Chapter 1

1

“You’re wearing that?”

I looked at my boyfriend Donovan, who stood only a few feet away, watching me get dressed. We were going to a Cubs game at Wrigley Field and, according to the weather reports, the temperature was supposed to drop into the forties that night while we were at the stadium, so I’d grabbed a scarf from my closet to wear. The scarf, a gift from a former boyfriend (though I’d never told Donovan this), was camel-colored cashmere and I loved it. Aside from looking great, it also kept me warm and, living in Chicago, warmth was often hard to come by.

“What’s wrong with my scarf?” I asked. “I’ve worn it a thousand times.”

“Yeah, but not to a Cubs game,” Donovan said before scrunching up his face. “It looks…gay.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Well, then it’s perfect since I amgay and, guess what, so are you!”

Donovan frowned. “Come on, Matt. You know what I mean. I’m not looking to get into a fight over this.”

Too late for that, I thought, as I looked at the scarf in my hands.

“I just want to go to the game and not have any trouble,” Donovan said.

I considered just choosing another scarf from my closet, one that would meet his approval, or just picking a heavier jacket to wear to the game to keep me warm and skipping the neck ware altogether, but I didn’t. I’d had enough of Donovan and his rules of civility.

I tossed the scarf onto my bed. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t?I won’tkeep jumping through hoops to be with you. We’re done.”

He was silent for a few seconds before asking, “Are you breaking up with me?”

“Yes.”

“Because I asked you to change your scarf?”

“It’s not about the scarf. It’s about you.”

Donovan Clark, the man I’d been with for two years and thought I’d be with for the rest of my life, looked at me for a moment before hanging his head and quietly saying, “Please, Matt. Don’t do this. I love you.”

“I love you, too, but I’ve had enough.”

And, with those words, our relationship ground to a halt.

* * * *

“Don’t ever fall in love with a closet case,” a friend told me years ago. Being openly gay myself, I didn’t exactly gravitate toward closeted men, nor did they gravitate toward me, so I figured my friend’s advice would go unheeded…until I met Donovan. Don came to my podiatry office a little over two years ago for a shin splint back in the days when he was still a runner. (Those days were, sadly, over.) When I first saw him, I thought he was handsome, but I immediately classified him as a former frat boy slash jock who liked women, beer, and the Cubs, though not necessarily in that order. While Don had dated women in the past, he’d come out (sort of) in his thirties. (He also wasn’t a former frat boy or a jock, but he was a Cubs fan and he did like beer, so I wasn’t totally off base in my initial assessment of him.) Even though being a podiatrist in Chicago brought many handsome, athletic men my way, I didn’t date my patients. But Don made me break the rules I’d set for myself. During our first appointment, it didn’t take long for him

“No,” I said.

“Girlfriend?”

“No.”

He smiled. “Boyfriend?”

“No,” I muttered, sitting back in my chair. “Not at the moment.”

“Then have a drink with me later.”

I stared at him, wondering if he was joking. “A drink?”

“Yeah, a drink.”

I looked at Donovan and seriously considered his offer for a moment. He was an attractive man, tall (just a bit under six feet) with light brown hair, dark brown eyes, an oval-shaped head, and broad shoulders. He was forty when we met and worked as a producer for a local political show that aired nightly on one of the public television stations. Even though Donovan was handsome and charming, I still turned him down for a drink, but my refusal didn’t stop him from asking me out again when he came to my office for a follow-up appointment.

“I’m only asking you to have one drink with me. That’s all. If you’re not feeling it, then I’ll back off.”

“Are you even gay?”

He shrugged. “I’m gay enough.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” he said with a smile, “I can make you happy if you let me.”

That made me laugh. He was good. My buttons were definitely being pushed…and I liked it. We went out for that drink and the rest was history.