A Long Time Coming （Cane Brothers, #3）
Meghan Quinn
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 a long-drawn-out laugh, his Slurpee shaking in his hand.
Well, at least he wasn’t offended. I’ve got that going for me.
Either way, I don’t have time for this.
Moving past him, I head down the right of the hallway, where I find an unmarked door. Initially, when I was first looking around, I thought this was a utility closet. But paying a little more attention to the door, I think there could be a faint marking of a number on the wall. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . it’s what I’m looking for.