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Hello, and welcome to the third week of I'm Still With the Hockey Hunk, the exciting second season of my well-received furry soap opera! There's still plenty of time to catch up, so don't hesitate to jump along and have a great time! The most diehard readers can also take part in the regular flame wars on the comments section, so amusement may arise from surprising places!

Ratings are still holding up alright, meaning that there is a regular core readership of about 300 - 400 readers who regularly check in on new chapters between 1-3 days of publication. While the height of viewing is of course at the initial hours after publication, there is a steady stream of views after this as well, meaning that the series gets both re-readers and more casual views. For a non-yiffy story, that is an absolutely fantastic figure! Keep up the good work!

If you have any comments, don't hesitate with them! Votes, faves and watches are appreciated as well.

Enjoy the chapter y'all, I had much fun writing it as always!

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"That'll be 24.95, including tax," I punched in the key details to the cash register and already held out my paw to receive whatever form of currency was to be presented to my money-hungry leonine self in the near future.

The coyote standing on the other side of the counter flipped open a black leather wallet and pulled out a twenty and a five, which I placed into the register before handing out the change and the receipt as well as the telltale red shopping bag which labeled you as a book enthusiast.

"Hopefully we'll see you again soon at the Albrecht Brothers," I beamed with my best happyhappy smile, my head held up as if the collar of my red on-duty shirt was starched well enough to act as a some sort of a neck brace.

"Yeah, let's just hope they keep putting these out," the coyote stuffed his wallet back to his pocket and departed with a nod of his head and a wag to his tail as he wandered past a fox and a wolf, new entrants into the shop.

I stretched my paws quickly to relieve an ache and listened to Marge giving the newcomers a big and smiling Albrecht Brothers hello, her ears flicking and without wasting her ample cleavage as a tool of friendly customer service. I snuffled briefly, shook my head, re-arranged my tail and generally put myself into place on the counter, ready to rise up to the occasion when I was required.

And still it was only twelve o'clock...why did it feel like the day had already gone on for ages?

¨

There wasn't anything unusual about it, just a regular Monday, with customers coming and going, Twilight books sold, shelves arranged, boobs bounced. We'd taken in a delivery of cookery books from the loading dock and drank coffee in the back room while Mason groaned on about how the Eurovision finale had been a disappointment and that something bizarre had once again won ahead of the really good songs. Apparently Haakon, Mason's hunky lynx buddy, whom apparently also liked to hang out shirtless at gay bars, was disapproving of the choice of Europe as well, much to my amusement conveyed over my mug while smiling politely at the animated wolf. The frat boy was currently seated in his lonely corner downstairs, at the treasures section, probably either telling someone where to find books on antique toilet seats, or secretly reading a paperback copy of a classic novel he was supposed to finish two weeks ago.

Ahhh...student life...

Ahhh...work life...

Ahhh...Rory life...

Ahhh....

Well, there could be so many ahhs in my mind at one time, I decided. My own weekend had been exciting enough as it was, filled with extremes of emotion ranging from intense lust regarding some Dobie butt to the lower ends of Rory mood scale, meaning catatonic taste on the bed while moaning my stupid directionless life. At least my coffee with Victor had sorted things out as much as it was possible for the moment...

...two weeks...maybe?

Victor had said that Cobb might stay for two weeks...which obviously meant that whatever would be going on between me and the Dobie, it was most likely going to be two weeks of Victor-free zone, once again, which seemed to be a long time after my countless moments of Victor-longing that had filled the past Victor-month.

Now, while not back to square one, it was still sucked plenty. For starters, there'd likely not be nightly Facebook chats due to the possibility of a brotherly Cobb peeping over Victor's shoulder and reading every word that'd be exchanged between us.

Rory Gliese says: So, did you like that episode of NCIS last night?

_ _

Victor Holden says: Yeah, it was gr8t!

_ _

WOO VICTOR AND RORY'S GOT A SHARED INTEREST! DO YOU THINK THAT DINOZO IS HOT????

The mental image of Cobb Holden was already trying to steal his brother's eyeglasses before I was brought out of daydreams by a small coughing sound.

In front of me stood a female lion of some age, with a measured face and an oversized black leather handbag clutched on both paws. She did not look happy at having to catch the attention of a member of the staff standing two feet away from her, and her tone of voice certainly spoke the same thing.

