Chapter 1

Heather

The fucking bitch scowls at me as though I ordered a bucket full of shit instead of a perfectly acceptable, completely normal, totally delicious pumpkin spice latte with extra syrup because my fine ass deserves a few extra calories for putting up with all this stupid crap. I offer her my best go fuck yourself smile and hand her my card. As a seasonal worker in a fake-ass coffee shop, she has no right to judge me. She's working in a wooden stall in a repurposed barn on an old-farm-turned-tourist-destination.

I take my card and move to the far side of the counter to wait for my drink.

Charles' heavy arm lands across my shoulders. I cringe at the unexpected touch.

"Did you order already?" he asks.

"I did," I answer with as little snark as possible despite the frustration simmering in my blood.

Today was supposed to be a quintessential autumn date, including snuggles on hayrides, holding hands as we strolled through the corn maze, and cuddling on the couch with hot cocoa and a cozy movie. I spent days planning this trip, even booked a cottage during peak tourist season, but so far, nothing has gone the way I expected.

"What did you get me?" he asks.

"I didn't know what you wanted, so I didn't order you anything, but the line moves pretty quickly, so—"

"You could have texted me," he says.

I swallow the lump in my throat and fight back angry tears, frustrated with my body's ridiculous reaction. It doesn't matter if I'm happy, sad, frustrated, tired, excited, or any other intense emotion—I always cry. I hate it.

"I did, but you didn't answer," I reply.

He quirks a brow and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

"Huh, so you did. Sorry, babe, I must have accidentally put my phone on silent while it was in my pocket. I'll get in line. Join me once you've got yours."

When I nod, he leans down for a kiss. I offer him my cheek, still too angry for anything more intimate, but he pulls me closer, grabs my breast from over my shoulder, turns my face with his other hand, and seals his mouth over mine. His wet, sloppy attempt to wedge his tongue between my clamped teeth may be the grossest, most humiliating thing I've ever experienced.

I shove at his chest, twist out of his embrace, and take a hasty step away. With a furious jerk of my arm, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and resist the urge to slap him.

"What the hell, babe?" he asks as he rubs his chest.

The wannabe barista calls my name. I snatch my coffee off the counter and rush away without a backward glance, too embarrassed and angry to face the situation head on. In the burnished metal sheets lining the bottom half of the walls, I watch his reflection shrug and saunter to the back of the line.

I stop by the wooden spool table closest to the door, lean back on the wall, and take a few calming breaths before lifting my drink to my face and inhaling the sweet and spicy fragrance. When my anger and embarrassment fade enough for me to enjoy the first taste of my latte, I take a sip and hum in delight.

All my efforts of calming myself go to waste when Charles reaches the counter and openly flirts with the bitchy barista. She no doubt gives him an unwarranted discount and her number on the receipt, especially with the coy looks she sends him through her fake lashes. No shade to fake lash wearers, but she's hitting on a man who just got rejected after groping another woman less than three minutes ago. Gross.

"Who are we murdering today?"

I jump at Sylvia's unexpected nearness as she speaks right next to me. She squeaks and throws her hands up when I scowl at her.

"Not me! Don't murder me. I am friend, not foe," she says.

I sigh and rein in my fury.

"You're lucky I didn't spill my latte. I'd definitely kill you if I had," I joke.

"Ooh, is it pumpkin spice? It smells so good. I need one," she says.

After a quick hug, she scampers off toward the end of the line.

Charles takes his order off the counter—ahead of the two people who ordered before him—and swaggers toward me. I hide my grimace behind my cup and take another sip.

I shouldn't hold his cockiness against him since it's one reason I wanted to date him initially. Maybe I should just chalk this entire relationship up to a learning experience and move on.

He won't take the breakup well, but he's taught me an invaluable lesson; not all men with a big package know how to use it.

Nor do they have the mental capacity for simple training. His ego is too big to take direction from anyone else.

I fill my mouth with coffee and enjoy the taste of pumpkin spice as it seeps into my tastebuds, scorching them on the way, and ensuring I have an equal measure of pleasure and pain as Charles joins me at the table. He props his elbows on the wooden surface, and if it weren't for his sweater, he'd have a dozen splinters.

"Are you still mad?" he asks.

I swallow and take another gulp, singeing my throat and warming my belly. With a practiced smile on my face, I lower my drink and shake my head.

"I'm not mad," I say.

His perfectly straight white teeth flash in a relieved smile. He reaches across the table and pats my head like a fucking dog.

"Good girl," he says while wisely retreating to his side of the table.

My stomach churns and bile fills my throat. I focus on not throwing my coffee in his face. His next words send ice down my spine.

"After all, you asked for more PDA, so you should thank me, not act like a brat."

Yeah, no, we're so done. Worms crawl in my belly. Yuck.

"Hey, what's taking you guys so long? We only have an hour or two before they pull out the creepy Halloween shit," Kathy calls as she steps through the door and joins us at the table.

Her boyfriend, Brad, and Sylvia's newest boy toy, Devin, trail after her.

This trip was supposed to be just me and Charles, but when Sylvia asked me if she could tag along with her new accessory, I couldn't say no, and then Kathy and Brad invited themselves and I didn't want to look like a total bitch and exclude them. Now I'm glad I let them come. It'll be nice to have Sylvia by my side if I can't wait until we get back home to break up with Charles.

"You'd better join Sylvia in line if you want coffee before shit gets crazy," Charles says, teasing Kathy about her aversion to scary stuff.

Kathy rushes forward, mumbling about preferring booze over caffeine when dealing with Halloween crap, and Brad follows like a well-trained pup. Devin joins me in leaning against the wall. I focus on my drink, electing to stay silent until the girls' return.

