Chapter Sixteen
The house was amazing—filled with lights and tinsel, the joy of the season making everything sparkle.
Joa nodded, satisfied down to the bone. In the two weeks they’d been home, they’d cleaned and ridden—horses and four-wheelers. They’d gone with Papai and Franco, Estella’s husband, to fish, all of them catching more beer than anything, but they had laughed together for hours.
Now Christmas Eve was coming and Mae was cooking with the girls and grandchildren at her house, and they were alone.
Him and Balta.
A grin stretched his cheeks, because Balta was singing, bellowing something in Portuguese, his voice echoing off the walls and ceiling. Joa loved it when Balta let loose and really had fun.
He grabbed a Coke from the fridge and a cookie off the counter, the cinnamon sugar on the top crunching. Home. Home, home, home.
Balta came bustling around the kitchen island, his arms full of brightly wrapped gifts. “Oh, cookie. Ah.”
His big lover opened up like a hungry baby bird and Joa, unable to resist, popped one in.
Balta munched, humming the same tune he’d been singing. Around the cookie Balta sounded as if he was playing the kazoo.
Joa started chuckling, then the chuckles turned to laughter as he remembered being a little boy and trying to blow the kazoo like a whistle and not understanding why it wouldn’t work.
Laughing, Balta boogied, shaking his butt. Then he headed for the Christmas tree in the family room. Balta was generous, buying gifts for everyone in Joa’s household, and then some. The man had a bit of an addiction to Amazon, too, shipping things all over.
He’d found Balta an inversion table for his house and had already installed it in the workout room next to his weight bench. Joa had also found a massaging bed chair, thanks to Dillon. Dillon swore by it for Coke and when they drove to events, they could take it with them.
Balta’s lower back just didn’t seem to be getting better. Balta told him to leave it alone, but Joa worried. He didn’t think they could do anything but surgery to fuse things, and that would have to wait until Balta retired. Joa was far from ready for that.
He couldn’t imagine the league without Balta.
No one could.
Then again, Lafitte had retired, so had Sam Bell… The day would come.Deus, not this year. Right?
“You stopped smiling.” Balta had deposited his load and came back to Joa, wrapping both strong arms around his waist.
“Did I? I must need another cookie.” Or a kiss. A kiss would be better than a cookie.
“You have sugar on your lips.” Balta always knew. He leaned close, licking at Joa’s mouth, then pressing against him for a kiss, tongue pushing inside to taste him.
He let himself rest close, let himself lean hard and feel for a second. He and Balta had been so busy—not that he would complain. Joa loved his family. Still, this was a luxury, this time.
“Should we take the sweets and such to the bedroom?” Balta asked and Joa shook his head.
“Crumbs, Baltazar. Crumbs.”
“Bah. I will put down a towel. Get some cookies and some fudge.” Balta loved his mother’s peanut butter fudge, a Texas tradition that one Brazilian, at least, had embraced with fervor.
Who was he kidding? Brazilians loved theirdoces, their sweets, Joa included.
“I spoil you, my Demon.”
“You do! I will change the sheets if we make a mess.”
He had to admit, Balta was fastidious about the bed. He would change sheets at a hotel if he had to. Joa might tease, but Balta knew his way around housework.
“Can we have the rum balls, too?” It was Christmas, after all. No better time to indulge, and he loved the way rum flavored Balta’s mouth.
“We will make a feast!” Balta announced, marching to the refrigerator to pull out fudge and rum balls, bon-bons and peppermint bark.
