(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.”
“You’re not eighteen now,” she commented. “That’s a lot of time to lose. We’ve just met, and you’re already one of the strangest cases I’ve ever come across.” Summer looked up to meet his eyes. Quietly, she said, “You were right, before. You don’t know anything about me. I don’t normally get rescued. I do the rescuing.
“And I think I might be able to help you.”
“And why would you do that? I’ve not really done anything to cause you to want to help me,” Isiah said, slightly confused by her wanting to help and wondering what she meant by saving people. “And no, I’m not 18. I’m 25 apparently. I woke up in Virginia but the last thing I remember was being in North Dakota,” he said softly.
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/.”