Page 14 of Constantly Cotton
“No.” He was actually the perfect candidate.Hewasn’t starting school.Hedidn’t have a job outside or inside of porn. And nobody in the flophouse would miss him if he was gone. “I’d be happy to,” he said.
“Jackson!” Henry protested. “You can’t just kidnap him!”
Well, maybe Henry would miss him, like a little brother or something.
Jackson turned to Cotton. “It’s not kidnapping,” he said levelly. “It’s accepting a mission. You up to do this, Cotton?”
Cotton bobbed his head up and down without hesitation. “Absolutely.”
“Good.” Jackson stood stiffly and handed what was left of the crackers back to Henry. “Let me know if you guys need more money. I’ll have Henry stop by an ATM so I can pull out some more cash for you guys in general. You two are going to need resources, and cash is good because it can’t be traced. Henry can show you how to hide it around your person so you never lose all of it. Deal?”
“Deal.” Cotton stood and took Jackson’s offered hand. “Thank you,” he said, feeling foolish and needy. A mission? Possibly risky? Following a man he hardly knew into danger? Why sure! He’d be happy to! Didn’t have anything else on his platter, right?
“For what?” Jackson said, rolling his eyes. “We’re thanking you, right now, for being willing to do this. Let me know if you need anything, though, and see if you can’t get those go-bags packed by tomorrow at the latest. I have no idea when Burton’s going to decide to move him, but when it happens, it’s going to be fast.”
Cotton understood. “I’ll be ready.” But that didn’t feel honest. “I mean, I’lltryto be ready. I’m not really a… you know. Action hero or anything.”
“Who is?” Jackson asked with a shrug that apparently pulled something he’d recently injured. He sort of hunched his back and muttered, “Ouch. More to the point, who wants to be? Jesus!”
“All right, boss, let me get you back home, okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. Whatever. I’ll call Burton on the way and you can add your shitty two cents’ worth.”
“My opinion’s worth a buck at least,” Henry countered, opening the door so Jackson could lead the way out.
“Ha! You’re still an intern. Fifty cents, maximum.”
Cotton didn’t hear what Henry said in return, but he didn’t have to. Everybody at the flophouse had seen the two of them together, and some members had seen them in action as partners. As lovers, they’d rip each other to pieces, but as friends and investigative cohorts, they were pretty much perfect.
But Cotton had other things to worry about, and with a moment’s hesitation, he texted Billy to see when he’d get home. Jackson had told him he needed to stay put, so he needed his own partner in crime.
“WHATCHA DOIN’?”Jason slurred. He still had a fever, but he was obviously waking up from his nap.
Cotton looked over from Billy’s bed, where he was folding clothes and making sure the toiletry bags held all the essentials.
“Packing for us,” he said.
Jason squinted. “You’re bigger’n me.”
Cotton laughed a little. “Possibly. That’s why we’ve got two bags—my clothes and yours. You’ve got everyday muscles. I’ve got show-pony muscles.” He sighed. “Which are going to melt away pretty soon, since I’m only working out enough to keep fit.”
“You’ll still be pretty.” Jason’s voice had taken on a dreamy tone, and Cotton set the last of the requirements of the two bags neatly on top and went to sit on the edge of Jason’s bed so he could check his vitals. He sounded particularly out of it, and Cotton was worried.
“Yes,” he said. “Always pretty. But am I useful? Am I wanted? Pretty fades.” He’d meant it as sort of a joke, but he wasn’t aware of how plaintive he’d sounded until he felt Jason’s dry, hot hand on the inside of his wrist as he lifted the touchless thermometer.
“Pretty on the inside doesn’t,” Jason said, and Cotton’s chest warmed even as he panicked. He wielded the thermometer, heart stuttering when he saw the spike go over 102.
“How do you know I’m pretty on the inside?” he said softly, putting the back of his hand on Jason’s forehead. “I could be a real dick.” Or a sex worker. Which was not something he’d ever been ashamed of before. He’d made his own damned living, hadn’t he? But for some reason, when Jason Constance had called him an angel, he hadn’t wanted to counter with “Sadly, no, but I am a whore.”
“Because you’re nice to me.” Jason shivered, hard and uncomfortably. “And you touch me. I miss touch.”
Cotton nodded. “Everyone deserves to be touched,” he said softly. “By someone who matters.”
“Who touches you, angel?” This man was feverish and exhausted; his eyes shouldn’t have been so penetrating, boring straight down to Cotton’s soul.
“Lots of men,” he said with a grimace. “But nobody who’s mattered.” And that was the truth, both parts.
Jason’s gaze grew sorrowful. “Poor angel.”
