Page 1 of Sour Candy (Sour Candy #1)

Benji Caulfield was exhausted.

The sink was broken. Again . He was running late to his shift at the diner, which meant he would be late to class later because they forced him to stay to make up the difference.

He still hadn’t done his reading for the tutorial this afternoon.

His little brother, Max, was yelling at him down the hall about the shampoo running out.

And it wasn’t even nine in the morning.

Benji sighed, lifting his head from where it had been lying on top of the useless faucet. “Just use soap!”

There was a flurry from the bathroom. Max poked his head out, his petulant frown and sad wet hair making him even younger than twelve. “But we’re out of soap! You said you’d get some!”

“I did ,” Benji argued, scrambling to shove on his sneakers. “Check the cupboard! And the kitchen sink’s broken again, but that doesn’t mean you get out of doing the dishes before you leave!”

Max groaned, slamming the door shut. Then it swung back open. “Are we still going to the movie tomorrow night?”

“Sure, gotta go,” Benji called, racing out the front door before pausing to lift it into the only position where it would close, then making a beeline for the elevator. There was a sign plastered over the worn doors: Out Of Service.

“Of fucking course,” Benji hissed. He got out his phone to text Jerry, the property manager, who usually replied to emails in thirty to forty business days. But before he could start typing, his phone vibrated.

It was his boss. where r u? need to talk.

Benji cursed and ran for the stairs.

Farley’s Diner was seven blocks away from their apartment building.

But Benji hadn’t run a day in his life since he graduated high school—barely—and no one was making him run laps.

He arrived at work soaked in sweat, his baggy clothes sticking to his skinny frame.

Luckily, it was so cold outside, or he’d be even worse.

“I’m here,” he announced to the mostly empty diner, his arms spread. “I made it.”

His boss, Richard, wrinkled his nose from behind the counter. “Jesus, Ben. Tell me you have a change of clothes for your shift.”

“I can stay in the kitchen,” Benji tried.

Richard sighed, rubbing his lined face. “Maybe this is for the best. C’mon, follow me.”

He headed into the kitchen. Benji glanced over at Betty, the waitress, trying to gauge how screwed he was.

But she was too busy sliding a slice of cherry pie onto a plate, her smile sunny and polite, no matter how tired she was.

Not like Benji, whose stale customer service meant he got shoved into dishwashing duty two days out of five.

He couldn’t help it. He’d never been good at hiding his feelings, and so many of these customers wanted him to take their shit with a demure smile.

Do whatever they wanted, no matter how crappy they treated him.

Like hell. Benji wasn’t going to submit to anybody, even if they paid him. If someone wanted him to do what they wanted, they had to give him a reason first. Nobody had done that yet. And if Benji secretly yearned for some guy to finally give him one, that was between him and his shoddy mattress.

Benji followed Richard through the swinging doors.

Richard was waving the chefs out, even the kitchen hand.

He left his sandwiches and trailed after the chefs, sending Benji an uncharacteristically awkward look that made ice shoot up his spine.

Awkward looks, the boss clearing the room. Need to talk …

Benji had done this song and dance before. It was never good.

“I know I’ve been late a lot,” he started. “But I had to sell the car, and you know how the buses are around here?—”

Richard held up his hand. Benji gritted his teeth and kept going.

“I really need this job,” he tried. “That customer last week who said I spilled coffee on him on purpose was lying his ass off! You know how clumsy I am!”

Richard was waving his hands now, groaning.

“Stop,” he said. “Don’t make this harder than it already is, alright? I like you, Ben. You’re a good kid. But this is a business. We’re on hard times as it is. You understand.”

Benji laughed bitterly. Did he ever . He understood so well that he didn’t know how he was going to make rent this month. He’d already emptied his savings by buying Max new shoes after his old ones got one too many holes.

“Aw, don’t look at me like that,” Richard said.

“Not looking at you like anything,” Benji muttered. He wiped his stinging eyes. “Okay. Fine. I’m gone. Can I put you down as a reference, or should I say I’ve been ‘focusing on school’ for the past eight months?”

Richard paused, scratching his beard. The pause was long enough that Benji turned, heading for the door. Another job gone, and he couldn’t even count on this guy for a leg-up into the next one.

“Don’t give me that face,” Richard repeated as Benji strode out, skinny shoulders up near his ears. “I just can’t recommend you in good faith! You understand!”

“Yeah, got it,” Benji called back, the kitchen doors swinging shut behind him. He didn’t make eye contact with the chefs or the kitchen hand as he sped out, even though they were looking his way and whispering.

Benji ignored them all, tugging his thin jacket tighter as he headed out into the chilly winter morning. Probably muttering about how it was about time. No matter the job, his coworkers were always happy to see him go.

Life would be easier if you could just be easier , his aunt used to tell him before she died.

Not the best thing to say to a kid, but the older Benji got, the more he agreed.

Life would be easier if he just… gave in.

Said yes, sir; no, sir; can I lick your boots, sir?

Instead, he had a lifetime of detentions and rejections and firings under his belt.

Benji sniffed, forcing back angry tears as he headed for the nearest bus stop.

He was trying . He’d gotten better since high school, no more snapping at people unless they deserved it.

He’d always been a little too sharp, too loud, too difficult —but he wanted to be easy.

