Coke ordered a sandwich, Nate had the spaghetti, and Joa went for lasagna. He was hungry.
Balta smiled gently at Coke. “I thought you wanted noodles, huh?”
“I do, but I ain’t fighting a fork, huh?” That mangled, swollen hand was held up, and all of them winced.
“Well, I can share some of mine, if you have a real urge.” Balta wasn’t shy about feeding people off his own fork.
“We’ll see how good it looks.”
“There you go.” That was one Americanism Balta had picked up with enthusiasm.
“I heard Dillon got hurt. Is he better?”
The question got him a glance from Nate and a shrug from Coke.
Balta stared back and forth between them with bright eyes, something evil in there for a moment. Balta didn’t say nothing, though. Nate finally snorted. “His shoulder’s out, but he’ll live.”
“Well, that’s good. They pay him a lot to keel over from tangling with a bull.” Joa smiled. Man, something was up.
“Yeah. Ace said they’d start docking us per injury.” Nate sounded…mean. Snake mean.
He looked from Nate to Coke and let it drop. The politics of bullfighters was different. Harder, he thought, than the riders. Maybe it was because they were so few. They had to do all the rides, all night. A rider had to do maybe two. And they had paychecks. They could be fired. Him? If he rode, he was on tour.
The food started to arrive, saving them all from something awkward. The fried cheese smelled so good. They dug in like starving men, laughing as they fought over the last few sticks.
The entrees came, and before Joa could even blink, Balta was forking up noodles for Coke. “They’re so good, huh?”
“They look fine.” Coke took the fork in his good hand, humming over them.
“They are!”
Bonner sat there staring with his mouth open. Joa could remember that, remember finding out that the big names on tour were human.
He ate his food, all of them watching Coke as the pain pills started to work, the man seeming older by the second. Hemurmured something about taking Coke home in Portuguese, so as not to offend the bullfighter.
“Mmm. As soon as this date is over, huh?” Balta nodded, handing Coke the red pepper when the man asked.
He nodded. “He’s fading, Balta. You drive.”
“I will. No worries.” Balta was a good friend. It was nice to see.
They ordered a second round of beer, and cheesecake for everyone—except Nate, who got an ice cream sundae as big as his head.
“You like ice cream, huh?” Bonner stared at Nate, then the ice cream, just like a newborn fool.
“Shit, yeah. It’s better than cream cheese in a crust.”
“Nao.” Balta shook his head. “Cheesecake is food of the gods.”
“Cheesecake is sour and slimy.” Nate actually grinned.
They all groaned, but no one stopped eating, and they finally were all full and ready to go. Joa noticed that Balta’s second beer was mostly untouched.
Coke stood, swayed a little, and threw money on the table. “I need bed, I think.”
“Come on, old man, huh?” Balta stood, too, picking up the rest of the bill without anyone but Joa noticing. “We’ll get you back for some rest.”
“Yeah.”
