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Hot Mess
Author: Emma Hart



It’s not every day a video of you getting fucked in a broom closet shows up on the internet.

You might think that it wasn’t the biggest deal in the world. I mean, who was Elle Evans, right? And why did it matter that her vagina getting pounded was on camera for the entire world to see?

Well, I’ll tell you.

Elle Evans—AKA, me—was one of, if not the, biggest lifestyle vloggers in the good old U S of A.

People looked up to me. People cared about what I had to say. They cared about my cushion covers and my mascara and my volunteer missions at animal shelters and all that other stuff that shouldn’t matter to anyone other than me.

But now, all they cared about that everyone has seen my ass. And my boobs. And what I looked like mid-orgasm.

And it was all thanks to my asshole, jerkface, sleazebag, total dickhead of a salty ex-boyfriend, Mitch.

It’s also why I was passing a sign that said, ‘WELCOME TO CREEK KEYS,’ a small Florida Keys island, hundreds of miles away from my apartment in New York City.

New York. Where the media was. Where the people who wanted to know why Elle Evans had made a sex tape lived.

Newsflash, buckos: Elle Evans didn’t make a sex tape. Her asshole of an ex did—without her knowledge, then posted it on the internet.

So I was on the run. I kind of wished it was from the police; at least then this might have been mildly entertaining.

But no, here I was, on the run.

From my own ass on the internet.

This was not me, let me make that clear. I never cussed, I never did anything inappropriate, and I was the most family-friendly vlogger in the world. I’d even reviewed toys with my niece, for goodness sake.

Elle Evans was wholesome, family goodness.

Until I wasn’t.

I wanted to stick my head in the sand like an ostrich and never come up again.

There was no coming back from this. If there was, it was like a one-percent chance. If that. That was generous. Nobody wanted their favorite vlogger to come back from this scandal.

I could see them now—the comments. I could go live right this second from the seat of my car and tell the truth: that I had no idea about the video, that I didn’t know it would be posted, that it had well and truly blindsided me.

But for every person who believed me, there would be someone who didn’t. Someone who would insist that I was saving face, that I was lying to make myself look better.

I knew I would have to address it sooner or later, but that was a problem for later.

Now, my problem was that I was on a strange island in Florida at the beginning of summer with nowhere to stay.

Yeah. I hadn’t really thought this one through.

I pulled onto a road that looked like it would guide me to the middle of town. I didn’t know. My phone had died around an hour ago when I’d hit the islands that made up the Florida Keys and I’d relied on signage ever since.

It was a wonder I’d made it here without getting lost.

All right, without getting lost more than once.


The further down the road I drove, the busier the sidewalks got. Nerves twisted in my stomach—if all these people were staying here, there was no way I’d find a place to stay tonight. Maybe even for the next few weeks. I would have to sleep in my car again tonight and keep driving tomorrow.

Shit. I was sick of driving. I was sick of everything. I needed to catch a damn break, because God only knew I hadn’t caught one since my stupid ex—

No. I wasn’t going to think about him again. I was only going to get riled up, and until I could figure out what to do about the situation, it wasn’t worth it.

I wasn’t going to spare another thought on that no-good asshole. I had enough to think about.

Like finding somewhere to sleep.

And judging by the gurgling of my stomach, I also needed somewhere to eat.

I drove for another minute or so until I pulled off what I assumed was Main Street. I could see the ocean, and I cracked my window so I could smell the sea air. A huge wooden building that had a sign proclaiming itself to be Crab Shack came into sight, and I pulled into the parking lot. Thankfully, I caught a space right as someone was reversing out, and I swung my car into the packed lot before someone else could steal it.

I blew out a long breath. I was starving. I was sick of prepacked sandwiches and fast food at service stations.

Hopefully, Crab Shack would have some good food.

If there was even a table.

Grabbing my purse, I got out of my car and headed toward the restaurant. I pushed open the large, driftwood-esque door and stepped inside.

It was almost empty.

Relief made my shoulders sag. The beach on the other side was packed and it was the middle of the afternoon, so that was probably why. The only people in here were a few people who looked to be in their early twenties, two older couples, and a family with three young kids, one of whom was currently pretending to be a walrus with two straws in his mouth.

“Hello, darlin’! Are you eatin’ inside or outside?”

I looked around at the thick, Southern drawl that had greeted me. It came from a tall, curvy woman with wildly curly, blonde hair and a homely smile. She beamed at me, little wrinkles forming at the corners of her eyes.

“I ain’t gonna bite ya, sugar,” she chortled. “Just you?”

Lord, I needed to get a grip on myself.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve been driving for hours and I’m exhausted. Yes, just me.” I returned her smile with as much warmth as I could muster. “Thank you.”

“Don’t you worry about it.” She pulled a menu card from the stand on the hostess’s station with a flair. “I got you the perfect table. Come on now.”

“Thank you so much.”

I followed her across the restaurant to a tiny, two-person table in the corner. That sounded bitchy, but it wasn’t—it had an amazing view of the golden sand beach and turquoise ocean that disappeared into the horizon.

“You sit yourself down here,” she said. “My name is Charity and I’m gonna be your server today. Would you like a drink or do you want a minute?”

“Some water would be amazing. And a coffee, if you have one.”

She chuckled. “Of course we got us some coffee. You give me 5 minutes and I’ll bring that over for ya, honey.”

I smiled as she turned and sashayed away, humming a tune I recognized as Post Malone’s latest song.


That song had been stuck in my head for at least three weeks.

It was gonna be there for another three.

With a sigh, I opened the menu and perused it. I swear to God my mouth drooled at the items on offer—there was everything from mac and cheese to burgers and fresh fish.

Oh, man. The burger was calling my name, and so was a bowl of bacon mac and cheese.

Well, that was the easiest decision I’d ever made in my life.

Charity returned with both my coffee and a huge glass of iced water. “Are you ready to order, honey?”

“Sure am,” I replied, then relayed my order.

“That mac and cheese is to die for,” she said, scribbling it down. “Is that everything?”

“Yes, thank you.” I smiled and handed her back the menu.

She took it and beamed at me. “I’ll get that sent back. Won’t be long!” she sang, turning and leaving me again.

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