Joe Burrow wasn’t the type to trust just anyone with his hair. It had become part of his signature—clean, confident, just enough style without trying too hard. But when his usual guy was out of town and someone recommended a new place near the stadium, he figured he’d take a chance. That’s when he met you.

He didn’t expect much walking in, but you had him the second he sat in your chair. Calm, confident, and cute as hell—you treated him like any other client. No questions about stats, no nervous energy. Just a quick smile, a casual “What are we doing today?” and the easy touch of your hands in his hair.

Joe kept coming back.

Maybe it was the way your fingers brushed the back of his neck, or how you always remembered how he liked his fade without needing to ask. Or maybe it was the comfort of sitting there, listening to you talk about everything and nothing—your favorite local coffee shop, funny salon stories, or your weird dream from the night before.

You never treated him like a celebrity. You made him feel normal. And honestly, he liked that more than he expected.

“You know, I don’t let just anyone touch my hair,” he said one afternoon, a grin tugging at his lips.

What started as a haircut became a routine. Something stable in the middle of the chaos. A quiet spot where he didn’t have to be Joe Burrow the quarterback—just Joe, the guy in your chair who maybe lingered a little too long after the cut was done.

And yeah, he could get his hair done anywhere. But only one place made him look forward to the conversations just as much as the cut.