James jerked his head in acknowledgment. “So...bad night? Still thinking about the case?”
“Sort of,” Robbie said, suddenly grumpy again. It wasn’t James’s fault, exactly. Though it was James who’d mentioned the song in the first place. Robbie would have never thought of it on his own. “It’s that bleedin’ song!”
“Johnny Cash and that prison song! I went home and looked it up on-line. And now I can’t get the tune out of me head. Woke me up in the middle of the night. And pieces of it just keep playing and playing.”
- Part 1 of Ohrwurm
“We could...” James’s hands were lying on the table, outside edge down, framing his cup like two parentheses.
An image of James’s fingers slid into Robbie’s mind. From last night. James’s fingers trailing over his bare skin, leaving sweet, heady warmth in their wake. Robbie shivered.
“We could pretend it didn’t happen,” James said, and his voice, that sinful baritone that Robbie knew would never leave his head, was low and intense. Thick with...something. Fear? Regret? “Just...go back to yesterday, like last night never happened.”
- Part 2 of Ohrwurm