From somewhere deep in the condo, otherworldly howls and shrieks rang out over the screaming guitars and growling vocals of Dee Snider urging all the faithful to come and adore the baby Jesus.

Alex ignored them as he opened the oven door to get a better look at the thermometer stabbed deep into the center of what the guy at the butcher shop promised him was a pork roast.

Hot air blasted from the oven, instantly fogging up his glasses and burning his lungs.

The sound of glass shattering and dishes crashing to the floor was followed by the wild scrabble of claws on tile as two hairless Sphynx cats came tearing into the kitchen, skidding across the floor they took the corner at high speed.

“Jesus, Torvil!” Alex yelled as the white cat slammed into his ankles. On reflex, he grabbed the oven door to keep his balance. Yanking his now-burnt fingers away with a curse, Alex hopped gracefully over the black cat twining itself around his feet. “Dang it, Dean. What did you monsters do now?”

Bracing himself for the worst, Alex walked cautiously to the dining area of the small condo. The cats followed behind him, stopping in the doorway, tails twitching as if they were as surprised as Alex by the destruction.

What had a few seconds ago been a picture perfect table set for a romantic dinner for two, was now a jumbled mess of tableware and scattered Christmas balls. It looked like the cats had finally succumbed to the lure of the tassels dangling from the edge of the table runner. He’d known it was a bad idea even as he had been setting the table. But it was his favorite

Alex sighed, put his hands on his hips, and turned to glare at the cats. Torvil shrunk down, face wrinkling even more than usual, skinny tail wrapping around her legs. Dean pretended to be unconcerned, focusing his attention on grooming his non-existent hair.

“Yeah, I know it was you,” Alex said, scooping up Dean with one hand. “Bad kitty.” He grabbed Torvil with his other arm, kissing them both on the head. He tossed them gently on the bed in what he considered ‘his’ room, shutting to door before they could race back out. “It’s for your own good, idiots,” he said when they scratched and mewed piteously. “You want to get glass in your paws? I don’t think so.”

Smoothing down his Kiss the Cook apron – a classic never goes out of style – he grabbed the broom and dustpan and headed for the table.

On closer inspection, the damage was minimal. Two wine glasses that he’d gotten at Crate and Barrel and some broken ornaments. The only real casualty was one of the soup bowls; it had broken cleanly in half

“Aw, man.” He picked up the pieces, laying them gently on the table. The china had belonged to his grandmother. Knowing how much he loved it, his mother had given it to him when he’d moved to Seattle. He was down to only three soup bowls now. It couldn’t be that hard to fix; maybe he could glue it.

At least he hadn’t lit the candles yet. The smell of something burning came from the kitchen. “Oh, no,” Alex aid, running into the room. With a curse, he pulled open the bottom over door. The bread he’d spent all day yesterday making had a dark black crust.

Grabbing a potholder, he yanked the bread pan out of the oven and dropped it on the counter with a bang. “Dang it. At least we tried?” he looked to the cats for confirmation that he deserved at least an A for effort, then remembered they were in the bedroom.

Checking the pork roast temperature and the time, and giving the pots on the stove one last check, he walked to the bedroom.

Torvil and Dean slept on the bed, curled up head to tail they looked like a yin-yang symbol if it were wearing knitted Christmas sweater. Seattle wasn’t that cold, even in mid-December, but it was damp, and the hairless cats got cold easily.

Alex wished he could climb up next to them, slide under the covers, and watch Christmas movies instead of going through this dinner. Making Christmas dinner for two wasn’t as much fun as making it for ten, but Charles didn’t like sharing his time with Alex. And the one or two of Alex’s friends that had met Charlies weren’t his biggest fans, to say the least.

“Time to get dressed, lazybones.” He gave himself thirty seconds to sit on the bed and give the kitties some loving, and get some in return. He’d had the cats for longer than he’d known Charles, and got more love from them. Not that Charles was cold, he was just, well, married.

Something Alex hadn’t known until after they’d gotten together.

They’d met on a Disney cruise over the summer. Those cruises were lifesavers for part-time fathers with more money than ideas on how to entertain small children over a long summer break.

