"Doctor Rhodes, Angela Delmante is ready to see you," my assistant Darcy alerted me as I walked past the counter.

"Thanks." I stopped. Even though I knew the answer, I still turned to her, asking, "She hasn't been waiting long, has she?" My lunch date with my grandmother went a little longer than expected, and I was due back at the office a little over thirty minutes ago.

Growing up, I learned that when Grandma says she wants you to take her to lunch, you bring her wherever that place is she wants to eat.

When she wants you to take her shopping—you take her.

When she wants a heart-to-heart talk—you listen and talk about whatever her beautiful heart desires to discuss.

And when she wants you to take her out for a night on the town—you do it—no matter what you're sacrificing.

I may have given my parents a hard time growing up, but giving my grandmother hell was not something I did. On the contrary, I respected her and still do to this day—she's family.

Darcy's gaze moved away from me and lifted them to the clock on the wall. "Well, her consultation appointment was scheduled for two-fifteen, and it's just shy of three, so I'd say you're a tad bit late," she quipped, holding up her hand, her thumb and pointer finger practically touching each other.

Thanks, Grandma...

For many reasons, I need to thank her.

For her insistence, I take her to lunch during work hours.

For her scolding me for not having a steady girlfriend.

Of my not having children, she could spoil.

For my not wanting to settle down. And for never having or wanting a girlfriend—ever.

She also scolded me for living my life how a teenager would live—with no care in the world.

I also have to thank her for talking me into taking her to Bingo tonight. Just what every thirty-five-year-old guy wants to do on a Friday evening—spend the night with their grandmother and her seventy- and eighty-year-old friends playing Bingo.

Knowing her, she has ulterior motives for me bringing her and her friends to Bingo—and it's most likely because she's trying to set me up with one of her friend's granddaughters.

Which, I don't need any help in that department. But because this is what she insisted I do for her tonight, I flashed her the smile I always showed whenever she wanted me to do something for her—or with her, telling her I'd take her.

God, help me.

"Please do me a favor and tell Angela I'm running behind, but I'll be in shortly. Thank you."

I hurried down the corridor and to my office to retrieve my white jacket and quickly glanced at Angela's file—reminding me of everything she hoped to have done. She wants breasts like Anna Nicole's and a face resembling Raquel Welch. I removed Angela's picture and the one she supplied of a very young, beautiful Raquel and held them up beside one another.

I can definitely do the breasts—that's not a problem.

As for Angela, wanting to resemble one of the most gorgeous women from the sixties may be a challenge, but with my magical hands, it can be done. She already has the body of Raquel and her hair and eyes, but not her cheeks, nose, or lips. So, that will be our primary focus.

Grabbing Ms. Delmante's file and returning the photographs inside, I headed to see my patient.

Warning my patient, I was outside the door. I gently knocked, opened it, and immediately apologized for my tardiness, like I was apologizing to my professor for sleeping in.

"It's all right. Your assistant blamed you for being behind on your grandmother," she admitted. I nodded, agreeing with Darcy's statement with an embarrassed look on my face—at least, that's the feeling my expression is showing on display right now. "It's okay. I have a grandma, too. I know how it goes when they want you to take them to lunch or do something else."

Except you probably don't have a grandmother like mine who's on your case about settling down and giving them great-grandchildren—something she probably won't see before she meets her maker—which I hope isn't for another twenty years or so.

I opened Angela's folder, removed the picture she supplied, and stared at it momentarily before saying, "So, Raquel Welch, huh?" I asked, returning my gaze to Angela, studying her face and imagining what I needed to do now that I could physically see her features instead of assessing them from a photograph. "Why her?"

And I only asked because not many women in their twenties know who Raquel Welch is. Usually, they come in asking that I make them look like Kylie Jenner, Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Lopez, or the fucking gorgeous as all hell Megan Fox. But not Angela. She wants to look identical to the hot as fuck Raquel Welch.

When she smiled, Angela's face lit up, answering my question, "Oh my God. Are you kidding me right now? What woman wouldn't? Besides Marilyn Monroe, she's the greatest sex symbol of all time! She was so gracious and charming and so dang beautiful; I want to be her. I want to experience what Raquel felt whenever she entered a room and had everyone's eyes focused solely on her."

I lowered her file to my side, and as I studied her face again and soaked in her reasoning behind wanting to look like her idol, I said, "You know, Raquel once said in an interview—her advice to women was to love yourself and to embrace your flaws. It wasn't a platitude remark she made; she was serious about it."

"I know she did. And I know she was, but I still want to look like her."

Still not convinced with her reasoning behind wanting to go under the knife to look like someone she idolized, I added, "In that same interview, she also said she embraced being what the world saw her as—a sex symbol, but decided that it was unimportant to her, that she never saw herself as a great beauty as many claimed her of being."

