“You don't have a problem with flying?” Jackson asks quietly as we wait in line for the TSA check. “I mean, you said you don't even have a library card.”

“I don't,” I whisper back. “But Kit Misery does.”

I'd prepared for this contingency, and actually have a few false IDs set up, although I doubt any of them are as elaborate as what 'Michael Ball' has. The TSA tends to be overworked and understaffed, and as long as one of my IDs doesn't get flagged for a terrorist watch list, I'll get passed through. I don't have the time to go into it with Jackson here, but he nods and we get through. Ironically, Jackson is the one tagged by the gate agent for an additional pat-down, and he flushes a bit red when the bored, obviously rushed agent cups his balls perhaps a bit differently than the book says.

“How'd you like the grope show?” I chuckle as he grabs his bag and we head down the hallway. “Looked like fun.”

“Yeah... not something I'd like to do again,” Jackson grumbles, until he sees me chuckling. “What?”

“Even if I were the one doing the groping?” I tease, and Jackson is surprised. “Come on Jackson, we need to keep up the appearance of a young couple going on vacation, if anyone wonders. A little... banter isn't out of place. We show up at the hotel looking like two strangers sharing a room, and we're going to create more questions.”

Jackson blinks, then nods in understanding. “You're right, of course. But do I have to call you Kit the whole time?”

I shake my head. “Nope, the hotel reservation is totally different, and it’s one of those places that doesn't ask too many questions.”

Jackson stops and pulls me to the side. “Katrina, are you sure you want to go slumming the whole time? I mean, no offense, but wouldn't it be nice to treat yourself to at least a night or two in a decent place? Hell, even a Marriott?”

I smile and pat his cheek, he looks so cute. “It's the way I operate, Jackson. Now, maybe it doesn't look nice, but the way I live provides me something your lifestyle doesn't.”

“What's that?”

“Freedom,” I tell him, reaching down and taking his hand. “Besides, if there's time, maybe we can do some nice things. They just have to be untraceable and paid for in cash. You put anything on your credit card, and Peter's going to wonder just what the hell you're doing in Miami.”

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.”

Jackson reaches out, then stops, his hand frozen halfway in between us, then starts to pull back before I reach out and take his hand. “It's good to spend time with a friend again,” I tell him, squeezing. “Really.”

“Well, then maybe I can convince you to have dinner with me at a decent restaurant before we start work tomorrow?” Jackson asks. “We can even do a workout here in the room beforehand if you want to make sure the calories are consumed wisely. Just no pushups, I can't handle any pushups.”

“Today's a leg day anyway,” I tease him, then nod. “Okay. But we can skip the workout. I think we've earned a three or four-day vacation. Instead, maybe we could do some sightseeing or something? I don’t think I’ve ever done that before.”

“Sure,” Jackson says, giving my hand another squeeze. “Where do you want to go?”

“Uh... well, I've always wanted to try hanging out in the trendy places, with the beautiful people,” I tell him. “To be honest, it was a little cool being Kitty in that dress the first night. I felt... pretty.”

I wouldn't admit it to myself then, but I did enjoy that part of dressing up. Sure, I was trying to be a seductive vixen, but I did enjoy being pretty. At the time I was too angry and driven to let myself feel it, but afterward, I had to admit that I enjoyed that part of the whole operation. I expect Jackson to look upset or maybe angry, but instead, his smile spreads and his eyes are deep blue with meaning. “You don't know just how pretty you are, Katrina. But yeah, I think we can do that. How about we get changed, dress up a little, and head over to Ocean Drive. If anything, there's probably some shops that we can stop by, they'll have stuff that will look amazing on you.”

The idea of shopping for a reason other than pure functionality is strange and leaves butterflies in my stomach, and I nod. “Can I just wear my normal gear until we find a shop?”

Jackson chuckles and nods. “Only if I get to wear what I want.”

I nod and we get off the bed. I go over to my bag and look inside, taking out my second best pair of pants besides the jeans I wore for the flight, a baggy set of denim blue cargo pants and a skin-hugging white cotton crop top. I look at the top, then at my t-shirt, and decide to go with the crop top. Miami's a place where people can show a little skin, right?

I take my clothes inside the bathroom to change, while Jackson stays in the room to do his thing. “So how long did Darcy say it was going to take to verify the addresses?” Jackson asks as I take off my jeans.