"I would like to be shown to the section where you have the novel 'I Would Gladly Sail The Shores of Your Land', the lion spoke between her tightly held lips.

My tail flopped limply down to the floor while I urged the happyhappy smile to return.

"Good day ma'am, let me look it right up on the computer," I pulled the compact keyboard from underneath the counter, clicked open the inventory search mode and quickly typed in the first words of the title to get my choices narrowed down to first four, and then only one choice after the addition of " - gla".

You have one (1) search result:

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Woolsworth, Adalmina. I Would Gladly Sail The Shores of Your Land. 2011. - IN STOCK

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My ears flicked briefly at the name of the trashy author, but my smile didn't wane as I pushed the keyboard back to its hidey place.

"If you would follow me, please, ma'am, we'll find it right up from the Contemporary Romance section", I was really trying my best here, I was.

I squeezed myself out of my place, lodged momentarily between Marge's ass and the counter on the opposite side of the sales area, before I made my way to the actual floor and lead the grumpy lion to the shelf stacked with rows and rows of thin paperbacks and thick brick-like concoctions of misplaced literary enthusiasm. The whole shelf as a whole was only slightly less disheartening than the whole Paranormal Romance section that was conveniently located next to the Young Adults section, currently partially obscured by the cardboard cutouts advertising the Caldon Rocks books. I gave Sir Wilbur a brief glimpse, the valiant cartoon wolf's gaze not meeting mine since his eyes reached for the unseen heavens above, and then began to scan the alphabetically ordered shelf.

The lion stood next to me, her tail flicking impatiently while I did my best to locate the book she desired. I actually had to kneel down to get to the lowermost shelf, since letter W was crammed down there, and while my knees popped, I found myself with an eyeful of glossy covers on what must've amounted to a dozen 700-page books penned by this Woolsworth. My tail tucked itself into safety to avoid collisions with the brooding lioness, my eyes zooming past titles such as "Mistress of Lost Island" and "The Governess, Heart and Snow".

I had to suppress a groan before I found the book in question, located between "Princess Amanda, The Queen of Wolves" and "He Gave Me a Red Ribbon". I clutched onto my find like a lifeline, pulling it out of its nest so that I could present it happily to the lioness.

The cover was an eyewatering mixture of Angel Gabriel blue and pink, clashingly combined in the image of a sailing boat with a frock-wearing maiden clutching onto the mast, and even though there were a few waves surrounding the base of the boat, it was actually sailing across the bare chest of a lion whose ghostly image formed the main motif for the entire cover.

There was also a lighthouse and a seagull.

"Here we go, ma'am!" I displayed the glossy tome proudly to the lioness.

The lady lion stared at the book for a few moments before she nodded sharply.

"I want it in a yellow gift wrapper with a black ribbon tied around it."

I gulped.

"Ahh..."

Another ahh!

My single second of hesitation was enough to get at her.

"I have been to your web page and I know that you offer a free gift-wrapping service for all purchases, and there was a catalogue of available patterns and I wish the yellow gift paper with the black ribbon," she sniped me left and right, making my ears flick.

"Yes, ma'am, of course, completely free of charge!" I hurried to assure her with my best smile.

"When a book costs 19.95, there ought to be some complimentary service, yes," the lioness hissed.

She shadowed me all the way back to the sales counter where Marge was busy chatting up a brown stallion with some muscles to spare, I noted almost dully, as I took my place on the counter and keyed in the purchase. The lioness slipped a gold-tinted credit card into my paw and I slipped it quickly through the cash register to the device's beeping satisfaction. The owner of the prestigious card didn't budge from her position in front of me while the transaction was done.

Then came the matter of gift-wrapping, much to my non-amusement. The stuff was behind me, on the counter, a pile of different colored gift paper and gift boxes and cellophane and ribbons and pretty things, oh my!

I was also painfully aware of my audience, consisting of the lioness and Marge, as I turned my back to the floor and put the book to the side so that I could measure a suitable length of the requested paper for the wrapping. I had done it enough times to be okay at it, but it still seemed to take far too long from me to get the corners straight and keep the whole thing from falling apart on its own when I tried to find some of the tape to stick the folds of the paper into place. A small concentrated frown was on my face as I toiled, soon to get to the business of trying to guess just how much of the wide, black ribbon I needed to cover the whole package around.

