Chapter 7 January 3rd Henry scales another breadfruit tree in search of something-anything-ripe enough to eat. With zero luck catching another fish this morning and only one measly fish between us last night since we got here, we're toeing the line between mildly uncomfortable and one of us is going to snap and eat the other. Even on my strictest diets, I've never fasted for this long, and being that this is the modern era of hot girls, we do shit healthy. No disordered eating bullshit, right? Right. As such, I'm a proponent of focusing on protein, and one of my fav morning protein options sounds so good, and so unattainable at the moment, I'm feeling violent. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'd freaking kill for a turkey bacon, egg, and cheese English muffin from Starbs right now. I shield my eyes from the sun, wipe some of the sweat from my chin with my now-crusty Ravella sweater I have draped over my shoulders to protect them from burning, and squint up at Henry as he moves from one side of the tree to the other, scouting like he's been a jungle bushcrafter all his life. His shirtless skin glistens under the sun, every ridge and groove of his muscles slick with sweat. His black cargo pants are tattered at the ankles from hours spent trudging through water and sand, and the whole look is just unfair-like some rugged model who belongs on the cover of Survivalist Vogue. In Miami, my lack of practical skills has never been an issue-nobody's ever needed me to start a fire or fashion a fishing spear at a club opening-but out here? Turns out, being strictly a book the vacation, not survive it kind of girl is a slight disadvantage. Still, my brain buffers as I take in the way his sweat-slicked skin practically glows under the golden light, every subtle movement of his body making his stupid muscles flex like they were designed to taunt me. Immediately, my mind spirals back to the fake cologne campaign I invented for him-Masculine by Versace-and before I can stop myself, I start picturing it in vivid detail. Black-and-white shots. Slow-motion water droplets sliding down his abs. Him being all broody and intense while he stares into the camera while a deep, raspy voice-over murmurs, "For the man who conquers." I shake my head. Focus, Avery. You will not be conquered. "Hey, Ave!" Henry shouts down to me, chucking one fruit to the ground and then another. "Yeah?" "I've been meaning to ask you..." "Yeah?" "That whole virgin thing you mentioned on the way down from the sky... What's that all about?" My whole body locks up so fast my limbs practically forget how to function. "E-excuse me?" "Yeah. On the canopy down, you said, 'Oh my God! I can't believe I'm going to die a virgin!'" "No. No, I didn't." "Yep," he says, casually perching on a branch to peer down at me. "You did. Said it a couple times, actually. Kept rambling about it. I was slightly preoccupied with, you know, keeping us alive, but it just hit me again... So, what's that about?" My stomach churns as he smirks down at me, a full-on daring me expression. "Nope. No way." I shake my head once, twice, and then three more times. "Henry, I'm not doing this right now." "Why not?" he asks, far more shocked than he should be, given the subject matter. I mean, of course I'm not talking about my sexual history. We're trying to survive here. "Are you serious?" I gesture wildly to the literal survival situation we're currently in. "Look at what we're doing right now, for Pete's sake!" "Gathering fruit? And what? You have a spa appointment to get back to before the end of the hour? We're on an island, Ave. Just you and me. What else are we going to do to entertain ourselves?" I huff but, surprisingly, see his point. What the hell else is there to do if not expose ourselves entirely? But two can play at that game, and I hope his head rolls when he realizes what he's getting himself into. "Fine. But if I'm going to talk about this, you're going to talk about something deep and top secret too. No backing out, you hear me?" "That's fair." Henry laughs, jumping down from the lowest branch of the breadfruit tree and scooping up two of them from the ground. I bend down to get the other two, and as we walk back toward the other side of the island and what I now think of as our beach, I talk. I don't really have a direction or plan; it's all just a stream of consciousness. "It wasn't intentional. At least, not at first." I toss my hair over my shoulder, avoiding his gaze. "I just got used to bouncing from guy to guy, and to be honest, none of them would win any bachelor contests if it came down to it. I kind of made a rule for myself that I'd do anything but penetration, and well, however many years later, here we are." "So, there hasn't been a guy who's pushed you past the point of no return? Someone good with their mouth who led you into sex from there?" My entire body seizes at the way he says that. At the way his voice drops on good. I shake my head quickly. "I never stick around long enough." "Wow." "Wow what? Like it's so hard to believe I'm not this huge slut