Pass me By (BFF Series Book 1)

by Kyra Fox

  Pass me By

  Kyra Fox

  Book One of the BFF Series

  Contents

  Pass me By

  Copyright & Disclaimer

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  More from the Dare to Desire Bookverse

  Dare to Look Sneak Peek

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Copyright & Disclaimer

  Copyright © 2019 by Kyra Fox

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored

  or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,

  photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written

  permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a

  website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and

  incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any

  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely

  coincidental.

  Kyra Fox asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Kyra Fox has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for

  external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication

  and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will

  remain, accurate or appropriate.

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often

  claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this

  book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and

  registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the

  book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book.

  None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

  This book contains elements issues of mental illness and child neglect, as well as suicide.

  This book contains scenes with explicit sexual content and adult language;

  it is intended for mature readers. Do not read this if it’s not legal for you

  under the laws of your country.

  Editing by Gina Casto @ Killing it Write

  Cover art by Destiny Hawkins @ Vibrant Designs

  To my family -

  My parents who support my every endeavor.

  My husband who believes in me unconditionally.

  My little sister who reads everything I write no matter how raunchy and always gives me an honest opinion.

  But most of all to My Heart, the little human being who’s mere existence inspires me to always try and be the best version of myself.

  I love you all to the moon and back a million gazillion times.

  Chapter One

  ZOE

  The crispy freshness of the evening autumn air mixed with the sweet-scented steam wafting from the cup of mocha firmly gripped between the palms of my hands fills my nostrils. Fall is definitely my favorite.

  Thursday evenings used to be dedicated to coffee dates with my two best friends, Trista Edwards, and Phoebe Jenkins, and I'd be running to make it to class on time after getting sucked into a longer than necessary conversation. But I’m the only one still in Boston so those days are a thing of the past.

  Making my way through the Emeritus Community College grounds to my lecture hall, I’m feeling somewhat deflated when my phone pings.

  Phoebe:

  Hey, Sweetie, just checking on how your first week alone in the apartment was.

  Zoe:

  The apartment is quiet, but it’s not that bad :)

  Trista:

  You were sadder three months ago when I left, admit it.

  Phoebe:

  It definitely got quieter when you flew off to LA, I’ll admit to that.

  Zoe:

  I’m pleading the fifth on this conversation and changing the subject.

  How was your first week at the new firm, miss junior associate? How’s New York?

  Phoebe:

  Kind of crazy, I’ve been at the office non-stop since I got here. What are you up to?

  Zoe:

  Got my mocha and on my way to class.

  Trista:

  I miss our Thursday coffee dates; I miss you guys.

  Phoebe:

  When you make it big as a photographer, you can work from anywhere you want, Hun.

  Phoebe:

  Speaking of work, I got to get back to doing it.

  Zoe:

  Yeah, I’m going into my lecture in a few minutes.

  Trista:

  I’m texting you from the toilet. I ran away from the god-awful models “Garderobe” hired for this shoot; they may be the biggest online fashion magazine and all that, but they are poor judges of character. I can’t get these people to make a facial expression!

  Zoe:

  You’ll figure it out Tris, you always do. Happy hour Skype date tomorrow? East coast time this week, right?

  Phoebe:

  Yes! I need a drink after the week I’ve had, and I need to see your faces.

  Trista:

  Ditto. Love you guys <3

  I put my phone back in my bag, with a pang of sadness.

  I’m happy for the girls, they’re chasing their dream careers and making a name for themselves, and it’s not the first time we’ve been apart. Throughout the years higher education had taken us to different parts of the country, in my case the world, but it always came with a deadline, a timestamp as to when we’d all be back together.

  But now that we’re in our mid-twenties with long-term ambitions and goals, it all feels very permanent, and I’m lonely.

  Trista’s always been easy with people, approachable and fun, she makes fast friends wherever she goes, and many of them end up being true friends who stay for the long run. Phoebe is more guarded as to who she lets in, but she’s the type of person who walks into a room and all heads turn, always surrounded by people and the center of attention.

  I’m the invisible one. Not that I mind, I tend to lose myself in the crowd in large social settings. As a result, my social life has always been closely interwound with that of the girls, and now that they’re gone, I’m starting to realize that maybe it was a bit too thoroughly, to the point of dependency.

