"Rhonda, pst, Rhonda is that the Carrington girl? The writer who was at the bakery with that country singer Eddie Justice? I thought she was in Austin?" one of the old church ladies not-so-subtly asked the woman next to her.
I rolled my eyes and Clay looked at me with a mischievous grin. Slowly I stretched my arms over my head and leaned toward my brother, not so quietly whispering, "I can't wait to get out of church so I can go home and get some Eddie Justice man meat."
The old ladies gasped and started whispering. They didn't need to know that Eddie and I had only ever been next door neighbors and friends, well until we spent the night breaking a tree branch, if that counted for anything.