matched the lime green, shimmery material of her tank top and shorts. Lynn almost expected to see in-line skates on her mother’s feet, but instead she wore platform shoes.
About that time, Tony pulled her close and nuzzled her neck. “Kiss me, gorgeous,” he murmured.
“Tony, my mother—”
“Your mother needs to see some liplock.”
“She’s…oh my God.” Lynn’s gaze slid a few feet across the terminal and she discovered her father, his arms crossed and his expression grim as he watched her arrival. Bud Morgan hadn’t permed his hair—he’d shaved it all off. The terminal lights gleamed on his polished head, and fancy-looking sunglasses hung from a cord around his neck. The man who had worn either white dress shirts or neutral polos all his life had on a wild plaid shirt and bright orange shorts that hurt Lynn’s eyes.
“Hey, babe. Showtime.” Tony slipped his hand from her waist to her bottom and squeezed.
With a gasp of indignation, she turned toward him, and he swooped into a kiss, plunging his tongue into her open mouth. When she tried to struggle free, he held her head and continued the assault. Gradually, her surroundings began to fade as his tongue probed and teased, stroked and suggested. She lost her grip on her suitcase and discovered something to do with her free hand as she ran her fingers through the remembered silkiness of Tony’s hair.
The rhythm of her pulse changed from the adrenaline rush of seeing her parents’ new look to the insistent surge of desire for the man kissing her so thoroughly. A soft moan rose from her throat.
Tony lifted his mouth a fraction from hers. “That was…excellent,” he said, his breathing uneven.
Her father’s voice penetrated her fog of sensuous enjoyment. “If you’ve completed the tonsillectomy, Doctor, maybe we could get on our way toward Sedona.”
Lynn felt the blush rising as she pulled away from Tony.
“Lynn.” Her mother could get more reprimand into one syllable than anybody alive. “For heaven’s sake. Show some breeding.”
That made Lynn chuckle as she turned toward her mother of the lime-green fashion mistake. “Mom, Dad…” She took a deep breath. “I’d like you to meet the father of your future grandchild, Tony Russo.”
“Cleanse your conscience, my friends,” intoned a familiar voice.
With a feeling of foreboding, Lynn looked over to find Jeff standing on the outskirts of the group.
Tell them you’re gay, Jeff mouthed. Then with a smile and a wave, he started down the terminal.
As Tony muttered an oath, Lynn glanced quickly toward her mother, a legendary reader of lips.
“Gay?” Gladys looked from Lynn to Tony. “Who’s gay? I thought you were pregnant and he was the impregnator?”
“I am. He is,” Lynn said. “Forget it. Let’s go.”
Bud ignored his daughter and put a protective arm around Gladys’s shoulders. “I wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell you, Gladys, but I’ve learned a few things, living as I have in the soft underbelly of the city.”
“Take your arm off me,” Gladys said. “There’s no telling where that arm has been. And I want no more of that soft underbelly talk. It’s indecent.”
“Indecent?” Bud looked sad as a basset hound. “Try this one on for size. Our little girl and this…Tony person, have become what they call bi.”
Lynn choked. “Dad, we’re not! That guy—”
“By? By who?” Gladys looked completely at sea.
“AC–DC.”
“Look.” Tony sounded agitated. “You’ve got it wrong. We—”
“Isn’t AC–DC one of those rock groups?” Gladys asked.
“I’m trying to tell you they’re bi sexual, Gladys.”
“Saints preserve us.” With that invocation, Gladys slipped to the floor in a dead faint.
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