Page 97 of Pulled From Both Sides
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 ofbife.
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.”
