The Both of Us: Doug & Cass

By Jayne C. and Doug Sedwick

Neither were looking for it, but it found them. She thought this would never come her way again, while he didn’t even know this was what he was looking for. Strangers meet by chance. Can there be love? Can there be more than a chance encounter?

In book 1, meet Doug and Cass. Travel with them as they explore their feelings, their desires, and this journey that all strangers must go through to become friends then lovers to discover that they could ultimately be soul mates. It is written from each of their perspectives as life and events weave the web of life around them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Oct 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543409901

Jayne C.

Jayne C lives on a little man made island in the north of South Australia with her Husband. Loves her four Huskies and the pictures nature shares with them daily from their deck looking out over the water and hills. Following a passion for writing, she now spends her days tinkering away at the keys of her laptop and lunches with her grown children and grandchildren.

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Copyright © 2018 by Jayne C. with Doug Sedwick.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2018906863

ISBN:               Hardcover             978-1-5434-0992-5

                         Softcover               978-1-5434-0991-8

                         eBook                    978-1-5434-0990-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 06/08/2018

Xlibris

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www.Xlibris.com.au

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CONTENTS

Author’s Note

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

Epilogue

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This is a collaboration between two strangers who met online.

We live on opposite sides of the globe; he is in the United States (Atlanta, Georgia), whilst I am in Australia (South Australia). We have never met in person or via phone or any form of video calling. We have not spoken other than a few text messages prior to starting this manuscript. At first, we would email the manuscript back and forth before moving onto google doc.

Originally his writing was in black, while mine was in blue. We understand that this is not possible for print or e-books so we have titled each view as two different people with their account of events.

Because of time differences and life, it took us just over twelve days to complete this book and start on book two.

1

Doug

My alarm on my phone was set to a tone that was one of pure irritation. I looked over to see what time and day it was—7:30 a.m., Tuesday. I felt over for my phone and found cigarettes. I started to take one out, seeing the slender long paper wrapping of death. I broke it in half and dumped the contents into the trash can. Irritated by the unpleasant alarm that had not turned itself off, I picked up the whole pack of cigarettes and broke them in half. Finally, I found my phone and almost did the same thing to it before finding the proper place on the screen to stop the noise. A hand hit the centre of my chest.

‘Baby? What time is it?’ the hand said.

At the end of this hand was a wrist that connected to a long arm and a shoulder that was wet with slobber. She smoked. She slobbered. Why was she in my bed again? I sit up in bed, only to realize that I was in her bed—purple sheets, window on the wrong wall, wooden floors.

My roommate was not someone I was attracted to, but occasionally, we would drink a lot and sometimes end up in bed together. No sex with her though—ever. It seemed like the promise would be kept forever. Our relationship pretty much kept me from getting a serious girlfriend. We did seem a little too close at times.

This casual closeness allowed some freedoms, such as me walking around naked; her smoking, even though she quit again; me holding her hand in public so she wouldn’t get hit on by guys; her hiding a secret about being gay then bisexual; her wanting me to have sex with her; and then me putting her in her bed, drunk again. My sister wondered when I would stop supporting this crazy woman. My friends told me she was using me because I had a nice house. But I do not care because she paid over half of my mortgage. And I liked her legs.

Cass

Why did I feel cold? It’s not like it’s winter, and the shower was so warm … like a lover’s hands slowly caressing me, only it’s not. Remember, he dumped your sorry ass for that—that thing!

We had been living together for two years, and then just out of nowhere, he packed up and moved out, leaving me a note—a bloody note!

Checking the clock, I saw time has gotten away from me again. Shite, Mr Peters will chew my ass if I will be late again. Quickly getting ready for a—

Seeing myself in the mirror, I stopped. ‘For what?’ I asked myself. I looked past my reflection and saw the room behind me—the bedroom—and past that, the kitchenette and lounge. And there, there just at the edge of vision was my reason. Shaking myself together, I blew away the tears that threatened to fall as I blow-dried my hair.

This was not where I thought my life would be. That dream of a house, a place to call home, someone to love and want me just as much as I would them …

Throwing on the clothes I had gotten out the night before, I finished up and grabbed my coffee (stone cold by now), downed it in one go, and rushed for the door. Shite, my phone. Hiking up the stairs I’d only just jogged down, I unlocked my door, reached for my phone on the table, and—wait. Where—OMG, where the hell is it? This really isn’t my day.

Pushing the button on my keys to locate it—thank god for that pushy salesman on the infomercial ad—and finding it under my pillow, I rushed back and retraced my step, checking my watch. I’d only lost ten minutes. Now I just needed that damn train to be normally late, and I’d be okay.

Heading to the station, I saw basically the same people, but we never spoke. In a city with millions, I was alone. I looked around and wondered how many of them were like me. Would I find someone? Could I trust them? Had they noticed that the only people I spoke to were the coffee guy and the newspaper guy? Some even knew their names … Why was that?

Doug

I swear, the bane of my existence was my morning routine. I must do everything in a certain order in the morning, or I would be late or not be able to brush my teeth or forget something crucial. It’s very strange to me that I didn’t have a routine around the rest of my day or any part of it—just the morning.

For a brief time in my life, I had a girlfriend who loved morning sex, so much so that she made me love it too, primarily because of her enthusiasm. I was written up at my job twice while I was dating her, but it was so worth it. She did things that were only in the imaginations of the most sexually charged individuals who ever tried to explain sex, and she did them with such vigour that I could not wait to wake up with her … or be awakened by her. As usual, we broke up because of my loyalty to my friends, my roommate—other people.

