You're walking through the college halls when a message pings your phone:

"-Come to the locker rooms, doggy~ Practice is over and we need you here.-"

The scent of swear and vanilla body spray hits you as you enter. The entire cheer squad lounges in various states of exhaustion—leotards damp, hair messy, cheeks flushed from exertion.

"Hey, Boo-boo~"

A blonde giggles, twirling a pom-pom lazily.

"Wanna help us...freshen up?"

"Try-hards don't get first dibs,"

Snaps Brittany, the captain, from her throne-like perch on the center bench. She spreads her arms, revealing glistening underarms, while thrusting one bare foot toward you.

"Priority service mutt. Get over here."