I spent 15 years training Marines in hand-to-hand combat, and my rule was simple

every subtle flinch.

“He’s good. Really good.” The pause was half a second too long. “Actually, we’re training together now. He’s teaching me some boxing basics.”

Shane’s jaw tightened. Dustin Freeman, twenty-six, a cocky MMA fighter who trained at some strip-mall gym called Titan’s Forge. They’d been dating for four months, and Shane had disliked him continue reading …