"You like to cook?"
"Yeah."
"But you don't have any food?"
He shrugs. "I order in."
"Mmm."
He laughs. "I know that mmm."
Shit. He's right. It's total therapist mmm. "Why don't you cook more?"
"It's a lot of work when it's just me."
"But you… you don't have any fat."
He pats his stomach. "And?"
"Tell me you eat nothing but chicken and broccoli."
"I eat a lot of chicken and broccoli. Have plenty in the freezer. But I'm not gonna feed you that."
"No?"
"Unless you find it appetizing."
I stand. Move into the kitchen. "If you don't like it, why do you eat it?"
"It's easy."
"Do you also eat a lot of egg whites and protein shakes?"
He laughs. "Eggs."
"With yolks and everything?"
"And cheese."
"You have any?"
He pulls the fridge open. "Yeah." He looks to me with a curious expression. "You want eggs for dinner?"
"Whatever is fine."
"We can order something." He closes the fridge door. Points to the menus hanging from magnets. "Plenty of options."
A picture of chicken tandoori grabs my attention. I tap the flyer. "This place."
He picks up a San Diego magnet, grabs the menu, hands it to me.
"You like San Diego?"
"Who doesn't?"
"We used to go there every summer. When I was a kid. We'd stay on the bay. I'd swim all afternoon. My parents would sit in the sun and read. And then we'd watch movies all night. My dad is a big film buff. You guys probably like a lot of the same stuff."
"Shit. You're comparing me to your dad? Is that a kinky daddy thing?"