“One too many,” I said. “I’m worried about you, Wildcat. You’re not making sense.” “What if I am?” What? What does that even mean? What is this about? I motioned to his plate. “Don’t you need to eat like every forty-five minutes to maintain the whole two hundred and thirty pounds of hurricane-force muscle thing?” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Two twenty-five.” “Well, then, you’re wasting away.” I gave him an admonishing head shake. “And I’m sure you worked out today.” He shrugged this off. “Only two hours. Off-season.”
