“You’re not even aiming!” he accused, laughing with only a little scratchiness. Another kernel whizzed through the space between them, only to land somewhere in Dakota’s hair. The whole RV smelled like microwaved popcorn, and they hadn’t stopped for lunch. His stomach growled.
Wickedly, Terrell reached into the bowl in his lap, grabbed a handful of the delectable stack, and shoved it into his mouth. Chewing, he teased, “What are you talking about? You’re just not trying to catch any of them.”
“Kinda difficult while driving!” he protested. But he could certainly eat while piloting their giant vehicle. Without taking his eyes off the road, Dakota reached over in an attempt to scoop up some of the popcorn. Terrell moved the bowl a few inches to prevent it, but when he saw him struggling, he