"You're absolutely right. She did say that." She cocked her head to the side, the corner of her mouth curving into a slight smirk, looking humored by my knowledge of her idol. "I'm surprised you know so much about her."

"My father was a huge fan of hers. I also developed a huge crush on her as a child." True story. That's why I also find what Angela would like to do to her body intriguing. I would love to recreate a beautiful masterpiece such as Raquel Welch's perfect face. And the more I assess Angela's features, it will be much easier to recreate the legendary bombshell than I initially thought.

"That's so awesome," she marveled happily. "So, do you think you'll be able to make me look like her?"

"Definitely." I flashed her a reassuring smile. "I don't see any reason why I couldn't make this happen for you."

This woman is beautiful as it is, but this is my job; this is what I do. I redesign women to become who they dream of being, to give them better confidence, and to make them feel better about themselves. And I refuse to deny any patient their dreams.

The other part of my job I love so much comes next. But before I do anything, I need to grab a nurse. One can never be too cautious. When examining women's anatomy, having two people in the room is always best. "Excuse me a moment. I'll be right back. I'll grab one of the nurses to let her know you're ready for the breast examination."

I stepped out into the hallway, and when I saw Amarosa heading my way, I snapped my fingers to grab her attention and waved her over. "Are you in the middle of something?"

"No. In fact, I was on my way to see if your patient was ready for the examination."

"Perfect. She's ready," I said, knocking on the door and letting Angela know I was returning to the room. I held the door open for Amarosa and followed her in, introducing the two and filling one of my nurses in on what my patient wanted to do.

While Amarosa talked with and prepared Angela for the next part of her consultation visit, I reviewed her breast images, checking the breast tissue and ensuring there were no underlying conditions that would give Angela a roadblock to achieving her desired look. I also double-checked her anesthesia history—the last thing I want is a patient of mine losing their life on my operating table.

Seeing everything in the images looked okay, I swapped places with Amarosa.

I examined Angela's breasts, envisioning the look of Anna Nicole's massive-sized breasts on Angela's more petite framed body. "Are you sure you want double D's? It's a question I ask every patient who comes to see me, desiring a breast augmentation that'll give them huge breasts. Because the weight of the breasts will also affect your back, some women return complaining about backaches and ask that I remove the implants."

"Yes. I'm totally sure. I don't know if you saw it in my file, but I'm a stripper. And having size A's is embarrassing—it's not something men enjoy seeing when they enter a strip joint. They come in to see what they never see—large breasts."

That's not always true. Some men like small breasts. But I won't tell her that. I'll just let her believe that assumption because this is what she wants, and I won't talk her out of it unless it's something I need to do when something is unnecessary.

"They also go to the club to see what they don't get to see at home."

That statement is accurate. "True, but not all go there to see breasts—some also go there to escape reality." Knowing what I needed to say next, I folded my arms against my chest and brought a serious look to my face. "So, now the doctor part in me needs to clarify some things before we set up the next appointment."

"Okay, what would you like to know? Or what do you need to say?"

"I need to be sure this is what you want to do. Because if you're only doing this because of your job, thinking this is what you have to do to make money, then I'm going to ask that you go home and rethink what you're asking I do for you. I don't want you to regret anything." My scare tactic comes next—the I need to be sure this is what you truly want to do to your body. "I can't guarantee you'll look identical to Raquel Welch—no doctor can ever guarantee they'll resemble someone, but we'll do everything we can to make it happen and our patients happy. And it may take more than one surgery to achieve your desired look."

"I know."

"And you're aware of the cost of the surgery or surgeries?"

"I am. I've already been advised and saved for this particular surgery for years. And people who return wanting to reverse their breast enhancements seriously need to get their prior titties straight." Angela's last statement made me chuckle. Then her hand extended toward me, and she rested her hand on my forearm, adding, "Looking like my idol is what I want and have wanted for years. It's not because of my job; I only figured it would be a bonus for my customers—to see a well-known sex symbol dancing for them, with another bonus of having large breasts. I won't lie, though. I'm the black swan of my coworkers, so doing this, I know, will also help my tips—giving me the confidence I need to feel beautiful."

And there it is.

I looked at Amarosa. "Get her set up for another appointment—two weeks from now." My gaze returned to Angela's. "You have two weeks to reconsider this surgery. Personally, I don't think you need the surgery. You're beautiful just the way you are. But it's your money."

If this woman returns in two weeks intending to go through the surgeries, and I say surgeries because we have to be real here, it'll take more than one surgery to master her dream of looking like a sex icon. But if I can make her dream a reality, I have a feeling I'll want to tap into that so that I can tell everyone I slept with Raquel Welch.