Even though Devin works with Charles and Sylvia enjoys fucking him as often as possible, I avoid Devin like the plague. He gives me unhinged stalker, basement murderer vibes—not the sexy kind you find in most dark romance books, but the real whacko kind where he'd cut off your foot just to fuck the wound or some other crazy-ass gross shit like that—and the last thing I need in my life is more bad luck with guys.

I can't tell Sylvia that, though, not when she likes whatever Devin offers between the sheets, but the moment he steps out of line, I'm dragging her away from him. She says they aren't exclusive, which eases some of my worries, but I'd rather she not get tangled up in some whacko's life.

Every muscle in my body stiffens as Charles sidles up to my other side, caging me between him and Devin.

"Remember what else you asked for? We could try it tonight after the sun goes down. How about in the field on the other side of the corn maze?"

My mind screams in disgust. Ew. Under no circumstances would I ever want my first threesome to be in a dirty field with two egotistical jocks who would high five over my head if I showed even the slightest inkling of pleasure.

Especially if Sylvia isn't on board, but even if she already gave Devin permission, it's still an emphatic hell no from me. I can't say that out loud and potentially ruin the rest of the trip for everyone, though.

I was an idiot for thinking Charles could ever fulfill my fantasies. After another swallow of my pumpkin spice latte, I push off the wall and pat his shoulder as I wedge my way out from between him and the table.

"I don't think I'm ready for that, but thanks for thinking of me," I say with the least amount of bitchiness I can manage.

Devin and Charles exchange a look. Unease travels down my spine. With my instincts screaming for me to run as far away as possible, I latch myself onto Sylvia by weaving my arm into hers, deciding to use her as a shield for the rest of the trip.

Once everyone has their drinks, we amble outside and pause at the top of the hill. The cool fall breeze ruffles my hair and seeps through my leggings, but my long, fuzzy sweater and knee-high boots keep me warm.

"Oh shit, they're already pulling out the Halloween costumes. Goddamnit, I'm too sober for this," Kathy whines.

On the far side of the corn maze, a man stands in the most elaborate and terrifying scarecrow outfit I've ever seen. With a long, black, tattered trench coat, a ratty black hat on his head, and eerie red eyes peering out from a burlap mask, he stands on a tiny platform facing the festivities with acres of untouched crops behind him. His broad shoulders and gloved hands span along the upper bar of his perch, and for a moment I wonder if he's tall enough to see over the stalks even without the stand.

He tilts his head. My stomach bottoms out and warmth pulses between my legs as adrenaline floods my system. Even with half the farm between us, my body reacts to the unknown man. I swear he's looking straight at me, but Sylvia shivers and leans down to stage whisper in Kathy's ear.

"I think he heard you, Kath. Maybe you should drag Brad back to the car before the sun goes down. Or not. That guy is probably smoking hot under that ugly mask."

Ugly? I wouldn't call his mask ugly. Yes, it's creepy with its muzzle-like shape over his mouth and big, black empty sockets around his glowing red eyes, but there's a strangely compelling intensity in his masculine features.

Brad chuckles and tugs Kathy closer to his side.

"Don't worry, babe, I got you," he murmurs in her ear.

"Think you could take on two of him?" Devin quips.

Brad's eyes widen as he turns and follows Devin's gaze.

Charles throws an oppressive arm over my shoulders, despite my grip on Sylvia. "Man, if this is the shit they pull out early, then I can't wait for the haunted maze. I bet it'll be killer ," he says.

I turn and follow Brad's gaze. Over Charles' bulky gym-formed bicep, I meet a second set of glowing red eyes. Lust pools in my core. My nipples harden.

Just as big and menacing as the first scarecrow, this one pulls off a completely different look. With an old ball cap on his head, tattered jeans, and a black leather varsity letterman jacket stretched over his massive shoulders, the man hides his features under a terrifying burlap mask—complete with scar stitching along the bridge of his nose, over his lips, and down his throat.

My body's visceral reaction shocks me into silence. I've never understood the draw to scary masked men, but the lethal promise wafting off both scarecrows makes me wonder if wandering to the edge of the maze alone tonight would be worth it.

I won't. I'm not stupid, but I can't help but fantasize about being wedged between the two masked scarecrows. They've barely moved, but they each exude sexy evil character so well, I doubt they're paid to just stand on their perches all night.

The thought of running through the cornfield with terror in my throat and both sexy scarecrows on my heels, as they slowly get closer, teasing me with their nearness, gets me wetter than an entire night of Charles' best efforts.

Wow, that's a dangerous thought. Is it because Charles has never wrung an orgasm from me or because I've got some wires crossed somewhere?

Deciding not to open that can of worms, I weave my fingers into Sylvia's and ignore the heavy weight of Charles' arm on my shoulders.

I'll break up with him as soon as we get home, because there's no way in hell I'm sitting in the car with him all sulky tomorrow morning.

Hopefully I can hold out for the rest of the trip. If I stay by Sylvia's side, I should be fine. She'll protect me. She may be ditzy sometimes, but she's been my best friend for years. I can count on her.

When she continues gawking and verbally drooling over the scarecrows, my insides twist. As the sun sinks closer to the horizon, I tighten my grip on her and ignore the ridiculous jealousy eating at my organs.

Sylvia's carefree, bubbly personality is the exact opposite of mine, which is probably why she's always been able to get whatever guy she wants.

All the power to her. I'll never cockblock her.

But she needs to reel in her fangirling before I snap.

Between the stress of travel, the realization that I should break up with my boyfriend, and my insane attraction to the scarecrows, I cling to the last strand of my control.

This trip needs to be over already.

And even if I don't see the scarecrows up close, at least I'll have them in my fantasies.