“Why’d you pick . . . your name?” I ask, not wanting to say the name out loud. She flushes and looks away at the stores as we roll past them. “Purple is just kind of my color.” I only look at her for a moment. It’s all I can stand before blood rushes between my legs. But as I turn my eyes back to the road, my mind fixates on that blush. The memory of the way she blushed for me. More like pretty in pink. My god. I need to get the hell out of this truck.