Alex assumed Charles was just one more of the many divorced dads that hit on him every cruise, albeit much better looking than a lot of them. Alex wouldn’t say he had a fixation for the ‘daddies’ but he wasn’t immune to their charms. Plus the closer he got to thirty, less he found he hand in common with the perky barely-legal crowd. He got tired just listening to them talk.

He’d had been impressed that Charles was there by himself with his two kids. A lot of the divorced dads with money brought a nanny or companion for the kids, usually one they were boinking anyway.

Turned out he was there alone because his wife, Allison, had to go home and take care of her grandmother. Allison was his second wife, not a surprise. At twenty six, Allie was almost twenty-years younger than Charles, and only one year younger than Alex. Alex told him he was twenty-three, it wasn’t like he was going to check Alex’s ID.

He had to look Allie in the face once a week, when she brought the kids to the rink for skating lessons. She was great; funny, smart, and loving. Cute as a button, too, with her white blonde hair, wide blue eyes, and adorable Texas accent. She looked a lot like Alex, actually. Apparently Charles had a type.

The kids were even better. Seven-year-old Zane had an endless collection of fart jokes that made him laugh so hard, he’d fall down on the ice.

Five-year-old Daisy kept a kitten purse full of rocks, bottle caps, ribbons, and whatever else captured her fancy. Every class, she would explain to Alex where each bit had come from and what significance it held for her. He loved the little frown she got when sorting through them, and the excitement in her eyes as she share her latest treasure with him.

Alex ached to take Allie out for a three-mimosa brunch and tell her a few truths about Charles and his boys on the side. If he didn’t know she would hate him afterwards, he would.

As he stood in the walk-in closet that was bigger than his entire childhood bedroom and flipped desultorily though various skin tight shirts and pants, he wondered how he had gone from Olympic gold to whore in all but name.

“Oh, who am I kidding,” he said to Torvil as she slinked around his ankles. ”Let’s call a whore a whore. Mommy would be so proud.”

He scooped the cat up. “We really need to find a new job.” He rubbed his face against the wrinkled forehead. Torvil wouldn’t care if they moved, she just wanted love and food. Maybe he should go to college. Maybe he should hustle for more coaching jobs.

Alex had a half hour before Charles was due for their early Christmas dinner. That gave Alex just enough time to re-set the table, finishing cleaning the kitchen, take a quick shower, and figure out what to wear.

“No problem,” he said to the cats who had come into the closet with him and were currently exploring his shoes. “If I can do a triple axel dressed as a talking candlestick, I can do this.”

Flicking through the selection of clothes Charles had bought him, he settled on a pair of black leather pants and some designer silk shirt that probably cost more than the rent on his last apartment. Baby blue wasn’t his favorite shade, he preferred a darker more teal blue, but Charles liked this the best. Said it matched his eyes perfectly.

Clean first, then shower.

He turned the television on before he went back to the kitchen. The giant monstrosity took up half the wall in the living room, and was visible from almost every room in the condo.

It would not have been Alex’s first choice for the focal point of any room. But you didn’t look at gift condo in the mouth, and Charles had bought the model unit saying he didn’t want to have to shop for furniture.

He pulled up the Thunder game, checking the score as he caught up to the live broadcast. The Thunder was ahead three-two over the Tampa Bay Lightning in a home game.

He loaded up the dishwasher while he listened with half an ear.

“Oh my God,” the announcer yelled. “What a save! That’s one we’re going to be seeing on highlight reels for years.” The crowd roared and banged on the plexiglass.

Alexei hurried into the living room to catch the replay just in time to see Thunder goalie Sergei Pergov dive backward from a butterfly position, stick arm outstretched. He flipped onto his stomach, scooped the puck out of the net a hair’s breadth before it crossed the goal line, and leaped back to his skates in time to stop the rebound.

“Hell, yes!” Alex shouted with a whoop. “That’s what I’m talking about.” He turned to the cats who were prowling across the back of the couch. “Do you see that kids? See what Uncle Sergei did?” He picked up the remote and pointed it at the screen. “Let’s watch it again.”