Ridorkulous
Contents ( 31)
Ridorkulous
Mary Frame
Copyright © 2019 by Mary Frame
Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs
https://www.najlaqamberdesigns.com
Editing by Elizabeth Nover at Razor Sharp Editing
www.razorsharpediting.com
Any errors contained herein are all the fault of the author and no one else.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination, have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author.
Contents
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
Chapter 24
Also by Mary Frame
About the Author
Geektastic - Sneak Peek!
Time of My Life Sneak Peek!
To all of my weirdos and geeks, nerds and dorks, the ones who hide and don’t quite fit in, I see you.
You are my favorite <3
1
It’s hard being weird.
—Felicia Day
Reese
Thump. Thump. Thump.
It’s normal for my roommate’s antics to wake me up in the dead of night.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
She’s always noisy. Talking. Shrieking with her friends. Playing music too loud. Fooling around with a variety of jocks and frat boys. It’s like she never sleeps. Since we became dormmates last year, I’ve adapted to the noise.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Mostly.
Noise in the middle of the night . . . that is normal. What’s not normal is my bed shaking in an unmistakable, rhythmic pattern.
The thick blanket over my head and noise-canceling headphones aren’t going to be enough tonight, not when I’m being jostled awake.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Even I can’t pretend to ignore this. Slowly, I peer over the top of my comforter.
Abby’s lamp on her nightstand is aglow, highlighting the top half of the room, but I can’t see any signs of life from this vantage. Her bed is empty.
And yet my bed is still shaking.
Lifting my head a microinch, I search the rest of the room.
There. On the floor. The jerky movements belong to a large pair of Converses thrusting against the frame of my bed.
It must be Abby and . . . someone.
I don’t recognize the guy on top.
All I can see is the back of a dark head. He’s shirtless and his pants are halfway down his legs, bare bottom exposed. And hairy.
Ew.
I lower the blanket a little more, curiosity overwhelming the irritation and nervous flutters vying for my attention.
Are all guys so hairy? Do they all leave their pants and shoes on when they engage in late-night dorm coitus?
More importantly, why can’t Abby do this stuff on her own bed? Or better yet, somewhere far, far away.