d ever felt in his life and the newer riders from home were talking about taking the first available flight home.
How could he blame them? They had all come up a day early so they could get on practice bulls, a special boot camp put on by Ace Porter…
Now they had no cabs, no way to get back to the hotel and the arena was closed.
A huge stretch Hummer pulled up, the thing lit up like Christmas, and the doors in the front opened as they all stared. “Mr. Uh…Ara…Araripe?”
Raul?
They all turned to look as a man, and Raul grinned, wide as a monkey. “Sim. That is me. Come. We go to the hotel. All of us.”
Balta laughed, clapping Joa on the back. “What a smart man, eh?”
Landon Gaudet, a young Cajun rider who’d been shivering right along with them, whooped. “Oooeee! Can I ride with y’all? I’m just little.”
“Sure you can. We’ll make room.” Joa was all smiles, beaming at Raul like the man was a genius. “Thank you, Raul. Really.”
Raul’s cheeks flushed when Joa stared at him that way. Balta thought it was an adorable trait. Raul nodded. “My English is better every day thanks to you, eh? The security man, this is his cousin.”
“Yeah? Too cool. Balta, in, you too, Raul. Let me get the rest in after.”
Bossy Doce.
Balta slid into the car, though, the heat almost making him queasy for a moment. Thermoses of coffee sat where the liquor would normally be. And hot chocolate. Heaven.
He owed Raul for this. Possibly he owed Raul Joa’s mouth. Yes, that was a fabulous idea. Balta could lie on the bed and touch them both, perhaps explore Raul’s hot, round ass with his hands…
He laughed, and Raul settled next to him. “Remember, the others are sharing this ride, Balta.”
He went for innocent, making his eyes go wide and guileless. “Yes, of course.”
Eduardo pushed in, shivering. “You planning evil, Silva? You going to talk to el jefe? Tell him?”
“I am.” He would call Ace and read him the riot act, as the Americans said. If he’d been told they needed to rent a vehicle, he would have. No, the memo had said the arena was close to the hotel, there would be a shuttle.
The hotel had said no, they couldn’t even keep their bags until check-in, so they all had suitcases to load in the back, too. This man would deserve a huge tip. And Ace deserved a kick in the butt for not telling him he needed to take care of his riders.
It should not matter whether those riders were brown or white, spoke Portuguese or Spanish or Australian, and he would not let the people in charge allow it. They dealt with this bullshit every day they worked.
Joa squeezed in last, stepping past Landon to take the spot on the other side of Balta. “The driver is named Dave. He is a very nice man.”
“Sim,” Raul said. “He will take us to the hotel now. Can you pass the drink?”
“There’s coffee and cocoa, y’all!” Joa laughed and passed the small American the paper cups. “Start ‘em around?”
“Surely do.” Landon tugged off a cup and handed the rest around to the other men. Joa poured coffee and cocoa, and Feliciano, a new rider this year, laughed for joy when he found a bag of marshmallows and a plate of cookies tucked into one the armrests.
Balta could hear the murmurs of thanks, the way that the black moods were lifting, the laughter beginning to fill the air. The sound was unmistakable and wonderful—a group of his countrymen together, having a minute of peace, of happiness in a foreign land.
He nodded to Raul. “You did a good thing.”
“You were so cold.” Raul touched his leg, just briefly, a stolen caress. “And we all needed something to make the day better.”
“We did.” Everyone began singing some raucous song, the American picking the words up almost immediately, so he felt safe leaning close and daring to continue. “I will offer you something to make your day better soon.”
“Will you?” Raul glanced past him at Joa. “Good. I’m hungry.”
Joa was so innocent sometimes. Raul could be as wicked as he was, which was surprisingly heady.
“I imagine. We should have you fed, and well.” He let his lip curl in what he knew was a filthy expression.
Joa happened to glance over at that moment, his eyes widening. “Balta!”
“What?” Balta chuckled at Joa’s shocked face.
“Uh. Do you want coffee or cocoa?”
Nice save.
“Cocoa. I’m craving something sweet.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Raul chuckled. “Nothing bitter for you, Silva?
“Nao. I will leave that for Joa. He handles that better than I do.”
Joa’s mouth fell open, those perfect lips threatening to make Balta hard right there now that he was warm.
