Packing Heat(71)

I chewed my lip nervously. It seemed like the majority of people waiting to get their copy of Death From Below: The Story of An American Hero were women, and young women. There were a few macho-looking guys in camouflage shorts who were sporting beer bellies, but they were the outliers.

No, it was pretty obvious by now who the main target audience was.

It wasn’t like I didn’t get it. I had eyes, after all. He was tall, muscular, and handsome as hell. Women practically threw themselves at him, and for pretty good reason.

But he was just so arrogant. In every interview I’d seen him do, he had this cocky smile, this swagger about him. Sure, the book was amazing, and if it was even half true, then the man was incredible, but still. He acted like he was the best thing in the entire world, and it drove me insane.

I stood around impatiently, my copy of Death From Below dangling loosely in my hand, my notebook in my other. If I hadn’t been assigned to try to get an interview with him, or at least to get a quote from him, by my paper, well, I’d be anywhere but that line.

“Isn’t he so cute?” the girl standing in front of me whispered. She was wearing Ugg boots, black tights, a short skirt, and a top that was way too revealing for a bookstore.

“Cute?” her friend answered. “He’s a freaking hunk. I’d let him do anything to me.”

“Lisa! You’re so bad.”

“What? Wouldn’t you? I bet he could make me feel things I’ve never dreamed about.”

“Oh my god!”

I frowned, looking away, trying to tune them out. I wanted to pretend like they were an anomaly, but the truth was, most of the women in that line were thinking the same thing.

Slowly I got closer and closer to him, and I found myself suddenly nervous. I was only a few spots away, and I could see him clearly from where I was standing. Sure, he was surrounded by a bunch of people, probably bodyguards and publicists, but they seemed to fade into the background around him.

Nash Bell, Navy SEAL, American hero, and probably the hottest thing around at the moment. His mega bestselling book about his time in the military was being optioned for a movie, and everyone wanted a piece of him

Including, apparently, every woman within a twenty-block radius.

I watched him talk to his fans, smiling at them, cracking jokes. He seemed somehow both bored and totally engaged with every person that came near him. It was almost magnetic the way he spoke and looked at everyone, even if he was just asking their name and writing in their book.

I inched my way forward, more and more nervous with each step. I didn’t understand why, since I had no real interest in this man. He was just an assignment, just one more topic I needed to write about. But for some reason, he was intimidating. I’d gotten my books signed by other famous people, even spoken to a few for interviews, but I had never felt so strange before meeting someone.

And then it was my turn. Nash Bell looked up at me and smiled. My stomach twisted itself into knots.

“Don’t be shy, girl,” he said, grinning. “Come over here.”

I walked over, frowning at him. “Uh, hi. My name is Selena Wood. I’m a journalist for the Penn Daily, the student newspaper here at the University of Pennsylvania.”

He nodded. “Okay, Selena. Want me to sign your book?”

I put it down on the table. “I was hoping I could get an interview with you, Mr. Bell.”

He flinched. “Call me Nash.” He looked back up at me, cocking his head to the side. “Now, why would I give you an interview?”

I paused. “It’d be good exposure. Every student here reads it.”

His smile curled into a suggestive grin. “You’re going to give me exposure, Selena?”

“My newspaper will,” I said quickly. “We can do it later, or even just a few quick questions right now.”

He paused for a second, staring at me. I suddenly felt completely alone in that huge room, like I was the only person he had any interest in. It was almost exhilarating the way his attention suddenly honed in on me and made me feel so absolutely looked at.

“You want to do it later? I’m not sure you could handle me, Selena.”

“The interview, I meant,” I said quickly, blushing deeply. “Sorry. I meant the interview.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I know what you meant. I like your dirty mind though.”

“So, uh, any interest?”

He stared at me for another second and then motioned for me to come closer. I leaned in toward him. “Are you sure you want to be alone with me?” he said softly.

“It’d be an honor to interview you.” I regretted the words as soon as they came out.

“An honor,” he grunted. “We’ll see.” He wrote something in my book and passed it to me. There was the name of a restaurant and a time.