Page 27 of The Autumn We Fell in Love

My body sags against the hotel corridor wall. I pass a hand up my forehead and down my long curls. How is it that in the space of thirty minutes or less I went from feeling as high as a damn kite, certain that Brie was born to be mine, to having fucked it up so badly?

Throwing my head back, I tip the remainder of my pinot noir into my mouth, relishing the acrid burn it leaves behind as I swallow it down.

Brie

Stupid.

That’s what I am.

So, so stupid.

I came here to compete. I came here to win the CCI prize.

Within minutes of walking through the hotel’s front doors, I got sidetracked by a pretty face.

Okay, not just a pretty face. The most handsome face and kindest eyes I’ve ever seen on a man, with a molten body and hair that I long to tangle my fingers in.

Let’s not even get into how Colby made my insides feel so perfectly hot and bothered.

And then, a few minutes after that, he immediately proved to me why I don’t date, why I get one-hundred percent of my romance from tawdry novels.

Because guys don’t want girls like me, with lumpy bodies and greasy foreheads. They don’t want a regular human woman. They want the stick-thin model-esque women — like the one Colby had hanging off him by the time I got to the patio wine bar.

Men don’t fall in love with curvy girls. They might want to fuck us, sure, just for fun. But they don’t want us for keeps.

Not that I’ve experienced, anyway.

I’m mad, but I’m mostly mad at myself. I know all this far too well. I was stupid to let myself be conned.

But if I’m really honest as I lay here on my borrowed bed, body curled around a hotel pillow, I’m hurt too.

Colby felt different. He didn’t seem like other guys. He seemed special.

I guess special guys like the ones in my romance novels don’t exist. I won’t make the same mistake again.

Wiping the tears from my eyes with angry fists, I make a promise to myself. I vow to keep my head in the game and focus all of my attention on the competition.

Even if I see Colby again.

Especially if I see him again.

It’s been a long day of travel capped with heartache. What I’m going to do now is turn in for the night early so I’m rested and ready for tomorrow’s competition. I need to have my A-game on. Mom is depending on it.

But first I’m going to treat myself to a little comforting room service. Sitting up, I grab the hotel menu from next to the phone and peruse its offerings. The burgers all sound so amazing that I have a hard time choosing, but I finally decide on a decadent mushroom creation tucked into a locally made sourdough bun.

And, I decide, I’m going to pair my dinner with that glass of pinot noir that I never got to have with Colby. That’ll make me feel better.

It does — for a little while.

But by the time I’ve set my empty plates outside the door and gotten ready for bed, the iron fist of pain is back in my gut, wringing at my heart.

Sliding beneath the covers and turning out the lights, it only takes a moment before I’ve found my clit with my fingers, trying to rub my hurt out with a few orgasms.

I end up falling into a restless sleep while masturbating to my imaginings of what tonight could have ended like had Colby not acted like every other guy our age I’ve ever met.

Brie

The next day, I wake up at an ungodly early hour so I can grab a massive latte before heading to CCI. There’s lots to do before the competition, from check-in to cook station prep to make-up to signing all the release forms.

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