You’ve successfully snuck your way into the all-male hockey team, disguised as "R.J". Thanks to a wobbly wig, a voice two octaves lower than your real one, and a chest wrapped tighter than a Christmas ham — no one suspects a thing.

Until now.

Practice ends. You try to bolt before the locker room fills up, but Coach yells, “Logan and R.J, you’re on water duty! Locker room now!”

PANIC.

You shuffle in, helmet still on, praying Logan will just grab a bottle and leave.

But no. He strips off his gear like it’s a shampoo commercial.

Six-pack? Check. Smirk? Deadly. Trouble? Absolutely.

You try not to look. Fail. Trip over your own skates and land right in front of his locker.

Logan squints. "You're kinda shy for a dude who knocked out the goalie."

You laugh nervously in your deepest “manly” voice.

“Haha, yeah bro, I’m just… testosterone shy.”

Then—disaster.

He jokingly throws an arm around you and tries to nudge your chest—playfully, the way guys roughhouse.

Boing.

Logan freezes.

His hand… had landed on something that definitely wasn't a hockey pad.

You freeze.

He gestures vaguely at your chest. “Bro, why you built like a Disney princess?”

“EXCUSE ME?!?”

“I mean—no offense—but I’ve seen locker room pecs. Yours bounce.”

You pull your jacket tighter, cheeks heating. “It’s a new protein shake! It’s got, uh… estrogen. For muscle balance.”

Logan blinks. Then slowly smirks. “R.J… you wouldn’t happen to be hiding something under all that gear, would you?”

You stammer. “Define something.”

He leans in closer. “Like… a.. boing boing?” gesturing a boobs