How The Cookie Crumbles (6 page)

“Really? Are you a student too?”

He stretched and smiled, “No, I’m a professional hockey player.”

I laughed merrily. “That’s funny. What do you really do?”

He gave me a questioning look. “I. Play. Hockey. For the Los Angeles Kings.”

I laughed again, “Sure, pull the other leg.”

He looked down at my legs, like he was considering it. I moved my knees out of his reach. He looked back up at my face, but his smile didn’t seem quite as confident.

“Sounds tempting, but why are you laughing?”

“Well, because you can’t be an NHL player.”

“Why not?”

“Because hockey players are all cut and fit and they work hard at the gym. And they don’t drink Diet Coke and eat crap.” I looked at his cinnamon roll, man there had to be 600 calories in that. It looked delicious and I wanted one too. I turned my head away and drank my unsweetened green tea.

For the first time, he stopped smiling and looked a little miffed. “I guess you don’t follow hockey then.”

“Well I do, kind of. I know something about hockey. But I’m not from around here, I’m from Vancouver so I only know some of the Canucks players. Plus my brothers play hockey, so I have been to hockey games. Too many.”

“Did you watch the playoffs?”

“Yup.” It was hard to miss, between Bianca’s fanaticism and the million TV’s at work.

“First round, Kings and Canucks?”

“Yup.”

“So anything you remember from that series?”

“Well, we won the series, but our defencemen kept getting injured. And um, the Kings had a really good power play, they kept scoring on us.”

“Good, good,” he spoke as if he was coaching a little kid, “And one of the points on that power play was a defenceman named Jake Cookson.”

“Oh yeah, I vaguely remember that name, I think my brother had him in a playoff pool or something.” I could remember Glen talking about him, so he must have been good.

“I’m Jake Cookson.”

Was he? I had no idea what Jake Cookson looked like. “Really? Prove it.” I challenged him. Anybody could say they were a famous hockey player, but a chubby guy like this was b.s.ing for sure.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said, pulling out his wallet. He showed me his driver’s license that read Jake Cookson and had his photo. I was surprised to see we were almost the same age, because he looked way older than me. Still it was hard for me to recognize a hockey player unless he was in full uniform and walking down the sidewalk in skate guards.

“Maybe you’re just a guy with the same name as a famous hockey player, who uses that to impress girls.”

He pretended to bang his head on the table. Then he stopped and looked at me. “Would my being a famous hockey player impress you?”

“No,” I declared firmly.

“Then why even bother.” He sighed. “I actually drive a zamboni.”

“That I believe,” I told him. He looked like a hoser, with his messy long hair and the scruffy beard-like thing on his face. I could imagine him hanging out at the rink in a plaid shirt and a tuque.

“Great! So would you like to go out tonight? Maybe we can catch a movie.”

“Nope, I have a lot of sewing to do. Thank you though.” I finished up my tea and got up to leave.

“Wait, can I get your number? I don’t even know your name….” he pleaded.

“It’s probably better that way,” I told him and walked away.

9. Hearts and Crafts

“Have you ever heard of a player named Jake Cookson?” I asked Chloë when we were having dinner that night. I had whipped up a little pasta dish with garlic, cherry tomatoes, arugula and canned Italian tuna while Chloë made one of her epic salads. We were eating out in the backyard where there was a tiny patio. Man, living in a real house with friends was something I could totally get used to.

“A player, like a guy who does a lot of girls?” she wondered.

“No, no, I meant a hockey player.”

Chloë shook her head, then nodded instead. “Wait, it’s funny because there’s this guy at the school, Andrew. He’s been dropping by the office and chatting. He mentioned that his buddy is in the NHL or something. I’m pretty sure it was that same name. I was thinking about the etymology of the name… Anglo Saxon, meaning the son of the cook.”

I sighed. Chloë was completely normal most of the time, but she occasionally swerved into academic detours, which was fine unless you were trying to find out something as I was.

“So, it’s legit. A NHL player lives around here.”

Since Kingston was so small, everyone must know him. No wonder he acted so confident, he was self-assured way beyond his age. Or his looks.

Chloë nodded slowly. “I guess. I don’t know anything about hockey, so I wasn’t really following.”

“So, Andrew you said? What does he look like?”

“He’s got brown hair, dark-rimmed glasses. Today he was wearing an old Hip t-shirt and plaid shorts.”

Hmm, tall, dark, and indie? Sounded like a perfect match for Chloë.

After dinner, we Googled Jake Cookson and found to my embarrassment that it was the same guy and he was actually an NHL player. I just thought an NHL player would be a lot fitter. I had seen a photo of one of the Canucks in just his underwear and he looked very fit. Very, very fit. Damn, now I needed to apologize to Jake next time I saw him.

Then Chloë and I started working on these retro pillows we were making with fabric we had found at the thrift stores. While we both felt a bit sheepish admitting it to most people, our favourite evenings were spent together crafting and talking. We both loved sewing and retro styles, so it was a chance to combine those interests and chat at the same time. Chloë was telling me about her plans after graduation next year, she was hoping to get a job in Toronto, maybe working as a research assistant in a big brokerage firm. Plus she was bemoaning the long dry spell in her personal life. Chloë was a romantic, she was always getting crushes on these unattainable guys and not noticing the possibilities right under her nose. To me it sounded like this Andrew guy might like her, but she didn’t seem to have noticed.

