Haunted Hayride Hookups
by Isla Wilde
Tropes You’ll Love
- Friends to Lovers
- Forced Proximity
- Small Town Romance
- Slow Burn
- Praise Kink
- Triad Romance (FFF)
- Polyamory
Three women. One haunted hayride. Zero chance they’re staying just friends.
Tessa Monroe runs Hollow Creek Frights with military precision, an iron clipboard, and the unshakable belief that if she controls every variable, nothing can surprise her. She’s been wrong about a lot of things, but she’s never been this wrong.
Mars Bennett is the new theatrical designer — dramatic, brilliant, infuriating, and incapable of making coffee correctly. She touches everything and makes it more interesting, including the two women she can’t stop watching when they think no one’s looking.
Jo Vega is the mechanic who keeps everything running — the tractor, the lighting rigs, the entire operation — with quiet competence and steady hands. She’s spent years building walls. She didn’t expect two women to dismantle them with fog machines and spreadsheets.
When a haunt season forces three very different women into close quarters, long nights, and high-pressure chaos, the sparks between them become impossible to ignore. What starts as tension becomes trust. What starts as trust becomes something that rewrites all of their rules.
Haunted Hayride Hookups is a full-length FFF sapphic romance with an HEA, featuring a slow burn that combusts into an inferno, three women learning to want without apology, and enough heat to melt the fog machines. This book contains explicit sexual content and is intended for readers 18+.
You’ll Love This Book If…
- You love when three very different women discover they fit together perfectly
- You’ve ever wished a Halloween romance would actually deliver the heat
- You want a slow burn that combusts into a five-alarm fire
- You love found family built on fog machines, spreadsheets, and socket wrenches
Content Warning
This book contains explicit sexual content including FFF polyamorous scenes, strong language, references to workplace pressure and family expectations, and a triad HEA. Intended for readers 18+.
Read Chapter One
The tractor wouldn’t start, the lead zombie was thirty minutes late, and someone had stolen all twenty-four rolls of industrial fog-machine fluid from the storage shed sometime between Thursday’s walkthrough and now.
Tessa Monroe stood in the gravel lot behind the ticket booth with her clipboard pressed against her chest like body armor, phone wedged between her ear and shoulder, and watched the sun drop behind the tree line with the calm, measured expression of a woman who was going to murder someone tonight and make it look seasonal.
“Kevin, I need you to listen carefully.” She kept her voice level. Professional. The voice that had negotiated insurance riders, county permits, and one memorable standoff with a raccoon in the concession stand. “You are scheduled to be here in full costume in negative thirty minutes. I don’t care if your girlfriend is having a crisis. Everyone’s girlfriend is having a crisis. It’s October. That’s what October is. A crisis with pumpkins.”
Kevin said something about car trouble.
“Then walk. Hitchhike. Astral project. I don’t care how you get here, but if you are not in zombie makeup by seven fifteen, I will replace you with a scarecrow, and Kevin? The scarecrow will get better reviews.”
She hung up and crossed KEVIN — CONFIRMED off her list, then added KEVIN — WILL BE LATE (KILL HIM) in the margin.
The radio on her hip crackled. “Tess, Zone Three’s dead.”
Mars’s voice. Even through static, it carried the theatrical cadence of a woman who would narrate her own autopsy if given the chance.
Tessa pressed the talk button. “Define dead.”
“Electrically. The whole lighting rig tripped. No spots, no strobes, no blacklight. My beautiful corpse tableau is sitting in full daylight looking like a community-theater set from 1987.”
“Can you reroute?”
“Already on it. But I need Jo to check the breaker panel before I plug anything back in, unless you want me to personally become one of the attractions.”
“I’ll send her. Don’t touch anything.”
“I would never.”
“Mars.”
“I already touched one thing. It’s fine. Mostly.”
Tessa clipped the radio back to her belt and took a breath that she held for four counts, then released for six. She’d read that in a stress-management article three years ago and had been doing it roughly nine hundred times per October since.
Opening night. Season eight. Hollow Creek Frights.
Every year, she told herself it would run smoother. Every year, the universe took that as a personal challenge.
Continue reading on Kindle Unlimited…
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