  And though I love my academic career, excel in my field, and adore teaching, there’s a sense of stagnation in the romantic aspect of my life. One would even venture to say it’s comatose.

  For as long as I can remember, guys have always been intimidated by my IQ. It was all fun and games until they realized I didn't just skip a grade or two—I was a legit genius with a Ph.D. in chemical physics from Harvard University. Guys my age, at least the ones I dated, struggled with the fact that, on paper, I was smarter than them, and my diploma was more impress
ive than theirs. Eventually, they couldn’t handle trying to prove they’re smart enough and said they just wanted to go back to dating “normal girls.”

  Their words, not mine.

  I mean, what does “normal girls” even mean? Trista and Phoebe aren’t geniuses and they out crazy me ninety-nine percent of the time!

  So, I don’t even try anymore.

  At one point I dated around a bit but never seemed to get past the second or third date. Not so often I'd meet a guy I liked well enough to use for scratching an itch, then I'd end it before anyone got too involved. None of them complained, never fought for me to stay, and I never asked them to. Then, eventually, it wasn’t worth the effort, so I just stopped altogether.

  Now I’m all of twenty-five and have resigned myself to the simple fact that my type of smarts is just too intimidating for boys to handle.

  I still say boys because, deep down, I hope that somewhere out there is a guy man enough to see my brains as a turn on rather than a relationship kill switch, and more importantly see who I am and not just how smart I am.

  Like my dad sees my mom. Given, my parents are divorced, but that was never about my mom's intellect, and I know for a fact they still love each other deeply and keep each other company often, even though they try to be sneaky about the latter.

  I have to start taking chances, meeting new people, putting myself out there, or I’m going to end up pathetic and alone while everyone else around me moves on with their life. At the very least, I need to get laid.

  I’m a few minutes early to reach my lecture hall, so I wait at the faculty entrance watching Professor Ned Thorne wrap up his engineering design class. He notices me standing there and gives me a grandfatherly wink.

  Taking on the teaching gig at the community college was a whim. I saw a post about an opening and sent my resume on a spur of the moment decision. I felt like doing something crazy and untypical like applying for a job teaching night classes when it was obvious my schedule didn’t allow it.

  Yes, that was crazy in my book, though even I realize it’s silly and downright sad.

  The experience has been so thoroughly enjoyable, though—meeting people who have a passion for learning new things at all ages, from all walks of life—that I’ve been doing it for three years now.

  I should do crazy more often.

  The shuffle of laptops and pens being packed jerks me out of my own head, it’s my cue to walk up to the podium and set up my presentation. I stop to give Ned a quick peck on his cheek.

  Ned pats my shoulder in a fond gesture. “When are we sitting for coffee? I want to hear all about that new polymer you’re working on.”

  “Anytime you want, Ned, just say the word.” I smile at him, and he raises an eyebrow, studying me.

  “A beautiful young lady such as yourself should have a full dance card, Dr. Lawrence.” He ponders for a few seconds before sighing. “My grandson, Matthew, is visiting us next weekend from New York. I know you went on a date with him a few months ago, but he was fresh out of a bad breakup. Try again, maybe it will be different this time around.”

  I smile politely. “I’m afraid I’m not Matthew’s taste.” And there were zero sexual vibes between us. “We did stay good friends. I even got him that job, remember?”

  “Alright. I’ll stop pressing the matter.” Ned shakes his head at me in amusement. “He’ll show up eventually, Zoe, the man who’ll sweep you off your feet.”

  “Thank you, Ned.”

  I go to the podium and start setting up my laptop. As a movement catches the corner of my eye, I barely look up from the screen, but then I do a double-take. A gorgeous man I’ve never seen before, no older than twenty-six, I’m thinking, is taking a seat in the front row, smiling at me with interest and not of the platonic kind.

  Waves of shockingly black hair begging my fingers to tangle in them, jade-green eyes with a sparkle of mischief promising dirty secrets that only we would share, and those lips look full and soft and inviting. All those soft features pulled perfectly together by a strong square jaw and high forehead, and what is undeniably a firm hard body packed in straight leg jeans, a tight-fitted gray T-shirt and brown leather jacket.

  Forcing myself to look away and finish setting up my computer, I greet my students as they walk in and take a seat. The entire time I can feel his gaze still on me, warm and intense, and I feel a blush creep up to my cheeks.

