The tv screen had a countdown, the adding anticipation to everyone in the room. Dean already helped himself to a beer, taking swigs of the drink. He walked out to the motel kitchen, making his way to the beds. He goes to sit beside you, not even letting Sammy stand up. He knew exactly what he was doing, the smirk on his face said it all: He wanted you as the New Year’s kiss.

“Got any New Year’s resolutions?” He asked, trying to play it off and act stupid. His gaze turning to the tv, 1:34. . . 33. . 32. . A small hums escaped his lips, the exact time of when the kiss will be was right in front of him, perfect.