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“And super muscly too,” I add.
“And super muscly,” she agrees. “So are you seeing a pattern here for what’s been… setting off the butterflies in your garden for over a year?” She giggles and shakes her head.
“I have a thing for Hot Santa?” I lift a brow.
She snorts. “And I mean, even before you and Art separated, all your celebrity crushes were older men too. Johnny… Jared… Jeffrey….”
“Mmm, Jeffrey Dean Morgan. He’s been the muse for many of the heroes in my books. Le sigh. But if you’re trying to make a point about me having a thing for older guys, then we might as well go all in, throw in my ultimate old-man crush.”
She looks at me with her brow furrowed, obviously trying to think of who I’ve mentioned is my tip-top favorite male actor over the age of fifty. Well, sixty now, but at the time this hardcore crush began, he was approaching a half-century’s worth of years, while I was a mere nineteen. “I give up. Who’s your ultimate?”
“Almost a thirty-year age gap and he still has a face good enough to sit on. None other than Dr. Gregory House,” I say through a long sigh with hearts in my eyes, and I bat my lashes at her.
She tilts her head to the side. “Hugh Laurie? Really?” She doesn’t make any sort of face, positive nor negative, just curious. I love my bestie. Never judgmental, no matter what kind of shit comes out of my mouth.
I shake my head. “Not Hugh himself, but him as his character, House. He’s British in real life, and while that accent is sexy in its own way, his voice when he puts on the American accent while portraying the asshole doctor just does very exciting things to the muscles in my vagina. They get all clenchy. Like they’re a hand making a ‘gimme, gimme’ gesture.”
She bursts into laughter again, and my face splits into a huge grin. I love making her laugh. She’s got such a dry sense of humor that when I can make her react this way, I feel super accomplished.
Still smiling from ear to ear, she makes her final argument. “So by all accounts, to me at least, it sounds like you would be the perfect candidate for signing up on one of the sugar daddy sites, bestie. Even if it’s just to take a peek, look around one to see what it’s like and what might be available. Surely, there’s gotta be more possibilities there than what you’ll find in a dumpster.”
“But Dumpster Daddy was yummy,” I grumble, and she narrows her eyes.
“You don’t even know what Dumpster Daddy looks like.”
I make a face at her. “So? Are looks so important that if he were to reveal his face and was an ogre, it would change the way my body instinctively reacted to his instructions?”
She makes a haughty expression and crosses her arms, sitting up extra straight. “Okay then, let’s go find out who he is. Right now. Midday. When the sun is shining and neither of you can hide in the shadows.”
I pout at that. “Hey, I said his looks wouldn’t make a difference to me. That does not negate the fact that I don’t want him to see me, the way I look most of the time. I can’t even remember the last time I washed my hair, and I ran out of dry shampoo months ago.”
“You perception of yourself is very skewed, my friend,” she murmurs, and I wave off her words before they can make me teary-eyed.
“Either way, I’ll give your suggestion some thought. It couldn’t hurt just to get on one to snoop around. If anything, I need to get on to research it. Because a bitch is finally inspired!”
She claps excitedly and wiggles in her seat. “Yay! You better keep me informed if you find anything interesting.”
I nod, even as I tell her, “You’re a bossy little thing. Are you starting to lean toward the Domme side?”
She makes a freaked out face and shakes her head adamantly. “Hell no, that’s all Clarice,” she says, mentioning our cover photographer again. She and her husband, Brian, are switches, which means they take turns being the Dominant and the submissive in their relationship. It’s just amazing and super entertaining to get to watch when Clarice is in Domme mode, because she’s like five-foot nothing, and he’s damn near seven feet tall, but she’s able to command him like he’s her toy poodle.
A very large, muscular, slightly terrifying toy poodle who could snap someone’s neck with his pinky finger.
I give Vi what she is clearly desperate to hear. “Fair enough. I promise to keep you updated while I look for a Plant Daddy… for research purposes, of course.”
Chapter Six
SIENNA
Once every last wilted leaf is pruned and I’ve run out of potting soil to repot the new plant babies I rescued out of the grocery store florist’s trashcan when I stopped to grab wine on the way home from the coffee shop, there’s nothing left to do but go inside my house. It’s only 10:00 p.m. I’ve still got at least five hours before my mind will finally shut off enough for me to pass out.