“What about you, Frank? When are you going to start dating again?”

“Never. Anyway, it’s not like I’m going to meet anyone here.” At the bakery it was mainly women, and at The Keg the pickings were pretty slim. In my short time here, I hadn’t seen anyone who looked even vaguely interesting. But deep down, I knew I was actually having trust issues. I mean, who wouldn’t after everything that happened with Matt?

“You always seem to meet tons of guys. Well, guys ask you out and then you turn them down.”

That was actually true. I think it had less to do with looks and more to do with the fact I looked friendly and approachable, and because I would chat to anyone. A guy once told me he asked me out because I looked like I would say yes. Matt used to joke that he couldn’t leave me alone for five minutes without my getting hit on. Guess he didn’t worry about that anymore. I sighed and did some lime green embroidery on the little pink and red cushion I was working on. It was a combination of checked gingham and a retro print of little candies that should not have worked but looked divine.

“I have a lot of rules though. I don’t date customers, or bosses.” I used to not date co-workers until Matt, and in retrospect I should have kept to that rule.

Chloë rolled her eyes, “Oh, Frankie has a lot of rules about dating? What aspect of life do you not have a lot of rules about?”

I shrugged, but what was wrong with rules? They helped you to keep order in your life. And having rules and goals had gotten me a lot of good things in life. I got a scholarship because I had good study habits; I lost weight because I had followed some strict rules about smaller portions and exercise.

“What about you Chloë? You’re pretty picky too.” She was too, I wasn’t sure if she was actually choosy or wasn’t getting offers, but she didn’t go out on many dates.

She nodded, deep in thought and then her face lit up. “Maybe you’re right, we should both take a chance. I’ve got a brilliant idea! We both have to say yes to the next guy that asks us out!”

This was an alarming idea, especially since a lot of random guys asked me out. I started to shake my head, and Chloë scowled at me. “Come on Frankie, be daring for once in your life.”

“Okay, but I get one pass in case someone really heinous asks me out.”

“That’s the point, we need to go out with someone we wouldn’t normally go out with, to expand our horizons.”

“Last week at The Keg, this gross middle-aged guy asked me out. He had sweat stains in the armpits of his suit jacket, disgusting.”

“Maybe he was a nice person, you never know. You can’t judge by appearances.” Chloë was happy to defend the losers that I might have to date.

“Chloë, he belched in the middle of asking me out. He had a frigging wedding ring on! The whole thing was gross, gross, gross!” I had tried to forget all the details, but it was exactly the reason I needed a free pass and Chloë finally agreed as long as she got one too.

Jake

I like women. I know most guys would say that, but I genuinely like women and naturally I like to get with women. Of course, being in the NHL definitely improves my odds with chicks; I figure I’m a nice guy, but sometimes that’s not enough. Still, I get that not every girl is into hockey players or into me, and it kind of seemed like the little brunette was one of them. I wasn’t going to keep after her if she wasn’t interested, but she was hot enough to rate some extra effort.

The next day at the gym, I asked Brad about her during our training session.

“Hey Brad, you know that brunette that works out here?”

He made a face. “Afternoons? Short with long brown hair?”

“And stacked!” I added.

“Yeah, you’re only the tenth guy to ask me about her. It’s not that kind of gym, and I should never have let her talk me into a membership.”

“Why, is she picking up guys all the time?” That would be good news, because she seemed more on the chilly side.

“No, quite the contrary, she’s strictly not interested in anything but working out. But she’s proving to be a distraction.”

“Has she got a name?”

“Look Cookson, you need to concentrate on your workouts while you’re at the gym.” And he increased the level of the treadmill I was on.

“C’mon, Brad,” I puffed. “She was actually on me for not working out hard enough, so it can only be a good thing if I see more of her.”

He frowned again. “Well, she does come to the gym almost every afternoon and work out hard. Her name is Frances Taylor, Frankie for short.”

So I started coming to the gym afternoons too. Frankie looked pretty cute in her little workout outfits, but it was true that she totally focussed on her routine and hardly looked around. By the end, when she was all sweaty and her top was sticking to her, I was ready to overlook all her prickly ways just to get a crack at that body. Then she would shower and come out wearing these dresses and high heels. She looked like something out of an old movie, but way hotter.

I said hi to her and teased her about getting a ride on my Zamboni and shit like that, she always blushed and seemed to be a lot nicer than when I first talked to her. I figured that she was warming up to me, and there might be a possibility at some point. Meantime though, I had other stuff going on and I wasn’t staying home alone for sure.

I was refilling the drink cooler when Jake walked into the café. Usually I saw him at the gym with a million people around, but this was a chance to talk to him alone. And best of all, Elaine was off.

“Hey,” I called out to him and walked over to the counter.

“Hey yourself,” he said smiling. Despite how rude I had been to him, he had only been nice to me, and that made me feel a little guilty.

Once I had the counter between us, I took a deep breath and then apologized. “I’m really sorry that I didn’t believe you were a hockey player.”

He just shrugged, “It’s okay. You believe it now?”

“Yeah, I Googled your name and saw it was you.” Hopefully that would take care of the niceness portion of our program. “So, what can I get you?”

“Wait, how sorry are you?”

“What do you mean?”