“I think cocoa, too,” Raul said. “I want something smooth. Creamy.”
Eduardo looked at him, rolled his eyes. “He is too easy. Everything makes him peep like a baby chick.”
“I do not!”
Everyone stopped at Joa’s words, then bright laughter filled the air.
Balta let it go, sinking back in the seat and closing his eyes for a moment, the luxury of warmth winning over the urge to be more evil to Joa. He had plenty of time for that after they checked in at the hotel.
They pulled up and the others began to unload bags while Balta tipped the driver generously enough that the man beamed. “Call me anytime. Anytime.”
“I will call this afternoon. We have two more days, huh? We can use you, for sure.” Balta clapped Dave the driver on one shoulder before tucking the business card Dave handed him in his pocket.
Raul approached, wallet out, but Dave waved him off. “It’s covered. You guys have been wicked fun.” Dave waved and went to help with the last of the bags.
“You didn’t have to,” Raul protested, but Balta waved it away.
“I wanted to. We will use him tomorrow. I will pay—you will tip.”
Raul tilted his head a moment, then nodded. “That works.” Then Raul gave him an uncertain glance. “I need to check in, huh?”
Poor Raul. He’d been with them almost the whole break, sleeping in Joa’s big bed. He saw where Raul was worried.
“You have your own room or were you supposed to share?”
“My own. Eduardo snores.”
“Bah. You are with us, then. I have a suite.” He wanted to stay a few days after and explore. This was a new place, a different place, and Joa was excited to see the history, eat lobster.
Pleasure flooded those light brown eyes, and Raul beamed. “I will cancel my room after the others go up.”
“Bom.” He nodded. “I will get three keys.”
“I— obrigado, Balta. I would feel strange alone.”
“So would we.” Raul needed to know that. Balta would prove it later.
His lover and friend’s face cracked in a huge smile. “Bom. Bom, Balta. That sounds good. Warm.”
“Mmm. Sim. Now, I will go check us in. You and Joa discover food.”
Raul’s eyes slid to Joa, who was at the front desk, talking hard, helping the others get their rooms.
“Mmm. Maybe we should order room service.” Balta chuckled. “You get the bags, then?”
“Sim. I’ll grab them and get in line to cancel my room.”
“We’ll meet you by the elevators.” Balta felt oddly clandestine. Kind of exciting.
It was a pleasant feeling, better than the knowledge that he was going to have to fight with Ace Porter, again, force the issue about their treatment once more. That was—well, he was getting tired of that argument, but he would never stop. His riders deserved good lives for them and their families.
They did their jobs. They rode fair. If the fans didn’t want Brazilians to win then the Americans needed to ride better than they did. Simple as that.
“Hey, Balta. I hear your guys got stuck at the arena.” The bullfighter, Nate, came over where he stood in line. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’d’a known I would have carted some of your folks. I can give three people a ride in the morning.”
“I appreciate it. Obviously someone made a mistake.”
“Yeah. Call next time, hmm? You have me in your phone or just Hoss?”
“I think just Coke.” Nate was a good man. All of the bullfighters were, even the little Australian who subbed in sometimes for Coop.
“Here, gimme your phone. Your guys ain’t used to this shit. I ain’t used to it. Hell, maybe only Andy George from Alberta ain’t freezing his tits off.”
Balta pulled out his phone so he could hand it to Nate. “Dillon, maybe.”
“He’s unnatural.”
“He is. He’s still in Texas. They’re flying in tomorrow.”
“Did they get any more rest?” Coke had been good over the holidays, but this thing with Jason Scott was going to kill him.
“Dillon has his phone. They’ve been quiet for days.” Nate winked at him and Balta had to grin.
“Good man. Coke needs to remember that we’re all getting older, no?”
“Every fucking day, Silva. Every fucking day.” Nate handed him back his phone. “There. Now you got me if you need me. I put in a call to Ace. Hope I didn’t overstep.”
“No. No, I appreciate it.” And he did. He needed another voice. More than that, the others needed a voice.
“Good deal. See you tomorrow. I reckon you’ll have room service since they got it. I hear the steak is good.”
“Excellent.” His Joa loved a slab of bife.
Balta loved to watch him eat it. So did Raul, come to that. They could see and admire their lover, watch him lick his fingers clean before thanking Raul for the Hummer.