or something?" "I never said slut, Avery. You did." Henry laughs, nonplussed by my accusation. "And you know exactly how you've depicted yourself over the years, so don't even try acting like it wouldn't be news to me or anyone else that you haven't had sex. I respect it, but I didn't expect it. Okay?" "Yeah, whatever," I agree. I mean, he's not wrong. I go through men quicker than I go through Louboutins, and that's saying a lot because I purchase a new pair of red bottoms more than I get biweekly facials. But still. Henry hit the nail on the head-no one in my life knows I'm a virgin. Not even my best friend June. Somewhere along the way, I just took on this persona of the girl who hooked up with whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted, without a second thought. I don't even know when it started or why I let people believe it. I've never been the type of girl who needed to fit into other people's standards, but maybe, in this case, that's exactly what I was doing. Or maybe I just wanted to keep that truth to myself, like a secret I wasn't willing to share. Or maybe-deep down-I've just never found a man I wanted to give myself to. The thought lingers longer than I want, settling in my chest like something heavy, something undeniable. I shake it off. There's no use analyzing something that doesn't need to be analyzed. It's just sex. It's just a choice. And Henry Callahan doesn't need to be the one making me question it. "What about your boyfriend?" he asks, and I scrunch up my nose. "My boyfriend?" "The one you mentioned at your parents' house at Christmas. Right after you told me that it was nice to have me there and that I'd always be a part of your family. When I was playing tea party with Addy. Remember?" My eyes just barely escape narrowing over his pointed drag down memory lane. "You're still with him, aren't you?" Yeah, Justin. God, I'd nearly forgotten about him. "Yeah. We're together. But it's really new." I shrug. I don't know what to say that isn't the fact that I literally forgot he existed, and even for me, that paints a little bit of a vapid picture. I turn the conversation back to Henry to take the pressure off myself and this pointedly uncomfortable introspection. "What about you? Are you with someone?" He nods. "Yeah." That's all he says, and to be honest, I'm glad. The last thing I want to hear is Henry waxing poetic about some other woman. It's not like I have any propriety over him, but...there's always been something. As we walk in silence, I hold the breadfruit in front of my chest and imagine myself as Pamela Anderson. My breasts are trinkets compared to hers, and I've always wondered what I'd look like with bigger ones. "Your boobs are fine the way they are," Henry surprises me by saying, clearly having noticed my little exercise. "I didn't ask you." "You're right. But they're still fine." "Well, fine and luscious are two different things, and I've always wondered what it would be like to have the latter." "From what I hear, the main themes are ill-fitting clothes and back pain." "What?" "Every woman I've ever been with who had big breasts did nothing but complain about them. As a guy, they're hot, but I imagine as a woman, they're a giant pain in the ass." "I guess you would know. You've been with enough women." Henry laughs. "Yeah. I have. Which is why you should take me seriously when I tell you that you don't need to change a damn thing." He looks me dead in the eyes. "You're a smokeshow. Just like you are." A blush steals across my cheeks as I remember all the times Henry and I have kissed or come close to it in our history. The truth is, it's not a surprise that he finds me attractive or that I've spent the better part of today admiring how he looks without a shirt on. We've been around each other for more years than most people know each other in a lifetime, and for the majority of it, I've been well aware of how much of a catch he is. Henry Callahan has always been good with women. Effortlessly charming, magnetic in a way that made it impossible for people not to be drawn to him. He's never had to chase-women just seemed to fall into his orbit, like moths to a flame, eager to be the one who finally tamed him. But Henry never stays. I've watched it happen over and over-beautiful women on his arm, laughing at his jokes, looking at him like he's their whole world. And then, just as quickly as they appeared, they were gone, replaced by another and another and another. It's just how he's always been. Never attached. Never tied down. Never keeping anyone for too long. And yet, here we are. Stranded. Alone. Tangled up in more ways than one. I remember the exact moment I started watching Henry Callahan a little too closely. The summer I turned thirteen. The night Brandon Worley-my first kiss, my first official boyfriend-broke up with me. That night, I saw Henry differently-like a spark I hadn't realized was there until it caught. Because if I'm a smokeshow, Henry Callahan is the whole damn fire. And I guess...there's a part of me that hasn't stopped looking at him since.