(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.”
The room was strange. Okay, so maybe Summer had kind of expected that — she’d wanted to drown out those memories in someone else, after all.
But it didn’t feel like she’d succeeded. There was nobody in the double bed but her, and the sheets weren’t rumpled enough to suggest anyone had been in the bed. She thought back to the night before —
— and rolled over, mortified, to hide under the pillow.
“Oh, god. I’m /so/ sorry.”