Free Bull: An MMA Stepbrother Romance by Selena Saint

said.
    Closer. Three minutes. He would walk on stage, undress, get on the scales, and make weight. Then he would drink as much Pedialyte as he could without throwing up. Then he would stare down that doomed motherfucker across from him. 
    After what seemed like an eternity the man came back and ushered Jake and Cole out and toward the stage. The rest of Jake’s fight team joined them and they queued up to go on stage.
    Music was pumping over the loud speakers. The announcer’s voice boomed, “Next up, in the light heavyweight division, Ben ‘Beast’ Magnusson!” 
    Jake could see Beast and his fight team walk out on stage. He watched as Beast stripped down to underwear in front of the crowd. There must have been 5,000 fans in that crowd. The official adjusted the scales for a moment, then said something to the announcer.
    “206 ladies and gentlemen!” he yelled. The crowd erupted in cheers and Beast flexed his muscles and walked off the scales.
    “And his opponent,” the announcer yelled, “Number five ranked contender, Jake Mata!”
    Jake led his team out onto the stage. The floodlights were blinding. He couldn’t make out the audience, but he could hear them, and he could feel their energy. They were with Beast. 
    Jake had been around the block. Sometimes you’re the fan favorite, sometimes you’re not. Didn’t matter. All the same, he didn’t like the thought of Lisa hearing the crowd root for the other guy. As soon as he thought it he realized how absurd it was. Lisa wouldn’t hear them. She would be nowhere near the place and didn’t give two shits if he won or got his block knocked into next week.
    He stripped to his underwear. He felt gaunt. He never liked the way the gauntness of extreme dehydration looked on him. He stepped onto the scales and watched the weigh-in officials face. He tried to read his expression. This cut had been brutal. If he didn’t make 206 the official would give him two hours to try again, but that wasn't going to happen. That was two hours of hell Jake knew he could no longer endure. His body had had enough and it was either time to make weight or take the penalty and give up a percentage of his purse. His own scales had read 205. He should have it...
    Finally, the official told the announcer, “205.5,” and Jake breathed a sigh of relief. He almost let the façade of toughness crack, but there were thousands watching him. He raised his arm and flexed hard. The classic muscleman pose. One thing that did look good when he was cutting weight was his arms. He was shredded and every vein and ripple of muscle shown. He turned to the left and right showing the entire audience and making the meanest face he could muster.
    “205.5 ladies and gentlemen!” the announcer yelled over the loudspeakers, “This one’s going to be a barnburner! It has fight of the night written all over it!”
    Jake turned, looking for Cole. Bless the man, he already had a bottle of Pedialyte open for him. Jake stepped down off the scales and grabbed it from him, chugged it down as fast as he could. 
    Beast was waiting for him to do the staredown. Jake knew every second he delayed the face off just pissed Beast off that much more. Let the motherfucker wait, Jake thought as he cracked another Pedialyte and chugged it.
    The drink was like ice to a sunburn. It quenched the raw, dry sensation in his throat. 
    He turned to look at Beast who was shooting daggers at him with his eyes.
    He walked over to him and they both raised their arms into a fighting stance. Beast was standing just a little too close. He bent his head into Jake’s and whispered, “I’m going to fucking kill you tomorrow night, bitch!”
    He had just stepped on the last nerve Jake had. Jake hauled off and shoved Beast hard in the chest and Beast went flying back. He got his footing and came after Jake but the promoter stepped between them. Their teams then jumped in to prevent the fight.
    Cole grabbed Jake. “It’s not worth