Okay, so maybe it didn't come out perfectly, there were a few wrinkles, here and there, but as a whole, it seemed okay enough and worth all it was, free, heheh.

"Here we go, ma'am," I put the frilly package down to the counter and reached for a suitable bag from their storage hidey place, one of the many mysterious hidey places under the counter.

"Thank you," she didn't sound like she meant it, I admit, but I tried to keep my best face as I hid my masterpiece into the bag and then handed it over the counter.

"We hope to see you soon, ma'am."

Who was I kidding anymore?

She didn't bother with a "good day" but stormed out instead, perhaps to alleviate the chronic loneliness in her life with a gift she could pretend to be from someone else and not purchased by her for herself from a harassed shop assistant lion.

That's a maybe, if this was one of those Adalmina Woolsworth novels, and not the Life of Rory Gliese, by Rory Gliese.

Marge snapped her tail at my calves, teasing enough to get my tail over her ass in return. She smirked as she looked at me, her long eyelashes fluttering with her cheekiness.

"You've got a new fan," she smirked, "soon all members of the Women's Literary Circuit shall flock the Albrecht Brothers to get special gift wrap services from the cute lion."

I snuffled comically.

"Was I that bad?" I really didn't think I was being THAT obvious.

"Yeah," she smirked. "I could see where the smile ends and the grumpy lion begins."

My tail traced a lopsided number 8 behind me while I contemplated this accusation. Was my façade as wrinkled as the taped-together gift paper wrapped around that tome of purple prose? Had the acid rain of date failure eroded the beautiful golden furs and put my emotions out there to be read by everyone, freely?

I was certainly being as poetic as one Adalmina Woolsworth, before I answered to Marge.

"I'm not grumpy!"

Well maybe I was, or had been, once the taste of cinnamon buns was gone and I had parted ways with Victor.

Marge flicked her ears at me sharply.

"You're usually much better at faking smiles, is all," she smirked, her own smile genuine and teasing, the way it always was.

"You aren't usually this nosy," I suggested in return, my tail swaying nervously now, but thankfully behind me in an angle that prevented Marge from seeing such a discriminating evidence over my state.

"Ohh but now I've got reasons to be nosy!" Marge declared, licking her upper lip. "Have to wonder what's keeping the cat grumpy...hmmm...or who..."

Just what wasn't?

_ _

HEY! HEY! I'M HERE! YOU WANT SOME DRINK? YOU WANT SOME ICE CREAM! IT'S LACTOSE FREE!

_ _

"I've got a hangover, okay?" I came up with the best explanation I could think of at such a short notice, making sure to flop my ears down to make it seem that I was in the grips of a terrible headache and general malaise while keeping up a brave face for the sake of my job.

Marge's brow quirked.

"Who gets drunk on a Sunday night?! You sound like a frat boy! Not even Mason's as bad as you!"

"A college friend came for a surprise visit," my tongue was lying surprisingly fast, "Peter...we haven't seen in ages and well...one thing led to another, and we ended up really recalling the old days and..."

Marge tapped the glass surface of the counter with her claws and tsk'ed.

"Seriously...,"she shook her head, "wow..."

I shrugged.

"Even I have my moments," I winked in the hopes of that meaning to Marge that I was a really naughty lion who regularly drank himself under the table.

"You're worse than Goggy," Marge snorted.

"Does your boyfriend often get drunk?" I retaliated in the hopes that getting zealous over the said leopard would take the best of Marge and she'd forget all about my misgivings.

Marge smirked toothily.

"He's an artist, of course he has to be drunk sometimes, to get the creative juices flowing, "she reasoned impeccably. "Although I didn't let him paint me nude when he asked me to pose for him, and he was drunk."

I tried my best not to cringe at the idea of Marge splayed out on a canvas in all her naked puma glory, and smiled instead, almost genuinely.

"Didn't know he does live models too," I tried my distractive powers again, tail flicking and all that.

Marge shook her head.

"You still haven't been to his Facebook page have you? Because if you had, you'd know he paints ON the models, not THE models!" the cougar proposed with sharp eyes.

I almost wished for more Adalmina Woolsworth-hungering customers to come and stampede us at the moment, anything to distract Marge, anything!

No such luck.

"Uhh, maybe I mistook them for being especially lifelike?" I tried with a vaguely guilty smile.

Marge batted my legs with her tail.

