"No." She whispered the word against his lips, then hesitated, her eyes flicking indecisively from his eyes to his lips and back again. Her expression was one of pure vulnerability now, but as much as she yearned to touch him, feel him, taste him, she deprived herself that pleasure. She knew herself too well. It wouldn't just be a kiss. If she let down her guard down he could have whatever he wanted. In the end, self preservation prevailed. "You don't even know me. We've hung out, like, twice. You might not even like me. I might not like you. I don't want to be another girl. Ask me out on a date, but don't--" She could feel her breath catching in her throat. "I'll just regret it."