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.”
BossyDoce.
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 toel 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.”