"You fraud!"

The doorbell chimed, thankfully, and we took our positions eagerly, only to find out that it was none other than Crystal coming through, ready to start her shift soon to relief Mason.

"Hey!" the mare greeted us with a broad smile.

"Hello!" I smiled, and got another bat from Marge, over my calves.

"Hi Crystal, remember to keep the voice down, Rory's got a hangover."

The sorority girl's ears perked at the surprising declaration, and she stopped on her tracks, halfway towards the stairs as she was.

"What? Rory?" she spoke in the 'our Rory?' voice.

"Guilty," I tried to look guilty.

"Way to go man," she smirked and headed on her way, clip-clopping along her path.

"Bathroom break!" I declared cheerfully, slipping past Marge before she had the time to say anything else while I left her to man the fort behind the counter and made my escape, past a rabbit browsing the movie book section, dodging a tiger making his way up the stairs, and there I was, safely beyond the reach of Marge, who mustn't leave the till unattended.

I took a deep breath, let my tail have its way, and decided that I should try to get better at hiding my date disappointments from my workmates or I'd be in even deeper trouble than I would get from being frowned upon for being a drunken lion.

"Hey, Rory!" I was called at, and I was already letting a huff pass from my maw when I realized that it was Mason, sitting behind his small counter, one paw clutching onto a worn paperback from the university library.

I tried to make the huff into a broad smile instead, and almost succeeded, letting my eyes fix on the sight of the young wolf.

"Hey," I replied, taking a step towards the counter so that I was out of the way of potential customers, as well as Crystal, whom was bound to return from the back room sooner or later to take Mason's place.

Mason was looking back to me, still holding onto that book, his ears flicking slowly.

"You got a minute?" the wolf asked me.

"Sure," I replied, deciding that hiding in the bathroom was probably not such a good idea after all, so I might as well chitchat with Mason, or maybe help him in some chore he wanted to do before leaving for the day.

Maybe it'd be about school, and it'd be something to put my mind to, and I could use my long dormant student skills and feel like I was actually doing something that a well-programmed robot couldn't handle.

I stepped closer to the counter and stood there, calmly.

"What's up?"

"Heh, not much," Mason rubbed the back of his neck, maybe to ease a kink out of it, "it's a quiet day."

"That it is," I agreed with a quick, half-bored nod.

"You got a nice weekend?" he inquired of me.

I wasn't sure where this was going, but remembering my earlier lies, I decided to stick up to them.

"I had a college buddy over for a visit over the weekend, and he was leaving today, so we decided to end the visit with a bang and got a bit drunk," I 'confessed' with a slight smirk.

I might as well use the opportunity to make my geriatric self sound at least a bit cool and youthful for the young wolf, after all.

Mason frowned a bit upon my explanation, but soon he, too, smiled, showing a little hint of his teeth, too.

"Wohhoy!" he chuckled.

"Yeah, I'm still suffering a little bit of the consequences," I continued on the same conspiratorial tone, "so I'm glad it's a quiet day, eh?"

"Hehe," Mason agreed with a quick nod.

"Talk about it. Good times, though," I rubbed the side of my head tragically, my tail flicking while I was starting to feel more and more foolish about making up such a pathetic story that was in a way even less compelling than the two days of brooding contemplation that followed my disastrously ended date.

At least the people here at the shop would think that I actually had such a good time that it ended in misery by the virtue of being TOO much fun. Double feint, perhaps, but maybe it'd work, and maybe it'd even cheer me up some in the process.

"That's cool," Mason's thin smile remained.

"Sounds like you had fun in the weekend, too," I took him back to his rants about the lackluster singing competition.

"Well, yeah, it was pretty fun all told, drinks and snacks and music and stuff," the wolf's tail gave a couple of wags for emphasis.

"That's great."

"Was wondering though...well, about something...," the wolf spoke again, watching me carefully.

"What is it?" I asked, wondering whether this was the point where he would ask me to help on a badly late essay and ask for tips on how to put in a good appearance to some old lecturer I might now.

The wolf rubbed the back of his neck again, seemingly nervous for some reason.

"Well, I was just thinking...yeah, I was wondering if you'd go out with me?"

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There we go, another chapter ready, another to come! If you have any comments, don't hesitate to drop me a couple of lines. Votes, faves and watches are appreciated as well.

Cheerio!