***

"You're late," my grandma scolded when I entered her room.

I sighed as I headed to help her get in her wheelchair. "Grandma. I told you when we were at lunch I wasn't sure when I'd be able to get here to pick you up tonight. In case you've forgotten, I have a job, and I have to ensure my patients are happy and satisfied before leaving the office for the night."

"Giving a woman breasts she'll later hate and regret and turning them into someone they're not isn't a real job. Now, being a real surgeon who performs miracle surgeries, that's a job," my grandma chided as she sat in her wheelchair.

"It doesn't matter what type of surgeries I perform; I'm still a surgeon," I reminded—a conversation I've had with her since graduating from med school four years ago. After thirteen years of schooling, getting all the degrees needed to become who I am today, and four years of operating on women, including men, I've become a well-known, highly sought-after plastic surgeon.

And I'm proud of that.

As for my Grandma? She's old school and feels everyone should be happy with the face and body they were born with. So, instead of arguing with her about what I do, I smile and let it go in one ear and out the other.

It's best that way. And I was taught that you should never argue with the most loving and nurturing family member—they're the reason why you're here in the first place.

"I still think you can make your money performing other surgeries."

"And I do," I reminded, adding, "Don't forget I do reconstructive surgeries as well."

"Anyway. We can talk about this another time. I've got money calling for me, and if we stay here discussing what you're doing for a living, I'll miss out on my chance of winning the big bucks."

Big bucks.

I chuckled at that remark. I can't imagine winning big money playing Bingo with many older adults, but winning any amount at eighty years old would be a lot for her. "You didn't forget to grab my daubers, did you?" she asked as I got her last friend into the back seat of my Suburban.

"I didn't forget," I said, sliding into the driver's seat and handing my grandmother her red bag of her daubers, saying, "Here."

Relief washed over her face when she saw I hadn't forgotten to grab her bag. "Good thing you didn't forget. I only brought enough money to play."

I rested my hand on her shoulder. "Even if I did forget to grab your bag, I would have bought you more. They're what... a dollar a piece? I can afford that."

She removed a dauber and shook it, saying, "Yeah, but these are my lucky ones."

"Hey, Aaron," Peter, my grandmother's friend, said, tapping my shoulder.

"Yes?"

"Are you feeling lucky tonight?"

I thought I was going to get lucky tonight. That was until my grandma asked that I bring her and her friends to play Bingo. It's auction night at The Night Lover's Club, and Trent warned me earlier that he had two ladies sign up for the auction—and that they were a package deal.

"It depends on how late this bingo thing goes," I muttered.

"What's that? I didn't quite catch that. I'm a little hard of hearing, so you'll need to speak up."

"I said, yes, I'm feeling very lucky tonight."

He chuckled. "Yeah, me too. Your grandma promised to kiss me tonight if I won."

TMI...

I looked at my grandma, smiling, teasing, "Grandma... aren't you a little old to be trying to play the field?"

"You're never too old to get any action, Aaron. And Peter and I aren't getting any younger. So we made a bet. And I'm looking forward to kissing the guy who makes my heart flutter and says I have a smoking hot body. He also promised me that if he wins, he'll give me a night of passion and remind me of what it's like to be thirty again."

Embarrassed, I dragged my hand down my face, wishing I never said anything.

"Hey, Aaron. Do you know the secret to having a smoking hot body as a senior?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

Peter chuckled. "Cremation."

This is going to be fun...

I lowered my head, shaking it, then returned my eyes to the road, asking, "How late does this bingo thing go?"

"Until it ends," Peter snickered.

I looked at my grandma and laughed. "Your boyfriend thinks he's funny."

"He's not my boyfriend. Peter is just a guy promising to make me feel young again."

Okay, I've heard enough. Time to change the subject. "Do you think we'll be done by nine? I have a date at ten, and I don't want to miss it."

"Looks like we're not going out for ice cream afterward," Arlo, Peter's friend, groaned.

Ice cream, too?

Ugh...

"I'll stop and buy you all an ice cream cone on the way home. I'll even allow you to eat it in here. How does that sound?"

"It sounds like you really don't want to miss your date," Peter quipped.

You have no idea...

***

I may be anxious for this night with my grandmother and her friends to end so I could get to the club to see who the two women who put themselves on the auction block together were. If they were worth throwing my hard-earned money at, but as ridiculous as this sounds, I'm actually enjoying my time hanging out with the old folks.

Between Peter and Arlo's sexual and regular jokes, my grandmother's girlfriends arguing with each other about whose single granddaughter I'd be most interested in, and my grandmother telling me she wanted to see me married and with children before she took her last breath, I was enjoying every minute hanging out with and playing Bingo with them all.

Until now.

