(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.”
Putting her hands on her knees, she pushed herself upright. “This is what I do, Isiah. I help people. If they allow me to.” Fingering a tangle in her hair, Summer went on, “Let me take you to lunch, and tell me /everything/.”
Isiah, figuring it couldn’t hurt, nodded and agreed, but planned to pay for his own lunch.
“Alright,” he agreed verbally before carefully shifting so his feet were both on the floor and grabbed his cane to stand, biting back a groan at the pain that welled up from his worse knee at the movement.
“I can make that stop,” Summer said quietly, watching his struggle. “Whatever it is that causes the pain will still be there, but I can make the pain stop.” She turned away, fishing on the nightstand for her hair clips, and wound the knee-length mane up into a tidy bun, hiding all the tangles in the twists of hair and pinning it firmly.