Unwrapped by Gennifer Albin

money. He does it because he loves it, and truly cares about food, wanting to own his own restaurant someday.
    He and Courtney have been dating for five months.
    Tonight, I’m going to seduce him.
    “Champagne?” He gestures at the bottle.
    “It’s a night for celebrating.”
    He grabs two glasses, and we head to the couch. I unmute the television, and recognize one of Bobby Flay’s cooking shows.
    “We don’t have to watch this, you can find something else.”
    “It’s cool. I like the food network.”
    He gives me a skeptical look. “You sure? Courtney hates this show.”
    “Well, I’m not my cousin, and I like this show. I’m not a huge fan of Flay’s, though.”
    Eric pops the cork into a towel, and pours champagne into the glasses without spilling a drop. “I’m not either! I watch hoping that he’ll lose.”
    I take my glass. “He’s so predictable. Oh, sweet heat, Bobby, what a surprise from you.” His eyes sparkle. “Right? Like, hate to break it to you, but there are other flavour combinations out there, I promise.”
    Hanging out with Eric has always been easy. Even now, while feeling like my arms and legs are four feet long and awkward as hell, smiles are easy to find. I clink glasses with his.
    “What should we drink to?”
    I pause. The thing about seduction is, I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing, or if he’ll even go for it. He’s seeing my cousin. Even if he’s interested, he might think it’s an elaborate setup Courtney and I concocted to see if he’ll cheat on her and turn me down. I’m sure another woman would know just the toast to make to have his pants on the floor in three seconds flat, but I go for what I really want. “Let’s drink to finding unexpected happiness.”
    “That sounds good.”
    The champagne goes down smooth, crisp, bubbly, and just a little dry. I cross my legs, and notice when he looks at the bare patch of skin above my thigh socks. Okay. Maybe this is doable. Were his eyes always this... I don’t want to say deep and delicious, but they’re so warm and rich, and framed with long dark lashes despite his hair being blonde. It’s a gorgeous contrast.
    And that shaggy hair. Bobby’s is short, and he gels it, which doesn’t make for a great tactile experience. ‘Let me run my fingers through your crunchy hair. Yeah baby, that turns me on. You’re so hard for me, even your hair is stiff.’ What other differences am I about to experience?
    Settling a little closer at an angle so I’m facing him, I take a sip of liquid courage.
    And lose my nerve. I turn back and focus too hard on the cooking show, but at least it’s neutral ground, and Eric doesn’t seem to notice my blush.
    Now that the filter of monogamy has been blown, ha ha, off my eyes, I’m a little flummoxed by how attracted I am to him. I haven’t been with anyone other than Bobby in two years. I’d come off of a bad break-up and was single for about a year before Bobby came on the scene, and unlike him, I was completely faithful. Even now, I feel guilt pulling at my stomach like a herd of teeny fishhooks, urging me to flee the apartment and go back home.
    Home. I don’t have a home anymore, not after Bobby... Idiot me.
    I slug back the rest of my champagne and look at Eric, whose gaze is already locked on me. I don’t know what to say, so I take his glass, and set it with mine on the table, and move closer, kneeling on the couch. I focus on his hands, because I can’t quite look him in the eyes yet, in case there’s rejection in his expression. A long scar runs the length of the back of his thumb, thin and white, long-healed. Another tiny one on the back of his hand, sort of basket-shaped, like a tic-tac-toe game with no x’s or o’s.
    I give in to the urge to feel that scar with my tongue. Except for the gasp of air he breathes in, he’s completely still. Finally daring to make eye contact, I bite his knuckle and drag my teeth down his finger. His eyes are hungry, and he