My grandma repeatedly smacked my arm. "Aaron, honey. You've got a bingo! Raise your hand and yell, Bingo! Hurry before they call the next number!"

I don't think so.

I knew I had a Bingo, but I didn't want to claim it, so I purposely didn't daub N33. Instead, I figured to give one of the ladies in the room a chance to win such an expensive item.

I pushed the sheet of paper toward her and took her sheet instead. "You can claim it."

She waved her hand across her face. "Don't be silly," she said, a smile tugging at her lips when she swapped our sheets. She raised her hand just as the Bingo caller was about to call the following number and shouted, "BINGO!"

"Grandma. Take the sheet. You can have this win. I don't want it."

"Aaron," she excitedly said my name, then shouted, "Just think what you could do with that winning! You could surprise that special girl you find worthy enough of sharing your beautiful heart with by giving her that amazing item."

An older gentleman appeared behind my grandmother and me. "Which one of you had a bingo?"

"Don't let him fool you, but he did," my grandma said, aiming her thumb at me, smiling like she had won the lottery.

I sank in my chair, shielding my face by covering my eyes with my left hand, when she lifted my sheet of paper and handed it to the bingo employee.

The employee called out the numbers, verifying with the Bingo caller that I did, in fact, have a cover-all—and that I was the winner of that round.

"Congratulations, you're the brand new owner of a Coach handbag," the Bingo caller said into his microphone, my cheeks heating in embarrassment.

When I agreed to take my grandma out to Bingo, she never once told me on top of winning money, you could also win a purse. Had I known, I wouldn't have purchased the cover-all sheet for this round. Also, had I not had to run to the bathroom when the Bingo workers walked the floor selling the cover-all sheets, I would have heard the announcement that the winner wouldn't be winning money—it would be for a fucking Coach purse, and I wouldn't have left money with my grandma to purchase the sheet.

"Maybe tonight you could give your date that purse," Arlo suggested.

That would be something I could do if I were going out on an official date. But, what my grandmother and her friends didn't know when I said I had a date at ten wasn't with a specific female, but to attend an auction that I was looking forward to—seeking to have a threesome with two women finally.

In all the years of my having threesomes, never had I been in one that involved only two females—it's always been Callum and me or Trent and me with one woman—hoping to give them the best sex of their lives by being fucked by two men at the same time, to pleasure them, to excite them, to provide them with multiple orgasms that never ended during our sexual affair, and to also ruin them into thinking that's the only way they'll ever be sexually satisfied, by us.

So I'm feeling fucking ecstatic to see if this is what these two women are looking to achieve out of tonight's auction.

I didn't want to admit to them that my date wasn't with a particular woman, so I responded, "Yeah, maybe I could."

Who knows? Maybe I'll end up giving it as a gift to that woman who desires me to make her look like Raquel Welch when I'm finished mastering the look she's hoping to accomplish.

Just because she chose to want to look like one of the hottest actresses of all time.

But then again, maybe I shouldn't give it to Angela Delmante. The one who actually deserves the expensive designer purse is my grandmother. After all, I wouldn't have won it had she not insisted I bring her and her friends out to Bingo.

Leaving the Bingo Hall, I didn't feel as bad as I did after my grandma won the final cover-all for the night—winning the grand prize that had accumulated for weeks because nobody filled the card within the allowed numbers called for that week—twenty-five hundred dollars.

On the way home, I stopped at McDonald's as promised to get the group their ice cream cones. "Can I please get a stack of napkins?" I asked the young female, handing me the ice cream cones individually through the drive-through window. "I may have a group of older adults in the vehicle wanting ice cream, but that doesn't mean anything." I flashed her a smile and chuckled. "They're more like toddlers, if you know what I mean," I quietly added, handing my grandma her chocolate, vanilla twist ice cream cone.

The young female laughed as she handed me a stack of napkins. "I don't know what you mean, but here are some extra napkins, anyway."

"How come you didn't order yourself and your date an ice cream cone?" Arlo asked.

I looked into the rearview mirror as he licked his ice-cold tasty treat and told him, "It's best to wait. The last thing I need is ice cream melting in my Suburban." For a date, that isn't happening. "Besides, I'm not in the mood for ice cream." I'm in the mood for something else late getting to. I should have been there nearly thirty minutes ago—to check in, get my drink, find a table and scope out the room to see who I'll be up against—like the Rico Suave asshole that enjoys taunting me every time we attend these functions.

Peter leaned closer to my seat, and what he said next had me stepping on the gas pedal. "Just think, Aaron. Your grandmother won money. You know what that means, don't you?"

I wish I didn't. "Please, don't remind me."

He patted my shoulder, chuckling. "Don't worry, son. We're old. So there won't be any children in the making tonight. Just two older adults who are looking to be young again."

I hope you enjoyed the chapter!!