“Right, I think. Onto the highway and then three exits down.” Balta would not steer him wrong. Well, unless they were in Brazil. That one time, they had almost ended up in Brasilia…
His cheeks heated, and he chuckled, nodded. “Sim, Balta. Three exits.”
Him, Balta, Eduardo. In a truck in the middle of nowhere. It had been funny and annoying and a little hot, which he hadn’t wanted to admit then, and decided to forget now. He just drove while Balta hummed with the samba music on the CD.
The steakhouse parking lot was full of pickups and cowboy hats. He grabbed his hat, nodding. Balta moved through the crowd at the door, smiling at the hostess, who recognized him. It took them three minutes to get a seat.
He nodded to AJ and Hank, to Coke and Nate. “Must be a good place, hmm?”
“It is. Big steaks, lots of salads. It’s not as good as achurrascaria, but it will do.” They got settled and the bread came, and that made it all worth it already.
He ordered a steak, a potato, two salads. At Balta’s glance, he shrugged. “I’m hungry.”
“Ah, I miss being young.” Balta often complained about being fat. He wasn’t a small man, just old and fat.
“You are not old. You are a strong man.”
“I am not so strong when it comes to working off mortadella sandwiches.”
Oh, yes. Those were Balta’s weakness. He had stopped at every stand in the market at Sao Paulo.
“You could come do crunches with me, Balta. That works off even mortadella.”
“Hey, my lower back doesn’t bend that way, huh?Nao. I will swim or something.”
He nodded, chin down—both at the thought of Balta in the pool and of that poor, stiff lower back.
“Oh, now. No pouting! This is celebrating your ride in the short-go!” Balta waved down the waiter, ordering a bottle of wine once he stopped.
“I don’t pout!” He chuckled, grateful that Balta couldn’t ordercaipirinhashere. He’d nearly embarrassed himself in Sao Paolo with the drinks.
“You have the lips for it,doce. They can be very pouty.” Balta stared at his mouth for a moment, a flash of heat sweeping him.
He pursed his lips, eyes crossing as he looked down, or tried to. “Do not.”
“Sim. Oh,sim.” Now Balta was really staring, licking his own lips.
Joa’s cock was heavy, balls aching in his jeans. His belly went tight, hard. “I… I… I…”
“Shh. Hush, now. Your salad is here, huh?”
His salads. Oh, they looked good. He grabbed the salt, and his fork, and then dug in. Balta sprinkled a bit of vinegar on his salad before joining him in the munching. Conversation died down, because the food was good. He ate both salads and morebread, his body demanding the food. The waitress flirted with Balta, bending close and shaking, making Balta laugh.
They never flirted with him. Maybe he was just too much of a…how did they say? Dork. Or maybe it showed that he would rather be flirting with Balta.
Deus.
Please, no.
He bent to his steak, lecturing himself with every bite.
“Hey, you. Are you all right?” Balta’s boot nudged his under the table.
“Sim. Sim, buon.” He gave Balta a smile, a nod. It wasn’t Balta’s fault that he was…sick. “How’s your steak?”
“Yummy. It’s just right. Did they do good on yours? Juicy?” One eyebrow went up and down.
‘It’s good.” Especially now that he slowed down to taste it. “Not as good as Pai’s,sim?”