I glance toward the door and notice with a start that it's not totally closed. I'm sure I closed it before, but maybe the latch is broken or something, and in the little gap in between, I can look out into the room. I don't mean to be a voyeur, but seeing Jackson stripping down to just the boxer briefs he's wearing sends a warm tremble through my belly. He's muscular, which I knew, but I didn't realize just how muscular until just now. Now I can see every ripple of muscle, even down to his lower back and along his spine. Yeah, I may have joked with him a little the other day about being nonfunctional, but looking at him now, I can think of plenty of functions that Jackson's body is more than capable of doing well. I clear my suddenly dry throat and cough once. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked how long you think it'll take your friend to verify the addresses?”

The mention of our purpose for being in Miami clears my head, and I pull on my normal pants, cinching the belt that’s already in the belt loops. “Maybe another day. I'll be honest, if she doesn't get back to us by tomorrow, I want to check out a couple of the addresses ourselves. It's more dangerous, but at least it's foolproof.”

“You sure about that?” Jackson asks. I pull my sports bra on, then the light top that I'm wearing on top that'll protect my arms. I’m pretty pasty white. I haven't been spending a lot of time in the sun. “I mean, if they went the whole mile, they could’ve gotten plastic surgery. They might look completely different. I know Mom looks a lot different than she did from even ten years ago.”

“I doubt either of them have gone off the deep end like Margaret has,” I reply, to which Jackson laughs. I know he doesn't have a lot of affection for Margaret, who's treated him nearly as badly as Peter has. Imagine treating your own son like he's the reason your husband cheated on you? Despicable. “Besides, I'd know.”

I go out into the main room, stopping when Jackson turns around. He's pulled on some aqua blue shorts with a white linen belt, and a tropical printed shirt that makes him look like a native. He hasn't buttoned it yet, and I can see the ridges of his chest and stomach muscles through the gap. He looks down. “Sorry, you're a little fast.”

“Not a problem,” I say, going to my bag and reaching in for the sunscreen I made sure to purchase. SPF fifty or bust. “Besides, I'm showing off my belly, why not show off yours, too?”

Jackson shrugs, letting his shirt stay open. “Okay. What's that?”

“Sunscreen. That is, unless you want me to look like a mint candy tomorrow, all red and white stripes. Think you can help me with my lower back?” Jackson comes over and holds out his hands, and I squirt a glob of the lotion into his palm. I turn around and pull my top up a little, making sure he covers it all. “I can get the rest, if you need.”

“Okay, this might be a little cold,” Jackson says, and then his hands touch me. I can't help it, it feels so good to have him touch me, and I shiver slightly. His touch is gentle, rubbing my skin lightly, and I bite my lip to keep myself from gasping when his fingertips brush lower, just into the edge of my belt, on top of my hips. I hear Jackson's breath catch, then his hands come around, rubbing my sides before pulling back with reluctance. “I... I think I got it all.”

I turn around, seeing the same look in Jackson's eyes that I'm feeling inside me, and it's with a slightly shaky hand that I take the lotion back from him. “Thanks.”

I do the rest of my lotion myself and pull out my sunglasses and hat, fully suited up for the Miami sun. “You going to do any sunscreen?”

“I did some while you were changing. Just SPF ten, I've got some tan already. You know, all those hours being a douchebag by the pool with nothing to do but read.”

I chuckle and put my glasses on, casting the room in silvery darkness. “I won't take back what I said, you were a douchebag, but I think my opinion of you has changed a lot in the past few days.”

We leave the hotel, driving down to Miami Beach and going to Ocean Drive. I've seen the place before of course. Any computer geek who hasn't played GTA: Vice City at least once is no geek to me, and the game was modeled after the real Miami. But still, seeing all the art deco buildings and the shops is really cool, and after we find a place to park, we go for a stroll, just walking. It's fun, and when Jackson takes my hand, I just go with it, relaxing and enjoying myself. “Hey, do you have a camera?”

“I've got my phone,” Jackson replies, pulling it out. “Sixteen megapixels and enough memory to put a two-hour high-def video on it.”

“What do you need with a two-hour high-def video?”

“You don't really want to know that,” Jackson says with a playful tone, and I realize exactly what sort of video he's talking about. “I guess what I'm saying is... yeah, I've got a camera.”

“Well, can we get some pics together then?” I ask, letting his little faux pas drop. Hey, he's trying. “Like, maybe a selfie or something? I bet my friend Darcy would love it.”

Jackson brightens a ton and fiddles with his phone, then nods. “Sure. Where?”

We pose in front of one of the shops, and in a spur of the moment I put my arms around his neck and hug him while we wait for the camera to count down. He turns, and we're forehead to forehead when the timer goes off, and as the image comes up, I love it. We're smiling at each other, and I'm looking into Jackson's blue eyes while he looks into mine. “That... is a great shot,” Jackson says. “I'm posting this one on my Instagram for sure.”

