Avery had fallen asleep on me, which was a crime, considering I wasn't supposed to be touching her.
Since I never turned down a challenge, when she had predicted that I wouldn't be able to keep my hands to myself for the remainder of the flight, of course I'd opposed her logic.
I may have been Jameson Hawthorne, but I did have some semblance of self-control.
However, as the minutes ticked by, my restraint began to fray. So far, I'd lasted approximately two and a half hours.
But as proud as I was for persisting, I knew we still had a long trip ahead of us.
France wasn't exactly close to Texas.
As the plane hit a small patch of turbulence, Avery shifted, her hand instinctively steadying herself against my chest. She remained asleep thereon, and I couldn't blame her.
When we'd entered the plane, the sun had been setting. Now, the sky was the same deep blue as the ocean.
Although I too was tired, there was something about Avery's proximity that sent my body into hyperdrive. She always told me it was because I was Jameson Hawthorne, but I presumed it was simply her being Avery Grambs.
The turbulence cleared soon after, and Avery's body relaxed into mine. For the time being, seatbelts weren't mandated, and asleep or not, Avery was taking every opportunity to taunt me.
This might've been the only bet I felt incapable of.
To distract myself, I reached for the bottle of alcohol the flight attendant had handed me hours earlier. I hadn't been planning to drink it on the plane, but I was grasping for something — anything — to distract myself.
However, when I bent to grab it, Avery roused, a smirk on her lips. "Jamie."
I paused, my fingers hovering over the bottle. I was still amused that the flight attendant had given me the whole thing rather than pouring me a meager portion. I supposed she had fallen under my charm.
The only problem, however, was that I didn't have a bottle opener. As I waited for my girlfriend to say something, I thought, triumphantly, that a spoon might make a good replacement.
"Do you really want a hangover our first day in Paris?" Avery asked, glancing between me and the bottle.
Her eyes begged me not to drink it.
Sighing, I pushed it back into my backpack. If Avery wanted a sober boyfriend during this trip, then she would have one.
What she wouldn't have, however, was the win to this bet. Now that I couldn't use alcohol to distract myself, the temptation to touch her had tripled. Even simply brushing my knuckles over hers sounded tempting.
I'd never gone without touching her whilst beside her.
Because I never had to.
Sighing, I leaned forward. Resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, I stared at the seat in front of me. This particular plane didn't offer screens of any sort, which meant I couldn't stare mindlessly at a film to distract myself.
And I'd already gone to the bathroom twice in the past hour.
The worst part, though, was that I always just talked to Avery during flights. But I couldn't handle talking to her without some form of physical contact.
It was just who I was.
And normally, Avery liked it.
Even now, as we sat side by side, she smirked. "I'm surprised you've made it this long."
"I play to win, heiress."
"You can't always win."
"Sure I can."
Avery shook her head, sighing. I watched her turn her head out the window. There wasn't much to see, though, considering it was the middle of the night and we were wedged between water and sky.
After a few minutes of silence, Avery pressed her fingers to the glass. "I'm excited."
I glanced over, catching a rare smile on her lips. Since the bet seemed to be forgotten — at least for the time being — I sat up and met her eyes. "Yeah?"
She nodded. "My mom loved France," she said, her gaze fixed on the endless blue below. "She wanted to take me someday."
I watched her eyes flicker with sadness. Quietly, I murmured, "Think she'd be okay with me taking you instead?"
It took her a minute to nod. "She would've liked you."
"Really?" Somehow, I found that hard to believe.
"Yes."
A smile was toying on my lips as I reached for her hand. However, the second before my fingers brushed hers I pulled back, reminded of what was at stake.
A twinge of hurt crossed Avery's face. Her palm was open, ready to receive the comfort she surely needed.
I ran a hand through my hair.
Avery tilted her body toward mine, her eyes questioning me. Her lips parted. "Jameson —"
"Screw it," I interrupted.
The words tumbled out of mouth before I'd given myself permission to touch her. But my hands moved of their own free will.
A moment later, her waist was between my hands.
Avery succumbed to my hard planes as I let my hands wander her body for the first time in hours. Since she still seemed overwhelmed with emotion, I settled for rubbing a hand up and down her back.
We sat snuggled up to one another for half an hour, a comfortable silence between us. Finally, when I was tracing my fingers over each of her knuckles, I murmured, "I lost."
"I know," Avery agreed. She didn't tease me. She didn't even place a wager on what I owed her.
And I didn't even feel all that bad about it.
Perhaps this was the one bet I was perfectly fine losing.
