(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.”
“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.
“Would you like a brush to brush your hair with?” he asked, shaking off her offer to help with his legs, not quite sure he trusted her that much yet. Carefully he gathered clean clothes and went to the bathroom to change, coming out in a pair of simple jeans, a long sleeved undershirt, a jumper and simple sneakers.
“Nah, this’ll do me for a while.” She watched him move around the room, tall and lanky even with the limp. It was more than clear why she’d tried to hit on him last night, with that mop of curly ginger hair and the engaging smile. He really seemed to be a sweetheart; it was just too damn bad he was gay.
Summer shook it off, putting a hand on the doorknob. “All set?”