Plant Daddy

It was only supposed to be for research. My best friend and fellow romance novelist, Vi Lowe, told me I should join some dating websites to look around and get some inspiration for my next book-about a woman who joins a "sugar daddy" site to find someone to fund her plant addiction. But then I spotted him, my gym crush, aka Gym Daddy, on a dating app for kinksters, and suddenly I'm struggling to identify what's for book research and what's for experiencing for myself. Maybe I don't need to compartmentalize. After all, they tell you to stick to writing what you know, right? And what better way to learn about something until you truly know about that subject than to fully submerse yourself in it? Plus, I know I said I was a born-again virgin after my divorce and was saving myself for Dream Daddy-aka Sir Jeremy-at Club Alias, but the likelihood of that happening...? Zilch. Nada. None. Oh, and that guy who rescued me when my last dumpster dive for plant babies went a wee bit awry, who happened to set off all sorts of butterflies in my lady garden? I don't even have the lady-balls to go back to the store and find out Dumpster Daddy's real name, so no chance with him either. No! I don't have a daddy kink. I just have a thing for older men. Especially those with salt-and-pepper beards, and tattoos, and big, muscly arms and- Anyway. Let's hope Gym Daddy will find my weird awkwardness "endearing," and I can then seduce him into becoming not only my book muse, but maybe even my real-life Plant Daddy.