  I make a rule never to socially engage with my students, definitely not on a romantic level, it’s unprofessional at best and a blatant abuse of power at worst.

  Shaking the embarrassment off, I take a sip of my mocha. The sweet beverage serves as a reminder to my crippling sense of loneliness, and the realization that I am truly on my own now that my two best friends are gone and that I’m bound to stay alone unless I actively start doing something about it hits me.

  Hoping he won’t change his mind once my lecture starts, I lift my head to the man sitting in the front row, still staring intently, and when he notices my gaze, he grins at me in this panty-melting way that causes me to quietly gasp.

  I smile back with the friendliest smile I can muster, and it must have been a good effort because a wide smile spreads over his face, and damn if it isn’t the sexiest thing I have ever seen.

  MAC

  I’m intrigued.

  As I’m packing my laptop, I notice Professor Thorne stop and greet a young woman with a warm embrace.

  At first look, she isn’t really my taste. Small in stature with short, brownish hair and innocent brown eyes. She’s wearing a simple navy-blue sweater that seems too big for her frame and blurs her body’s outline to the point where she looks a bit like a stick figure. It’s paired with gray slacks and run-of-the-mill black heeled boots, not even spiky high heels, just sensible and stable shoes.

  My usual type is curvy with a bit of danger in her eyes. Women who don’t have a problem flaunting their bodies with confidence. But something here warrants a second look, so I move to sit in the front row and scan her again as she steps up to the podium to hook up a laptop.

  She looks up at me with an expression of surprise for a few seconds, as if she can’t quite figure out how to respond to my attention, then looks back down at her laptop intently. But the pinkish hue creeping up her neck and to her cheeks doesn’t escape me. I wonder where else the blush had spread to and make a mental note to make her blush when I have her naked.

  And yes, I’ve officially decided I want her naked, in my bed, under me. On me as well, come to think about it. And if I’m being really honest here, I can think of a great number of fun positions I’d like to have her in.

  She’s young, so I assume she’s from administration, prepping a presentation for the next lecture. Without her heels she’s at most five-feet-four to my five-feet-nine, her straight and perfectly set coffee-colored hair could have been boring had it not been for the unique, layered fringe haircut with purple highlights; one such highlight streaking the bangs gently caressing her cheek and teasing the corner of her eye, making my fingers itch to get up on the podium and brush it back.

  Her large eyes fit perfectly on her long delicate face with her full curvy rose-hued lips. I can tell it’s their natural color, too, and it only makes her more appealing. The eyes are what really get to me, I realize. They’re the real reason for my curiosity. They seem to be filled with perpetual amusement, even as she seriously taps away at the keys of the laptop she’s setting up, it’s those eyes hooded by long lashes.

  Despite my affinity for women with a need for a thrill written in their eyes, that joyful sparkle makes it seem like she holds the key to a secret I’m desperate to learn.

  She looks up at me again, then, her rosy lips shape into a shy smile and her chestnut eyes gleam with mystery. A single dimple forms to the left of her upturned mouth, and I can’t help but smile widely back, determined more than ever to find out what secrets she holds behind those gorgeous doe eyes.

  That damn outfit though, I wish I
could see her outlines more clearly, but I’m still intrigued enough to want to see them, so I sit put waiting for her to finish setting up, planning on following her out and inviting her for a drink.

  I’m so entranced by the elegant movements of her delicate fingers that I don’t notice the constant flow of people entering the hall and taking a seat, nor do I notice them pulling out laptops and writing utensils while nodding at the petite brunette who smiles warmly at each one of the arrivals.

  Hell, I have no idea how much time I sit gawking like an idiot until she walks to the front of the stage with much more authority than I’d imagine an administrative employee would have over a college class and opens her mouth to speak.

  “Good evening, everybody, welcome to Gen Chem Two. Some of you took my Gen Chem One course last semester, but for the benefit of the new faces, I’m Dr. Zoe Lawrence, and I’ll be the main lecturer for this course.”

  She isn’t a secretary, she’s the fucking professor!

  “Every Thursday we’ll have a ninety-minute lecture and then, on Tuesday, two hours in the lab.”

  She keeps talking, but I’m no longer listening.

  I am not one to be blindsided, but that was one curveball I did not see coming my way. Petite brunette, Zoe apparently, is all of twenty-two by my estimation, and I’m being wildly generous assuming her looks make her seem younger than she really is.