He kicked off his shoes before shouldering his front door closed with a thud. The blisters on his feet caused by the rental shoes had ruptured, and he could feel the pus oozing into his silk socks. He plopped down in his love seat, and peeled them off and massaged his swollen toes. What had he been thinking? Sex with Blanche? She wasn’t his type, and had only served as a temporary fix to put some distance between him and Erica. Now, he dreaded the aftermath this would cause at work. What was worse, Warren fell asleep after sex, and when he woke up he thought it was Erica next to him. For three beautiful seconds his heart skipped happily and he actually thought that Philadelphia was nothing more than a bad dream. But then he heard a sleeping sigh and realized it wasn’t her, and his entire evening rushed back: the wedding, seduction by Blanche and the sheer absence of Erica. It was on his drive home that missing Erica had started like the onset of a toothache. It was a slow nag that worked its way to a pinching pain.
