There is a fifteen year old in Sokka's brain right now squeeing. Fortunately, the twenty-three year old is quashing him under eight years of confusing sexual exploits.

"Uh," he begins, and figures it's probably a good thing he doesn't understand the Chinese. "No- no, I don't think you're a... it's just... uhm..."

He clears his throat and prays he's not blushing as hard as he thinks he is, blinking at her. "It's been... a long time." A beat and he grins a little, sheepish. "...most girls that pass through want to know me longer than twenty minutes. And that's just-- assuming they haven't gotten totally sick of me talking machines yet."