Holding Out For A Hero

Holding Out For A Hero [Chapter Eighteen]

Hey guys, sorry it's taken so long for me to upload. At the beginning it was just because I wasn't writing very often and I was too busy. However, I tried to upload this at least a dozen times this week but for whatever reason, Wattpad seemed to have changed a lot during the time I've been MIA. So most of it was because I'm technology impaired and it took me ages to like figure it out ! Thanks for being patient and waiting for me to get over my stuff! 

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Chapter Eighteen

Beau’s POV

            I felt a little bad. Of course I knew that Mr. Dayan would likely be the lone teacher that would force Genevieve to introduce herself. Telling her probably would’ve been the smartest course of action. However going with what I knew from that morning’s events, Genevieve was really in no mental state of mind for extra stress to be added.

            Yet stressing her out more probably would’ve been easier to stomach then the look of a deer caught in headlights she shot me as she stared shakily out at the class. I could literally feel her nervousness from where I was sitting at the back of the class room. She stood wringing her hands, occasionally reaching to pop her knuckles. As she did so, I got a clear view of the beautiful scrawl of her tattoos.

            “H-H-Hi,” She stammered, her cheeks heating up with embarrassment.

            I chuckled softly to myself, forcing my smirk to disappear. If anyone should be offering any kind of support for her, it should be me. The last thing I needed was for her to catch me laughing. She’d hate me forever. Unfortunately I couldn’t help it. She blushed so easily. It was as if anything in the world could embarrass her. I loved it.

            Her blush wasn’t the only thing she was wearing today that I loved. To say the least, Genevieve looked utterly gorgeous. It was literally mind blowing even though I should be used to how stunning she really was. I deduced quite rapidly that she had swiped on make up that morning to cover up the bruises and welts Greyson left behind. They were fading; I knew that much. Not enough for Genevieve to stop laying on the make up evidently. If it were up to me, I’d encourage her to do so. She didn’t need the small amount of make up she wore.

She wore Harriet’s cowboy boots again. Like before, they made her shapely legs look darker and longer then they were in reality. She was wearing a flowery blue skirt that stopped lower thigh and it was tucked up to her belly button with a dark brown belt. As a shirt she was simply wearing a solid blue tank top with her hair flowing down her back in gentle waves.

Even though she looked utterly jaw dropping in her school clothes, I had to admit, I thought she looked much sexier the night we went mudding. She looked adorable in those rubber boots while her legs were drowning in them. And those frayed shorts screamed southern charm. Just thinking about the way the helmet sat on her tiny head, and the way her cheeks heated up so easily brought a smile to my face.

“I-I-I-I’m Eve.” She muttered. The way she spoke caused her nose to move and the small glittering stud to catch the light and glimmer.

“Where are you from Eve?” Mr. Dayan snapped trying to hurry her along the introduction she didn’t even want to do.

“North Carolina,” She said in more of a question form then response.

Her accent was quite comical. In a class full of southerner’s, hers stood out like a sore thumb. If you compared it to Mr. Dayan’s, whose accent was pretty much as thick as they came, she would sound like a foreigner. She technically was depending which way you looked at it.