Screenplay…

Ashley Grant:

Considering where I was coming from and where I was going in life, I should have been desserts—sweet and irresistible. But I was only that, if you spelled it backwards.

Yes, stressed!

I was stressed to the core of my existence, which was a good reason for my drunken state at the moment.

Sashaying out of the bar with eyes that seemed like a faulty lens, I grappled with the hood of a car I didn't know. It wasn't mine. Hell, I didn't own a car...anymore.

It was a navy blue car—or was it purple? I could not say for a fact, the moony sky wasn't helping my already crappy vision.

My stomach cried for a release, but my brain knew I wasn't standing in front of a washstand - despite the kind of intoxication it was under - so I was able to choke it back and lift my lazy head up.

About three cars met my gaze, I was trying to remember how I even got to Summit to begin with.

Then, near the bumper where I stood in the cold wind, it started coming to me, bit by bit.

I'd received a call from Fred, my all too significant boyfriend—ex boyfriend now—telling me something I didn't want to remember. God, I couldn't dare replay those words he'd said.

"I'm sorry, Ash. Get a grip of it, I'm tired of pretending to love you like I used to. I'm tired of forcing things, don't fight it, you'll find someone better, just as I have."

That was it—so easy for him to throw six years out the window like our entire college friends hadn't rooted for us and hoped we got married. Like we, on the other hand, hadn't planned a grand wedding.

Fuck Fred. He was a bastard, he had humiliated me beyond recovery. Beyond explanation.

Picking my unresponsive body off someone else's hood, I made a decision to get going. Where, I didn't know.

Suddenly, I hit a figure right in front of me. Whoever it was caught and stopped me from swaying back, and then he held me around my waist with an iron grip.

"Lost, kid?" He had a very sour yet greedy voice. His hands were cold as ice, even against my silk fabric. His breath slammed my face like the Alaskan breeze.

"Hey...who are..." my tone was a disappointment to whatever elegance I had prior. It was slurry and fucking timid. "Who are you?"

The man wasn't cloaked, but I couldn't see his face. Oh yeah, he was backing the street lights and forcing me further into the dark side. "I'm your savior, little one." He laughed and bumped into me. "Your savior."

Huh?

Fighting, I pushed away from him. I didn't know him, I simply needed to flee. "Let me go!" I yelled when he wouldn't stop hovering me like a bee ready to sting.

He pinned me down to the hood and tugged my legs up for my knees to nearly meet my chest. My leather skirt was ripping. "Come on, girl. We both know you're drunk and horny."

"The fuck!" I fought back, making a fist, though missing his face when I punched. My vision was deteriorating. My body was giving in. "Please," I begged softly, but the man seemed deaf. "Please don't do it. Don't hurt me."

"How old are you, six?"

"Twenty six," I stupidly said before I could catch the diss. I wasn't a virgin, but I minded fucking a stranger on a hood of another stranger's car, might I add in the dead of night and outside a populated bar?

I groaned, frustrated. "Let go of my fucking skirt!"

Barking a maniacal laughter, he slapped my purse off my grip and I realized I could have struck him with the iron rim. I was too drunk for my adrenaline to work. He went further down my thighs, trying to locate my vagina. Prick. 

"Stop fighting me, your kicks are as soft as a feather."

When I felt my panties leave my waist with a loud, violent tear, I started to shake and cry. This man was going to rape me here, and if I survived, I wouldn't even know him to report. I didn't want to be raped by who I knew, much worse this man.

I closed my eyes to think of a defense, yet all I saw were Fred's treacherous eyes and I imagined everything about our relationship being a bloody lie. My only defense was to cry.

###

Cullen Wesley:

"Mr. Wesley, please." Natasha rolled her eyes. My assistant rolling her eyes at me was proof of her lack of respect for me, whether I'd cautioned her not to ever call me Cullen for the sake of that respect. She had definitely lost it.

I was in my car that was parked right in front of Summit, but I stepped out. Natasha could have driven off for all I cared, I wanted to breathe away from her because her type didn't deserve the nice treatment with a shitload of orgasm from their boss. They deserved to be ordered and yelled at.

I was with a pack of cigarettes I had planned to burn out here while I left her in the car, but I played with it in the wind and paced. My supposed bar time had been ruined by the news of her late period. One whole week was disastrous.

We had been fucking with condoms and even emergency contraceptive pills because the thought of fatherhood was never allowed to reside in my head longer than a microsecond, and that was only when I was thinking about my own father; how responsible he had to become at twenty.

I was a decade older than that age and I still wasn't ready, not even sure when I would be. So Natasha coming to tell me she didn't know how she could be pregnant was a miss. She had to take a test and maybe an abortion. Owning a company and living a good life and fucking your assistant wasn't a green card to parenting. It took a whole lot more than that.

Groaning and kicking the hard ground with my brogues, I glanced up and saw funny movements on the hood of a car adjacent to mine. A woman was on her back and a man was trying to pull out his belt. Out here, really?

