Page 16 of The TV Show Rival
Yet, here they were, two people who’d grown past the awkwardness of adolescence, forging a genuine friendship despite the past.
College brought them together again, an awkward apology on his part and a hesitant forgiveness from hers. But that was all it took. They discovered a shared passion for the outdoors, for the quiet thrill of the hunt (or in their case, the fish).
Pyramid Lake became their haven, a place where the troubles of the world faded away with each cast of the line. They spent countless lazy afternoons there, the gentle rocking of the boat a soothing counterpoint to the thrill of a tug on the fishing line.
Marty, surprisingly adept at the art of angling, had patiently taught her the art of casting, of reading the water, of respecting the delicate balance of the ecosystem. They’d return with stringers full of fish, enough for a celebratory campfire feast.
But his circumstances were different now. Married, with a little one on the way. No more impromptu fishing trips, she understood. But thankfully, he would be there this time.
The sun beat down, turning the surface of the lake into a shimmering expanse. The surrounding landscape was a mix of rocky terrain and sparse vegetation, with the occasional desert plant dotting the arid landscape. In the distance, the rugged mountains framed the scene, their peaks standing tall against the horizon.
Jamie sat on the weathered wooden dock that extended into the lake, its planks warmed by the sun. She wore a wide-brimmed hat to shield her face from the intense sun, a pair of comfortable pants, and sturdy boots, ready for any outdoor adventure.
The dock creaked slightly under her weight as she leaned back against the rail, taking in the peaceful surroundings.
Her bobber sat stubbornly still, mirroring her lack of success. Another cast, another plop, and another sigh escaped her lips. Maybe the fish here had all grown wise to her rusty techniques.
With a shrug, she decided to check her phone for distractions, hoping Marty wouldn’t be too far behind. As she scrolled through the usual flurry of updates, a post from the self-proclaimed fitness guru, Jess Thompson, caught her eye.
The name elicited a groan. Jess was a local fitness trainer and Instagram influencer whose social media presence bordered on the obnoxious. Her perfectly posed pictures and self-satisfied captions touting the superiority of her particular brand of exercise grated on Jamie’s nerves, even if Jess Thompson did always look stunning and in enviable shape. Every squat thrust and burpee seemed to be accompanied by a thinly veiled jab at anyone who dared to get their sweat on in a different way.
Jess had posted a video of her training some people who were hurling over huge tractor tires. The caption read something along the lines of this is the only way to get in shape & yoga is for losers.
Jamie rolled her eyes. Jess was a talented trainer, no doubt, but her constant need to put down other forms of exercise rubbed Jamie the wrong way.
Jess looked beautiful, her glossy chestnut hair in a neat bun. Her elegant, perfectly muscled frame was provocatively dressed in skin tight yoga pants and a tiny crop top that barely covered her breasts.
Jamie caught herself scrolling Jess’s photos. Something about Jess’s piercing blue eyes and full sensual lips was so attractive.
Stop looking, Jamie. That is what she wants you to feel. She wants you to want her.
Ignoring the urge to unleash a scathing comment, Jamie hit the “See Less Of” button, effectively banishing Jess’ smug persona from her feed.
A few messages from clients, friends, and family elicited quick replies, and with a final sigh, she tucked the phone away to continue her attempts at fishing.
She took in the gentle lapping of waves against the shore and the chirping of crickets in the tall grass. A glance at her watch told her Marty should be arriving any minute. Maybe his arrival would break the fish’s apparent disinterest, hopefully.
“Hey there, stranger! Looks like the fish are hiding from you today.”
Marty’s footsteps announced him on the creaky floorboards, a wide grin on his face. A tackle box was slung over one shoulder and a cooler—the unmistakable promise of ice-cold beers—in the other hand completed the picture of a perfect fishing buddy.
Despite sharing Jamie’s height, he favored a more generous build, the result of questionable junk foods. A faded green fishing hat sat perched on his head, casting a shadow over his perpetually sun-kissed cheeks. Wearing a fishing vest, his green eyes sparkled with mischief as he got closer.
“Marty! About time. Took you long enough.”
He greeted Jamie with a peck on the cheek and sat next to her on the dock.
“Whoa, new look, Marty?” His sandy blonde hair, which used to be a perpetually windblown mess, was now neatly trimmed, adding a touch of distinguished charm.
He chuckled, running a hand self-consciously through his shorter hair. “Wife finally decided it was time for a change. Said I was starting to look like a lost member of The Beatles.”
Jamie burst out laughing. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with a little mop-top charm! But yeah, this definitely suits you better. You look… distinguished.”
Marty raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Distinguished, huh? Not sure that’s the word Laura used, but I’ll take it.”
“Well, you definitely pull off the responsible husband vibe now.”
They laughed.