He wouldn’t have time to varnish the piece before leaving for John’s, but he could still show it to the man, explaining he’d finish it and return it in a couple of days. Mitch knew he didn’t have to take the guy anything, but his mom had raised him right. Okay, he could admit the crib was probably a bit much, but he soothed that feeling away with the thought that he had nothing else he could take.
Mitch had been surprised at his pleasure upon hearing John’s comments about his chairs in the tourist store. He’d watched with quiet pride as the man’s fingers had caressed the polished wood. Recalling the scene now, Mitch grew hard, wishing those fingers had been stroking him instead.
“Fuck,” Mitch said aloud, his wood plane halfway through its stroke. “That crap Morwenna’s had me drinking isn’t working.” He finished and went into his kitchen to drink down the rest of the concoction.