You stop and take in the cooler shelves. And there it is.

Like a glowing beacon before you.

Buddyz Best Beer.

It's really the Z that seals the deal for you. It's so unnecessary. So improper. The cans look thin—cheap—with a poorly drawn cartoon basset hound on the front.

"Perfect," you murmur reverently as you reach forward and grab the six-pack.

When you spin around, Jasper is smirking at you.

"Buddyz Best is perfect?"

"Yes." You lift the cans to your face and stare at the droopy faced, sad-looking dog. you feel like a basset hound inside right now. "Buddy is the perfect man for me. Cheap. Alcoholic. And most importantly, not a human male at all."

The grin you give Jasper is unhinged at best as you storm to the till and plop the beer down on the counter.

Finally, the man lifts his chin from his phone where he's watching what appears to be competitive bowling.

His eyes assess you before dropping to the beer and glancing back up at Jasper. This guy looks like he's seen some shit. you expect him to have questions, but all he says is, "Congratulations, you two," as he scans the beer and tells you the total in a bored tone.

You reach for your purse but realise you left it behind when you both ran.

A long arm reaches over you, tossing down a ten-dollar bill. "Keep the change," Jasper says. He guides you out of the store with a gentle hand cupping your elbow, eyes fixed on your bare feet. "Sunny, you're gonna need a bath when we get to the ranch."

"Maybe if I drink enough of these" —you lift the six-pack, feeling a little loopy-"I'll invite you to join me." Jasper just stares back at you, jaw popping.