“Very funny,” I counter, popping him lightly in the shoulder. “Don't make me hurt you in South Beach.”

Jackson rubs his arm and laughs, and we keep walking. Jackson stops in front of a boutique, and I look in the window, surprised. I see what he's looking at, and shake my head. “No way, Jackson. No way in hell.”

“Why not?” he asks, pointing out one of the skirts in the window. “That would look amazing on you. And it goes with your top.”

I shake my head but give in, letting Jackson drag me inside. The clerk looks bored, but when Jackson explains what he wants me to try on, the woman perks up. “Oh, that would be perfect on you!” she exclaims, her unnaturally red dyed hair bouncing. “You've got the midsection that this sort of skirt was designed for. It's meant to hug the hips and flare out from just below, so you get to show off your, ahem, assets while still having that breezy, flowy feeling.”

“Will they go with these?” I ask, looking down at my shoes, my black minimalist Nikes that I wear a lot for working out, or when I'm not expecting to need boots. The clerk hums, then shakes her head. “Well then, we might have a problem.”

“No we don't,” Jackson interjects, holding up a pair of sandals. “You're a size nine?”

“Yeah... how'd you know?”

“Lucky guess. And these are exactly a nine. Come on, my treat, Katrina.”

I roll my eyes and take the skirt and the sandals into the changing room, trying them on. The way the cotton hugs my hips is sexy, and again, without even knowing it maybe, Jackson's made me feel pretty. I make a mistake putting the sandals on, forgetting to take off my socks until the little thong that goes between my toes gets stopped, and I adjust myself quickly, thankful that the sandals have a little bit of elastic that goes around my ankles to keep them from flapping around. I step out, and Jackson's expression is worth any sort of discomfort over being in such strange clothing. “Well?”

“We're getting it and the sandals,” Jackson says immediately, going over to the register. “In fact, she's wearing it out. Can you bag up the other stuff?”

I'm blushing and trying to back into the changing room again, and Jackson rushes over, taking my hand. “Come on Katrina, please?” he asks quietly, the clerk giving us space. “I'm serious, you look amazing in it, and it'd go so well with dinner. You said you wanted to look pretty. Well, right now you're the prettiest woman I've ever seen in my life.”

I nod, and our lips move closer, and I don't know who's closing the distance but I want it. He's so close, inches away, now just an inch...

My phone rings, and I step back, shaking my head. “Sorry, I... sorry.”

“No, it's okay,” Jackson says, letting go of my hand. “Listen, I'll go take care of this with the clerk. Just bring your stuff up from the changing room and we can get some dinner.”

I see that the call's from Darcy, and the reality of why I'm in Miami comes back to me, and I answer the phone. “Yeah, Darcy?”

“I just got a call from my cousin. They got out to all three places, they had the pics you gave me of your parents. They got a visual on your mother. They're living at the second address you gave me, down in Coral Gables I'm told.”

“Thanks, Darcy. We'll go check it out.”

Darcy hums, then replies. “You sure you don't want any backup on this? I mean, I know Jackson's trying to be a good guy, but this could be... difficult.”

“No, I'm sure. Let me talk with Jackson, and I'll get back to you.”

“All right. You take care, you hear? Bye.”

Darcy hangs up and I put my phone back in my pants pocket, tempted to duck into the changing room and put on my pants again. In the end, I remember another line from Hagakure. Matters of great concern are to be treated lightly. Matters of small concern should be treated seriously.

I fold up my pants carefully and carry them along with my shoes out to the front, where Jackson's face is haunted when he sees me. “Good news?”

I nod, and Jackson sighs. I reach out and tap him on the shoulder. “We'll talk about it over dinner. Tonight, though... we're going to have a nice dinner together, and we can worry about Darcy's phone call tomorrow.”

We go on our way, and as we walk out of the store, he takes my hand again. “Are you sure?”

“It's all right. I don't want to rush in all emotional, and this will give me a chance to calm down and enjoy time with you. So, where are we going for dinner, anyway?”

“Figured Cuban food tonight. This area's famous for their Cuban places, and there's a spot that I went to last time I really liked. Don't worry, it's been years since I've been to Miami, so I doubt anyone will recognize me. Especially since my cock isn't hanging out.”

His joke breaks the tension, and we laugh, heading back to the car to drop off my stuff before enjoying the rest of the night. “Okay, let's enjoy the night.”