Then dessert would begin. He searched out and found Joa, then Raul with his eyes. Balta did love dessert.
“Congratulations, Raul!” Cotton, his redheaded, freckled friend came to him, whacking him on the back of the vest. “That was one hell of a ride.”
He grinned wide. Sim, that had felt good. Very good. The bull had kicked. Spun. Raul had held on and spurred. His score? Ninety-one points.
“And you’re the only one to ride three,” Adrian said, the pretty Aussie chuckling at him because he was dancing a bit. “You’ll take it, even if Balta rides.”
Raul sobered, glancing up at the chute where Joa was pulling rope for Balta.
“Sim. He has one low score, huh? He will not pass me.” He felt a bit guilty about that.
Balta was the best bull-rider ever, in Raul’s eyes, but he was struggling.
Oh, he was in the top ten, but his arm ached, his hips hurt, and he was— Well, some days Balta was grumpy.
He nodded to his friends. “I need to go tell him to have a good ride.”
Cotton and Adrian exchanged glances, which he knew meant they knew something had changed. Adrian understood. He and Packer were traveling partners, sim? He worked his way over to the chute where Balta sat on the bull, making tiny adjustments.
“Good ride, Balta,” he murmured, leaning down to push at the bull when he leaned on the gate.
“Mmm.” Balta winked at him, which made him feel better.
Then Balta nodded, and Raul sprang back so he wouldn’t foul the bull in the chute. The big beast sprang free, turning to the right, into Balta’s hand. Joa stood beside Raul, whooping, but they both knew it when Balta’s riding arm gave out and he began to slide down into the well.
“No!” Joa cupped his hands to his mouth. “Up, Balta. Lift up with your chest.”
Balta tried. He hung on, his body slipping a bit with each buck. Then at seven point three, Balta’s hand popped out of the rope and the clock stopped.
“Well, shit.” Joa’s shoulders slumped.
Raul nodded. Damn it. He would have felt better if Balta had scored on three, even if he hadn’t outpaced Raul.
Balta hit the arena floor and the event was over. Raul had won.
Half an hour later, Raul had collected his check, signed autographs, and muscled his way back to the locker room. He searched the room for Joa, but neither he nor Balta were there.
“Silva’s in the shower,” Eduardo told him. “Joa went to load the truck.”
Raul winced. That meant Balta had snarled at Joa. He stripped off his boots and jeans, grimacing at the filth on the back pockets. He needed to hop under the water, too.
He headed in, and Balta was the only one under the water, standing in a corner where no one else would have bothered him anyway. Raul tugged off his shorts, then moved to stand a few feet away from Balta so he could turn on a tap.
Balta waited almost a full minute. “Good ride, Raul.”
“You, too.” When Balta just glared, he shrugged. “You did not give up, Balta. You tried.”
Balta slapped the tile wall with one hand. “I did not used to have to try.”
“We all get older, Balta.”
“Bah. You are on top of your game, Raul. What do you know?”
Raul turned on Balta. “Two years ago I fought my way to a title in Sao Paulo. When was the last time you rode a Brazilian bull, Balta? I know!”
“Don’t you yell at me,” Balta snarled, taking two steps forward to bump against his chest like a large dog, ready to fight him for territory.
“Stop being so spoiled, then.” He bumped back, not backing down. Raul was glad no one else was in the shower area with them, though, because his cock rose high and hard as if answering an unspoken challenge.
“I’m not spoiled! I’m getting old, Raul.” Balta slumped. “I don’t want to go out as an old man.”
“Bah.” Raul glanced toward the door before he grabbed Balta’s caralho and pumped it up and down. “You are plenty young. And Joa is waiting for us. You need to make up with him.”
Balta closed his eyes and leaned into the touch for just a moment. Raul felt very bold, because this was dangerous to both of them.
“I do,” Balta agreed. “Will you help me make it up to him?”
Raul chuckled. “I will. I will even suck you just to prove you’re still a better rider than me, Balta.”
Balta burst out laughing, backing off so they could both duck under the spray and rinse off. “I will let you. Not here, though.”
“No. At the hotel, after food.” Raul thumped his dick, willing it to go down. This was his life now, nao? Constant need for his two lovers.
Now he just needed to remind Balta how good life could be.