After her and a job change, I found I could not think straight in the mornings, so I wrote stuff down and set things up the night before when my mind was clear. If I made it to work with my list checked off, all was good. Sometimes stuff got messed up. This was one of those days.

I was supposed to pick up a friend from a repair shop where he was dropping his car off. The train station was right next to my office, so I told him I could pick him up on my way then drop him at the train station. I didn’t put it on my list, so I arrived at work, thinking I had done everything right … until the phone call. When it rang, I saw the name and immediately knew what was wrong. He was livid because I had insisted I would get him to work before his meeting, and now he was going to miss his train. I raced out of the office and ran down the stairs instead of taking the elevator, jumping three or four stairs at a time, and then I ran out to my car. He was waiting in front of the shop, where I barely even slowed my car down as he jumped in.

‘You owe me, man!’ he growled to me.

‘I’ll buy your lunch—sushi. We will go to the good place.’ I knew he would be okay with that.

We rode to the train station in silence, and I dropped him at the kiss-and-ride where I promised not to kiss him. After he got out, I sat there, mad at myself, sulking, looking at my phone. I was blocking the sidewalk ramp but didn’t realize I was doing so until someone knocked on my window. All I could see were light-coloured hair and a tantalizing, teasing slightly open blouse. She backed away from my car when I rolled the window down.

Her sunglasses blocked half of her face. They looked like they were big enough to cover her mood, her face and cause automatic headlights as if to think it were night-time. I could see her lips though. They were moving, but I could not hear what they said as I also heard the horn of the car behind me.

‘I’m sorry. I’m spaced out and blocking the world, aren’t I?’ I said as the horn stopped for a second.

I was drawn to her lips again, but this time she said something I could tell was English … but I wasn’t listening to her. I usually make it a point to not look at women’s chests when I’m talking. It’s a wonderful way to turn women off, but her blouse was unbuttoned in the middle. I could see her skin, tantalizing, begging my eyes to make my mouth say something that would earn me a slap.

‘I’m sorry for noticing, but your blouse is unbuttoned.’ I could not avert my eyes from her skin. It was not normal for me to look at skin, but hers looked … different. I realized I was looking at an undershirt.

She looked down at her blouse. I think she said thank you then walked or ran around my car. I saw the train pulling away, her legs going up the platform, a skirt, an outline of a perfect body (for me). And then it all stopped as she yelled something at the train. I realized I had probably made two people late for work with one move. As I pulled away slowly, I saw my friend say something in her direction. Great. That guy couldn’t keep women from himself; he would bag another because of me. I looked in my rear-view mirror and saw him point at my car as he spoke to her. They were probably plotting how to kill me.

Cass

Totally in a world of my own. You know, one would think that if you did the same thing every day, the same way every day, the world would run smoothly, and all would go according to plan, and people and objects would be in the same place each and every day. And then, then out of nowhere, an idiot in a BMW swings his car right into the path. No, I mean, literally, he was now blocking the pathway. His companion jumped out. Well, that was a surprise. It’s a guy—well, maybe he’s gay. But now I have a problem. The train had pulled into the station, and I could see people getting on and off, only this guy was still in my way, and not just my way but the cars trying to pull out too.

Did he even know he’s just sitting there on his phone? What the hell is wrong with him? I tried yelling at him, but he obviously couldn’t hear me. So walking up, I rapped on his window. Just as I started trying to tell him what an idiot he was, the car behind him blasted his horn. After a quick dagger glare at that knob there, I turned back to speak again, and just like every other guy, he wasn’t even looking at me but down my blouse. With the break of silence from the car horn, I started telling him he’s blocking the path and needed to move when, finally, he cut in and told me that my blouse wasn’t done up.

Looking down, I saw he was correct. I’m sure I turned bright red and almost in tears. I managed to mumble a quick ‘thank you’ as I turned to walk away. Great, just another shite day to continue a shite week that is leading on to having a shite month. I heard his car move but not bothered to look back as I saw the train getting ready to leave. I ran as quickly as I could in this stupid skirt and heels, only to reach the platform as it pulled away. Dropping my bag, arms out wide, I screamed at the train. I didn’t care that I looked like a crazy person, that people must think I was insane. Bending down, I picked up my stuff, but before I could move, a warm yet irritated male voice called to me.

‘I see he made you late too. Sorry about that. I’m not sure what’s wrong with him today. He was late picking me up from the service place, the car one a few blocks over.’

‘I’m sorry. What are you talking about?’

He pointed at his friend. Following his finger, I saw he’s referring to the BMW that was now pulling away.

He started to say more, but I cut him short, saying, ‘Look, thanks, but it’s fine. I don’t know him or you. Bye,’ hoping he would get the hint and leave me be. I walked over to the nearest bench and parked myself as I waited for next train, glancing at my watch. Goddam it!

The next train arrived, and I got on, but so too did the guy. I waited to see where he would sit so I could be somewhere else. The last thing I wanted or needed was some guy chatting to me. Finally, I got to work, only to have Mr Peters tell me what I already knew—that I was late, that tardiness was not what he was looking for in an employee, blah blah blah.

Walking to my station, Mandy called out, ‘Well, nice to see you too.’

‘Sorry, what?’

‘I said hello, but you were obviously not hearing me.’

I apologised again and told her the story of the clown in the BMW. As I started to recall the events, I started to see things I hadn’t noticed before. He was well dressed in a suit—I think—very good-looking, with grey through his hair. He must be tall or well built as he filled the interior of his car, and his voice … his