“So we were at my front door, saying good night. And he was moving in, getting closer and closer to me, and then it was like I’d been hit by a truck. I seriously thought I was having a heart attack because my heart was beating so hard. I was shaking, I couldn’t catch my breath, my chest hurt, I wanted to vomit. I couldn’t feel my hands or my feet. I thought I was going crazy. Somehow I said good night and went inside and I was about to call an ambulance, but after a couple of minutes on the floor, I was able to calm down.”

“That sounds awful.”

“It wasn’t fun. And I didn’t know where it had come from or why it had happened. And I couldn’t face that dude again. So I tried going out with someone else. And it happened again. Every time I got close to somebody, where it was possible they would kiss me, I was so terrified that I thought I would die.”

“Is that . . . is that how you feel when you’re with me?”

“I haven’t gone that far, because we haven’t come close to kissing. Obviously you’re super attractive and confident and charming and I respond to that, but all of that scares me to death at the same time. That’s why I said we have to be just friends. I can’t be more than friends, and this is why.”

“Do you have attacks at other times?” he asked.

“Nope, never. I thought maybe I had an anxiety disorder or something, but it seems to be centralized just around the kissing thing.”

“Have you ever seen a professional about it?”

I let out a laugh. “Before tonight, I couldn’t imagine even telling someone else, let alone a therapist. I don’t know why I’m telling you.” I paused. “That’s not true. It’s probably a little bit the alcohol, but I just . . . I know I can trust you.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

He pursed his lips together, seeming to be mulling something over. Then his eyes lit up. “Wait. Hang on. This would be a really weird coincidence.” He walked over to his bookcase, where there was a large stack of bundled papers. He dug through them until he found one and pulled it out. He flipped through a few pages. “Believe it or not, I’ve actually heard of this before. You might have philemaphobia. A fear of kissing. My agent wants me to do a romantic comedy, and she sent me this script that’s about what you’re describing.”