(Wouldn’t happen like a sexual thing, Ross is strictly dickly, but I do have something.)
Isiah had noticed the woman hitting on a bunch of people the night before at the bar, drunk and not at all safe to drive and he doubted she would want to wake up next to some of the people she was hitting on, so when she made her way to him he pretended to accept it and took her back to his hotel room but got her to sleep, covering her with the blanket when she finally did and getting himself as comfortable as he could on the couch, reluctantly taking a pain killer to do so so his leg wouldn’t wake him up, but he was still up before she was.
“Hey, how’d you sleep?” he asked, keeping his voice low when she awoke.”
She shook her head at the cloth, though one eyebrow arched briefly at his limp. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted. Even drunk I can take care of myself. Nobody can force me into something I don’t want.”
“Well, you must understand that I wouldn’t know that, since I do not personally know you, after all.” Ross pointed out as he limped his way back to the bathroom to hang the cloth to dry.
“I still am glad I played safe. I would have hated to end up reading in the paper a few days from now that you were found dead in a hotel room or a ditch because I hadn’t,” he said with a shrug as he returned and sat back down on the couch, stretching his worse leg, the left one, out on it.
“That’s a valid point. Would you have done the same for a guy?” Her tone was idly curious, lacking any sense of feminist challenge.