Jackson thinks about it quietly as we walk, hand in hand. Sure, it's part of our deception, but to be honest, it feels nice, and when he gives my hand a squeeze, I squeeze back, taking a look over at him. He's smiling, and I can't help but smile back. “What?”
“I understand what you're saying. By the way, you look dynamite today, even if it is the first time in weeks that I haven't seen your belly button.”
I look down at my t-shirt and jeans, chuckling. “They're too damn tight. Only reason I have these is because I can wear them without having to put on a belt. I hate going through metal detectors.”
“You could have worn those martial arts pants you've got.”
I shake my head and laugh. “I look strange enough as it is. I wear those, and I'd for sure get attention from the authorities.”
The flight to Miami is pleasant, and I notice that Jackson pulls out a book a few minutes into the flight. Andrea was true to her word. Rich Dad has been replaced with Think and Grow Rich. “How's it coming along?”
“I think I'm getting it,” Jackson says. “I mean, reading the other book, I was a bit off because he's always focusing on the real estate aspect. But this guy, he's different. He's talking about the market, and using your own ideas to build your business. It makes a lot more sense to me. Maybe because I'm just not into real estate.”
“And what ideas do you have?”
Jackson shakes his head, unsure. “Not ready to really think about that yet. I mean, I've spent four years since high school being a party boy. I've gotta figure myself out before I start throwing around money in investments. Still, if you had to push me on the subject, I'd say... well, the one thing I know is training, unless you're talking partying and maybe a little bit about cars. And fashion, how to dress for success. Maybe I could be a style consultant or something,” he says and frowns.
“Those are good starts,” I advise him, leaning in and giving him a nudge.
“Gee, thanks,” Jackson says, still giving me a little smile. We alternate between reading and chatting during the two-hour flight, landing without a problem at the airport and heading toward the car rental counters. Thankfully for me, Darcy was willing to put one of her credit cards on the reservation to secure our car, and Jackson peels off the cash for it out of his pocket.
We drive to the hotel, which isn't as bad as Jackson feared it would be. Sure, it's not going to show up in the Yelp or Zagat's guide to Miami, but the room is clean, and the bed is a king. Jackson stops when we put our bags down, looking at the bed. “Uh... Katrina?”
“Yeah?”
“There's only one bed,” he says, pointing. “Only one bed,” he repeats.
I laugh and sit down, sinking into the pillow top mattress. Ooh, nice. I don't think I've ever had a bed this nice before, in fact. “It's okay, Jackson. Remember, we're here supposedly as a couple. Now, it'd be strange for a couple to get a room with two beds, don't you think?”
“But... okay. You're right,” Jackson says, taking his shoulder bag and putting it against the wall. It’s weird with him acting this way, and I wonder if it’s just for show. “I guess I can sleep on the floor or something, it'll be okay.”
I laugh and push back on the bed, stretching out. This feels heavenly, and Jackson's being so cute I can't help but laugh more. I’m almost positive he’s trying to bait me into saying he can sleep in the bed with me, and if he is, I’m falling for it. “You will do no such thing. This bed is big enough for both of us.”
“So I’m not going to wake up with a broken arm?”
“If I had problems with you and my personal space, I wouldn't have held your hand in the airport,” I remind him, “nor would I have let you into my loft for our workout the other day. I'm just saying, Jackson... it's okay. You packed your PJs, I assume?”
Jackson nods. “Good, and I can wear my pants and a t-shirt myself,” I reply, grinning. “Now, are you going to join me on this thing, or do I get to roll around by myself for a while?”
Jackson chuckles and stretches out on the bed next to me, lying on his side to give me some space. Still, it's nice, and I turn over, looking at him. He's close, but there's still maybe a foot or two of space between us, and he's giving me this strange little smile. “What?”
“You look different, lying there like that,” Jackson says quietly, that strange little smile still on his lips. “It's nice. You don't look so... pissed off or intense. And I can't recall a time that you've been smiling so much in this way.”
“What way?” I ask, and Jackson chuckles.
“Like you're actually having fun, and not laughing sarcastically or ironically. You look like you're actually having fun, and enjoying what you're doing innocently.”