A Long Time Coming

Published by Hot-Lanta Publishing, LLC Copyright 2023 Cover Design By: RBA Designs This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected] All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. www.authormeghanquinn.com Copyright © 2023 Meghan Quinn All rights reserved. Contents Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Epilogue Excerpt - Kiss and Don’t Tell More Books by Meghan Prologue LIA “Excuse me,” I say, bumping into a lanky guy in a jam-packed dorm hallway. “Sorry, didn’t see you there. I’m all kinds of lost.” “Not a problem,” says a deep voice that pulls my gaze up to the tall figure with shaggy-brown hair, dark-rimmed glasses, and a mustache so thick that it almost looks fake. Who knows, maybe it is. “What are you looking for?” he asks while he brings a sixty-four-ounce Slurpee cup to his lips. “Uh.” I glance around, then whisper, “Room 209. But I keep getting turned around because it doesn’t seem like there’s a room 209.” A smile tugs at his lips. “Scrabble nerd?” “What?” I ask. He leans forward and whispers, “It’s okay. I’m part of the SSS. Room 209 is hidden for a reason.” SSS = Secret Scrabble Society. But the first rule about SSS is that you don’t talk about it. At least, that’s what it said in the invite I received last night. It was a letter delivered to my dorm room. A thick envelope sealed with wax with an SSS melted into the red liquid. When I saw the symbol, I quickly locked my door, turned off my lights, and switched on my desk lamp. With bated breath, I delicately opened the envelope and unfolded the sides, revealing the writing on the inside. I had been handpicked by the SSS to join them tonight. During the grueling, three-week tryout process, I played ruthless battles against different members online. After a few losses, a few wins, and two ties, the tryouts were over, and all I had to do was wait. Well, that time has come. I have the invite in hand, and all it says is to show up to room 209 in the Pine Dormitory at 10:23 p.m. sharp, ask no questions, and say nothing. And then I’m to knock with a specific pattern and provide the secret password to get in. But now that I’m here, lost and confused, I feel like I’m breaking the rules already. Unfortunately, time is ticking, and I have no idea how to proceed. I don’t want to show up late, especially on the first night. But I can’t find the room, and . . . this guy with the stache and the Slurpee seems like he knows what he’s talking about. Ugh . . . but what if this is a test? What if he was planted by the SSS, and I already failed because I mentioned room 209 and Scrabble and . . . God, I’m a failure. Unsure of how to proceed, I rock on my feet, my hands twisting in front of me as I glance around the hordes of people. What is going on in here anyway? It’s a dorm hallway, not a cafeteria. Where are all these people going? I think I need to ditch Slurpee Boy. He knows too much already. And I will not put my position with the SSS in jeopardy. I worked way too hard for an invitation. “You know, it was nice talking to you, but I think I’ll just go look for the room myself. Thanks.” I turn away and head for a dark corridor, only for him to call out, “Not going to find room 209 down there.” I glance over my shoulder to see him sipping on his Slurpee with a smile, his playful eyes intent on my annoyed expression. “I wasn’t actually going that way,” I respond with indignance. “Seemed like you were.” “I was faking you out.” “Were you now?” he asks, that smile growing wider. “Why would you be faking me out?” I straighten to face him and raise my chin as I say, “Because between your ungodly thick mustache and your shaggy hair, you look like a predator. How can I be sure that you’re not attempting to snatch me up?” His brows raise as he runs his fingers over his mustache. “You know, you’re the third person who said I can’t rock this mustache. I thought I was looking pretty legit.” The man needs to get a better mirror. “Your mustache is offensive. I’m pretty sure it would make even the most randy of women go dry.” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. Lack of filter—it’s my downfall. I wince as his eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. Yeah, I was surprised too, buddy. “Uh, I don’t know—” Before I can finish telling him I’m not quite sure where in the depths of my being that insult came out of, he grips his stomach, bends forward, and lets out