That’s a promise.

“Want one, Corabelle?”

I’m sitting in front of a plethora of candles, trying to stay warm with whiskey and fleece blankets. Mandy is in the bathroom fluffing her hair or something, and Brandon is playing on his new HTC phone in the other room.

“Don’t call me that.” I look over at Dean who has appeared on my left as he holds out a box of powdered donuts.

I love powdered donuts.

My eyes narrow in his direction, but his face remains stoic and unreadable. There is no mischief or nefarious intent gleaming out of those blue eyes. I remove one of my arms from the red and black checkered blanket and pluck a donut from the box.

I take a bite, then instantly spit it out when I inhale a mouthful of cornstarch.

This motherfucker.

Dean busts out laughing, and I’m about to shout obscenities at him, maybe start punching him again, but an idea pops into my head and I act quickly.

I wrap my hands around my neck and start coughing, my eyes watering, my entire body shaking. “I-I’m allergic… to cornstarch…” I sputter, clawing at my throat and wheezing, doubling over with impressive realism.

Dean’s face goes white as he kneels down beside me and starts patting my back. “Shit, Cora. I didn’t know. Are you okay?”

I shake my head, violently gasping for air. “I… can’t… breathe…”

“Fuck… shit!” he yells, shaking my shoulders, his eyes popping with terror.

I fall backwards onto my sleeping back, my fingers still curled around my neck as I pretend to give up the fight. My eyelids flutter closed and my head drops to one side, my body going limp.

Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

“Holy shit… Cora!” He keeps shaking me. “Cora!”

I wish I could see the look on his face right now.

“Mandy!” he shouts, and I hear multiple footsteps stomping into the room, joining us.

Dean cradles my face in his hands, lifting my head upright as his thumbs caress my cold cheeks. The gesture is strange and gentle, and it unnerves me as I lie there holding my breath.

“She just passed out, Mandy. I fucked up. Jesus Christ,” he stammers. “Cora!”

“What the hell happened?” I hear Brandon say as he approaches.

Mandy starts to panic, and I picture her flapping her arms like a bird in the way that she does when she’s freaking the hell out. “Did you kill my sister?” she demands of Dean.

“I didn’t know she was allergic to cornstarch!”

All of a sudden, a hot mouth descends upon mine, and it’s not Brandon’s. I’ve memorized the feel of Brandon’s lips, chapped and rough with a thin upper lip.

No, these are full and soft and taste like mint and bourbon.

Dean is giving me CPR.

As much as I’m relishing in my prank, I have to draw the line at Dean Asher’s mouth on mine, no matter how entertaining this is. Besides, Brandon and Mandy are involved now, and it’s not fair to them.