“Worrywart.” He blinked. “I just got rung a little.”
“Bell. Rung.” Beau snorted. “No getting hurt anymore, okay?”
“I’ll get right on that, cowboy.” He chuckled. Like that was gonna happen. He was the hard luck kid.
“Yeah, yeah.” They slid into a parking space, and there was Balta, waving at them, smiling. Man, when Joa wasn’t around, Balta could be needy. Sam reckoned the man got real lonely, being like the godfather of Brazilian bull riders. Him and Beau and Balta could be friends, given that Beau was a champ, too.
“Hey, Balta. You want to meet us in the restaurant downstairs in half an hour?”
“You bet. I’ll see you then, huh?” They got a cheerful thumbs up, Balta hauling his gear in.
Beau chuckled. “Head him off at the pass, huh?”
“You know it. Where’s Joa again?”
“He’s off at some thing for his mom and dad. Just a week, I reckon.” Beau shrugged. “He had a bye on account of winning Topeka.”
“Yeah. It’s because we weren’t there.” Beau was on fucking fire.
That got him that grin, the one that said Beau was both embarrassed and proud. “You got a good ride tonight, Poot. For sure.”
“Thank God.” He needed the points. “I don’t want to miss the finals.”
“Nope. I need you there, and you’re always better at the end of the season.” They got up to their room, and Beau drew him to sit on the bed.
He sat, then leaned forward and rested against Beau’s belly a minute. Beau’s hands fell gently on his back, his neck. “I got you, Poot. Just rest a minute.”
“Yeah. Yeah, Boug. Please.” Just a minute.
“I got you. I always do. Stubborn man.” Those fingers rubbed tiny circles, easing the stiffness.
“Don’t know what you mean.” Oh, that was nice.
“Sure you don’t. Butthead.” Beau’s tone was fond, though, and that light touch never changed. His breath got slower as he relaxed, his arms so fucking heavy.
“I’ll call Balta here in a minute, get him a rain check, and send him room service, huh?” Oh, his Cajun was good to him.
“You sure?” He let Beau ease him all the way down onto the bed.
“Mmmhmm. I am. Get you a Sprite, too.” He heard Beau moving around, heard him talking low.
He could handle that, handle the bubbles. There was suddenly Sprite, with ice, and Beau sliding into bed with him, the TV clicking on. “I got us some stuff from room service, too.”
“Yeah? Silva mad?”
“Nah. He gets it. Lord knows he’s had his chickens scattered. I got you that nasty lava cake you like.”
Shit, he must’ve looked worse than he felt. There must be bruises.
“Man, I ain’t got that since I broke my wrist.” He twined their fingers together.
“I have to hold some things back, huh?” Beau held on, fingers squeezing his. “You like it almost as much as Andy Baxter likes ice cream.”
That made him chuckle. “Shit, that boy does like his butter pecan.”
“And mint chip. And vanilla.” They all knew Andy liked ice cream more than booze.
“It’s unnatural.” Sorta like Beau’s love for gumbo.
