Page 2 of Curvy Desire's Second Shot

“Looks like you’ve still got the magic touch,” I said as I stepped out of the car.

Hudson’s lips quirked up in a smile, his eyes locking with mine. For a moment, it felt like time had rewound, like we were just two kids hanging out after school. But the moment didn’t last.

His expression sobered, and he stepped closer, his voice low and steady. “You’re safe now, Naomi. As long as I’m here, nothing will touch you.”

The weight of his words settled over me, equal parts comforting and unnerving. I had no idea what he meant, but one thing was clear: Hudson King wasn’t just passing through. And neither was I.

Chapter Two

Hudson

The hum of my bike echoed off the quiet trees as I pulled into my garage. The engine ticked softly as it cooled, the sound somehow louder in the stillness of the night. I didn’t move right away, my hands gripping the handlebars as my mind churned. Seeing Naomi tonight had thrown me for a loop.

I’d known she was back in Cedar Hill—small towns like this don’t keep secrets for long—but I hadn’t expected to find her stranded on the side of the road, looking so... vulnerable. Vulnerable and yet stronger than I remembered, like she’d built walls around herself that only a fool would try to climb.

It was a strange contradiction, but one that suited her. She’d always been a mix of soft and fierce, like she could take on the world but might just need someone in her corner to remind her she didn’t have to do it alone.

I let out a slow breath, finally swinging my leg over the bike and heading inside. The house was quiet, as it always was, andI dropped my helmet on the counter, running a hand through my hair. My reflection in the kitchen window caught my eye—tired, a little rough around the edges, and more than a little preoccupied.

I opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, twisting off the cap and leaning against the counter. The cold glass in my hand didn’t do much to settle the heat simmering just below the surface. That’s what Naomi did to me—always had. She stirred things up, made me feel like I needed to do something, to be someone better.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the way her eyes had widened when she saw me tonight, like she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or annoyed. Maybe both. I didn’t blame her. I hadn’t exactly been in her life the last few years. Not that it was my choice.

I took a long pull from the beer, my grip tightening on the bottle. Watching her leave Cedar Hill back then had been one of the hardest things I’d ever done. But she’d needed to go, and I hadn’t been in a position to ask her to stay—not when I was barely keeping my own life together.

But now? Now she was back, and I wasn’t the same guy I used to be. I’d built a life here, one with structure, purpose, and a damn good reason to keep an eye on the people I cared about. People like Naomi.

I’d been keeping tabs on her ever since I heard she was back in town. Not in a creepy way—at least, I didn’t think so—but just enough to know she was okay. Or as okay as she could be. I hadn’t planned on stepping in tonight, but when I saw her car sitting on the side of the road, something shifted in me. The thought of her out there, alone, vulnerable... I couldn’t ignore it.

And then there was the text she’d gotten at the café a few weeks back. She didn’t know I’d seen it, but her face had paled, and her hands had trembled just enough for me to notice.Something wasn’t right, and my gut told me it wasn’t just a bad coincidence.

I set the beer down and crossed the room to the window, staring out at the quiet street. My reflection stared back at me, the faint lines around my eyes a reminder of just how much time had passed since Naomi and I had been anything more than strangers who shared a history.

I didn’t like the idea of her carrying whatever weight she was dealing with alone. She might not want my help, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to give it. Naomi had always been too stubborn for her own good.

Memories of her from years ago drifted to the surface—her laughter, her quiet determination, the way she’d look at me like she was trying to figure out if I was worth trusting. She’d always been guarded, even back then. But she’d let me in, and for a while, we’d been inseparable.

I wondered if she even remembered those nights we spent talking about everything and nothing, the way we could just be ourselves around each other without any pretense. Maybe she did. Maybe that’s why she’d looked at me tonight like she wasn’t sure if I was real.

Shaking off the nostalgia, I leaned against the window frame, the cold glass pressing against my arm. It didn’t matter what Naomi thought about me being back in her life. What mattered was making sure she was safe. And that started with figuring out who or what had her so on edge.

I grabbed my phone and scrolled through the contacts. There were a few names I could call—people who owed me favors, people who could dig up information without asking too many questions. But first, I needed to know more. Naomi wasn’t the type to open up easily, especially not about something that scared her. I’d have to tread carefully.

The soft buzz of my phone pulled me from my thoughts. A text from one of the guys I worked with popped up:Everything quiet on your end?

I stared at the screen for a moment before typing back a quick reply:For now.

Quiet wasn’t the same as safe. I knew that better than most.

Setting the phone down, I ran a hand over my face, the weight of the night settling heavily on my shoulders. I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but one thing was clear: I wasn’t letting her face this world alone.

Chapter Three

Naomi

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted me as I stepped into the cozy little café that had become my sanctuary over the past few weeks. It was one of those places that felt like a hug—a mix of warm tones, soft lighting, and the quiet hum of conversation. A far cry from the chaos that had defined my life before coming back to Cedar Hill.

I slid into my usual corner booth and pulled out my laptop, opening the file I’d been tinkering with for days. Writing had always been my escape, but lately, my words felt flat, like they were missing the spark I used to pour into them. I blamed the move, the upheaval of starting over.

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