But then, I slitted my eyes and focused more on them. It had taken me a second longer than I should have realized that the bastard was harassing a defenseless woman.

At that, I sprinted forward, dropping my load behind. I didn't need to be smoking while a man like myself assaulted a woman. I might have been a jerk for not taking responsibility for the woman I may or may not have impregnated, but watching another woman in the hands of a vile man wasn't a good sight at all.

This man in question was powerfully built, dressed in dark colours and a leather bomber-jacket. Plucking him by that jacket, I tossed him a blow and readied myself for another, but the man stepped back. I got to see his face. He looked older—maybe around forty, and he looked homeless.

It made little sense that a man like him felt he was worthy enough to sleep with this tender woman, who had let alcohol mess with her guard. He was stupid, and I couldn't stand stupid people.

There was a frown on his face as he gazed down at me with rage. "Goodness!"

"Do you actually feel more manly after attacking a defenseless woman?" I yelled out. "Run off before I stick your ugly face into that bumper."

Without hesitation, he backed us and jogged into the dark. I didn't look away until I could no longer see him, then I remembered the woman that needed all of my support.

"Are you okay?" I asked her, trying to help in bringing her down as she held her throat and coughed.

My eyes met something on the floor while she shook her head. It was blue and lacy and little—panties. I could also see the shame in her drunken eyes as she saw it too and picked up her purse with it, but there was nothing to be ashamed about, I could assure her that. A man had just tried to rape her and that wasn't her fault.

"Where are you going? Who do you want me to call for you?" I was very concerned. I didn't know women came to bars on their own and left wasted, still on their own.

"Please, don't tell him. Don't tell Fred." She broke down in my arms, holding me like I was familiar. Like I knew Fred. Like she needed me to make the misery stop. And I'd never heard a cry so sexy and wished for it not to stop.

"I won't tell Fred." I played along because it was not a good idea to argue with a drunk woman. "So who should I tell?"

She was thinking...with a foggy brain? That didn't seem like a good idea, but who could tell her.

"No one," she mumbled afterwards. She was shaking as fuck. It wasn't from cold, but fear. "If Fred knows, he'll have more reasons to not want to see me. Please."

"Who's Fred." The name had peaked my interest at this point.

"H-he is. H-he was...Fred should be..." she cracked into a sob and hugged me tightly.

Fred was, had been or should have been something I didn't know. I didn't press it. I just wanted her safe, so I swept her off those feet that weren't working and motioned to my car.

Natasha didn't care for what I was doing—bringing a stranger in and telling her to keep an eye for when this lady would need something. She could not question me, rolling her eyes was as far as she could get with the disrespect.

I drove both of them down to my apartment and parked into the silent port. My house wasn't a porn house, I couldn't bring in a drunk lady and another one that I fucked quite often. It sounded like a death wish, so I told Natasha to swing by in the morning, hoping she'd understand why I was letting her go.

I looked back once I was alone with the lady and saw she had twisted herself into a sexy position on my seat. Her skin against the black leather was like gold in a bowl of charcoal. If I as much as stretched a few inches more, I'd see right in between her legs, but wouldn't that make me worse than the man I'd punched to save her?

Fuck. Fuck me and my pathetic ways of doing things.

One mess after another. That was my life in a nutshell. My assistant was supposedly pregnant for me and I was busy gawking at the sexy legs and pretty face of a drunk woman in my car. I didn't even know her name, yet I knew a Fred that should have been something to her.

She looked more chaotic than a sandstorm, even with her face so innocent and peaceful. I could watch her sleep all night long, as long as she looked this vulnerable.

If God's plan was to save me from another mess, I'd have simply carried her to a spare bedroom in my apartment and left her to rest. But no, I undressed her and put her in my T-shirt as she grumbled on about Fred. And I was stuck with that heavenly body in nothing but a bra before my shirt covered it. I only took out her skirt after that, and she'd passed out by then.

I watched her sleep for a while, and ultimately let my curiosity darken me to the point of locating her purse.

Eventually, after almost slapping myself out of it, I pulled out the phone and kissed her thumb with the button. It immediately unlocked. I didn't want to have a change of heart, so I was fast in searching Fred under her messages.

Leaning against the headboard, I started to read, learning a lot of things before dawn:

Ashley—what a fucking sexy name for a sexy woman—had just been dumped by dick-face Fred, how unfortunate.

Ashley was the freakiest woman I'd ever encountered via messages. Like, what in sex's name was 'My legs are missing you shaking them'? That even gave me a hard on and it hadn't been for me. Dick-face could let this go?

Ashley was a therapist that had been dating an engineer dick-face. Deadly combo for sure. A person who fixed objects could not have the same emotions as a person who fixed humans.

Ashley and Fred had been dating for a long while. Fuck him on behalf of her. She didn't deserve to even have his number anymore. I would have deleted it, hadn't it been I wasn't overstepping my boundaries already.

I placed her phone beside her and got off the bed. If I kept knowing her secretly like this, I might want to know her body too, which wasn't bad at all. It just wasn't right.