Sometimes, anyway. He wanted to find someone who could soften his sharp edges every once in a while.

Unfortunately, that would mean finding a guy whom he trusted enough to handle him like that. And Benji hadn’t found a guy worth his trust yet. He was starting to think that guy didn’t exist.

He turned the corner. The bus that went past his community college was just pulling out of the stop. Benji tried to run, but it was no use. The bus was down the street by the time he arrived.

Benji looked up at the timetable and groaned. The next bus came in forty minutes. He might as well walk.

He bundled his coat tighter and set off down the street, seething. Even if he did find some miraculous guy who got past his walls, they wouldn’t be able to fix the shitstorm that was his life.

He stomped into the community college library thirty-five minutes later, reeking of sweat and grumbling.

Running through a mental list of things he could do to make rent this month.

He’d already sold the car. He could sell his art supplies, but then he’d be screwed for class.

Maybe he should just drop out. Painting was the only thing that he’d ever wanted to do, but who was he kidding?

Arts degrees didn’t earn a living. Sure, his aunt made him promise he’d follow his dreams while she was on her deathbed.

But one of his dreams was to not be homeless, so…

Daphne was sitting at their usual table, bent over her art history textbook.

She startled as he threw himself into the chair next to her, a grin splitting her gorgeous face.

Daphne was his only friend from high school, much to everyone’s bafflement.

Nobody had expected the weird art kid to start hanging out with the head cheerleader after they got stuck together in a group project during sophomore year.

He kept expecting her to abandon him, but she never had.

They even went to prom together, her in a flowy pink dress and him in jorts, just to watch everybody’s reactions.

Nobody said anything, but only because she was there.

Everybody loved Daphne. He couldn’t blame them.

She was bright and lovely, and thanks to Benji, she was a lot less liable to let people walk all over her nowadays.

“Hey,” Daphne said, pushing her textbook aside to make room for him as he flopped dramatically onto the table. “I thought you had work?”

He laughed darkly into his arms. “Nope! Got fired.”

Daphne’s grin vanished.

“And the sink’s broken again,” Benji continued. “And the elevator’s broken. And they’re putting the bus fare up. And Max wants this stupid Lego set, and my sculpture teacher wants us to buy all this new shit?—”

Daphne rubbed his back. Benji tried not to tense up. He wanted to sink into it, but a bigger part of him wanted to hiss at her and shy away. He was never good at accepting comfort.

“I’ll help you find a new job,” she said. “I’ll ask around. I have a friend at the movie theater downtown, maybe they’re hiring.”

Benji glared up at her.

She frowned. “What?”

“I already worked there freshman year, Daph. A customer threw a Coke Zero at me for telling her the movie wasn’t called Cloudy Meatball Chance . Then I got fired for throwing a drink back at her.”

Daphne winced. “I remember people talking about that. Sorry.”

She got out her phone and started scrolling, her pink lips pursed in concentration. Always trying to help, even when he was being a shit. Benji was lucky to have her.

He shoved his sweaty brown curls off his forehead, trying to quell the oncoming headache.

They had enough money for food if they were careful.

But he’d been counting on his next paycheck for rent.

Let alone the other costs that always came up—school trips, college supplies, doctor’s visits. Being alive was so expensive .

Daphne hummed.

Benji lifted his head. “What?”

Daphne looked at him consideringly. “You know how I was a sugar baby for a while last year?”

Benji laughed. Daphne kept watching him, those blue eyes getting bigger and bigger.

“No,” Benji said. “That was— No ! We agreed , Daph. I don’t have the sugar baby temperament.”

“Maybe you just haven’t been getting the right incentive.” Daphne turned her phone toward him. “I had a guy who paid me fifteen hundred dollars per date! Even you can be nice for fifteen hundred dollars.”

Benji made a dubious noise, taking her phone and scrolling. Lots of shirtless chests, swimsuit photos, men on jet skis. No face pics. He clicked into the “FOR SUGAR BABIES” section.

“There’s no screening process,” Benji said. “I could be anyone. They could be anyone.”

“That’s why you meet them in public first! And send me a photo of their face. And their license plate number.” Daphne nudged him. “Some of them don’t even want sex, just a sympathetic face to talk to.”

Benji avoided her gaze. He hadn’t told Daphne everything about his sexual history—namely, the lack of it. She assumed he had a lot more notches under his belt after he admitted what he was into, and he never had the heart to correct her that he didn’t have notches, just a few shitty hand jobs.

“I don’t have a problem with sex,” Benji said, hoping he sounded convincing. “I’m just…”

He waved a hand over himself. He wasn’t sure if he meant the threadbare clothes or the lankiness or the general air of unfriendliness.

“Not sugar baby material,” he repeated. “Come on, Daph. I won’t be what they’re looking for.”

Daphne shrugged, false eyelashes fluttering. “Won’t know until you try. And for fifteen hundred dollars a date? I’d say that’s well worth a try.”

Benji snorted. His thumb hovered over the sign-up button.

These guys seemed like the domineering types, which was what he wanted.

Maybe he could find a nice one. A guy who could get him out of that anxious headspace he always found himself in whenever he tried to have sex.

A guy who could take control but still make him feel safe.

Even if he couldn’t, Daphne was right. Fifteen hundred dollars was worth a shot.

“Fuck it,” he sighed and pressed sign up .