Who's That Boy (HH)
#39 of Hockey Hunk Season 6
Who's That Boy
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Hello, everyone, and welcome to another weekly installment of The Hockey Hunk! Hopefully I can keep up to this schedule for now, have the story chugging along and give you a bit of fun, and for me too, of course! I'm always glad to share, and I'll be happy to hear what you have to say about the story, of course! Thank you for all your comments in the previous chapter, I've read them all and will be back to answer them soon! *smiles*
For now, enjoy this chapter!
Cheers!
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"Zzzzzzzzzzz..."
"Mister Gliese?"
The soft-voiced words made my ears tingle. My tail painted a rather worrisome figure 8 behind me at it, too, while my muzzle slowly turned into the direction of the speaker, standing next to me behind the counter.
"Uh, yes?" I spoke as I looked back at the mild-mannered young bespectacled tiger, with his neatly groomed tiger-mane and muzzle and red duty shirt and black pants and black leather shoes that actually shone, much unlike mine. The whole guy was kinda shining, when you really thought about it.
"It seems rather quiet at the moment, would you like to take a break for a cup of coffee or a little stretching of your legs?" he spoke. "Miss Pitt told me that you recently suffered injury to your leg and it's important to stay active. I can certainly take care of the service during that."
Oh, Jesus Almighty. Not only he made me sound like I was old, like...forty, but also, that I was some sort of an old fart who had to take little walks or his ass would fall off.
I put on a happyhappy smile and nodded.
"Oh, that's fine," I told him, "I'm quite good for now. But it's very kind of you to suggest that. Thank you, Paul."
"No problem, Mister Gliese."
Maybe I should be happy that I managed to elicit such a respectful_response from this young tiger. I was going to be his official boss in a few months, after all. I was really going to have to be a _Mister for him.
A sir.
_ _
A daddy.
_ _
Oh, dang. My mind surely wasn't supposed to go there, especially since for some reason it caused me to imagine myself at work dressed up in those leather pants and leather hat a certain Cobb Holden had worn during his very gay party.
Shit.
Thinking about Cobb's leather-ass was not boding me well. At least I should think about Victor's leather-butt, preferably, or maybe even his hockey butt. He did go out last night to have fun at the skating rink, to find his skating paws again after a long time away since the accident. Apparently it'd been just fine. The thought of him zooming along the ice made me feel nice. At least both of us were now moving on from the crap that stupid car accident had caused. My dislocated ass was not giving me too much trouble anymore, even if our new shop assistant insisted I should take frequent breaks for my rump. Funny how interested he was in the condition of my pert little - uh...well, my good enough lion-butt. Wonder if there was something besides being a polite young boy there...
"I've shifted all the boxes."
Speaking of polite boys and butts, Mason had appeared by the counter, dreamy as usual, and looking at me mildly. My ears perked curiously.
"That's great!" I said. I looked at him and tried to win time with my smile to figure out just what I'd told him to do earlier. Boxes, boxes...yyyyyesss...yes, yeah, okay, I'd told him to move some of the boxes in the back, earlier. "Got anything else to do there?"
"Eh..." the wolf's bushy tail ruffled the air behind him, "don't think there's too much. All of today's deliveries are sorted and Marge is just doing some paperwork in her office."
"Then you should look around the floor in case anyone needs some help or any shelves need sorting," I told him.
"Okay," the wolf wandered away without saying a further word, one paw in a pocket. Maybe he was already turning on his MP3 player again.
Boys.
I looked over to the tiger, who was still looking at me. When he saw me look at him, he smiled politely, and nodded.
"It does seem rather quiet, does it not?"
Did they really make them this polite in Pittsburg or was he an exception? Or something else? Maybe he just had that kind of a character. Or maybe he was just willing to swallow any youthful pride and swagger he might have and did his goddamn best at this lackeying job.
"Yeah," I replied. That likely didn't sound very convincing, or suitable for his refined tastes.
The doorbell tingled, and at that moment, our day became much less quiet.
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