“I’m not interested in any team,” she clarified.

“How do you know unless you try it?”

He was teasing her, and she teased back with, “Who says I haven’t tried it?”

Jonathan nearly choked on his own tongue, but then he caught sight of something over her shoulder and his gaze went from amused to frank and appraising in a single beat.

Either Channing Tatum had just appeared out of thin air, or …

Yep. Aidan.

He stood there in his firefighter polo and work cargoes, radio on his hip, expression broadcasting a rough mood, looking hot enough to start a fire all on his own.

He nodded to Jonathan and met her gaze.

“Hey,” she said, trying to look and sound cool. But apparently she failed, because he grinned. Behind her, Jonathan chuckled at her predicament, the rat-fink bastard.

Blowing out a sigh, she met Aidan’s gaze. “Can we help you?”

Mercifully, he let it go and gestured to the stocked shelves of product. “My mom wanted me to come by and pick up some of that girlie gunk stuff you used on her hair.”

“A man who’s not afraid to stride into a salon and ask for girlie gunk,” Jonathan said. “I like it. I’ll leave it on the front counter for you. Now you kids take a minute to yourselves and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Then he waggled his brow at Lily and walked off.

She sighed. “How long were you standing there?”

Aidan smiled. “Long enough to know I want to hear your ‘one time at band camp’ story.”

She blushed. “Never mind me. Are you really here for your mom?”

He shrugged. “She says she can’t live without the stuff. She asked Gray to come get it, but he told her over his dead body. So she threatened to tell Penny, and then he finally agreed to get it for her.”

“So why isn’t Gray here?” she asked, fascinated by his family’s crazy dynamics and how in spite of that they all remained close.

“Because he doesn’t have a thing for the new, pretty cosmetologist.”

Ridiculously, Lily’s heart picked up speed, but she rolled her eyes.

He grinned at her. “It’s true. Even if she did cut my hair uneven.”

“I did no such thing,” she said, straightening, completely indignant.

“Look.” He shoved his fingers through his hair, making it stand up on end. “See? Crooked.”

She gave him a nudge toward her empty chair. “There’s no way. Sit.”

“Don’t you have to wash it first?”

She turned to look at him, but he didn’t seem to be up to anything, so she led him to the wash station and cranked the hot water. She had just wet his head and run her fingers through his silky hair when the radio at his hip crackled.

“Is that you?” she asked.