You weren’t supposed to be there. Your friend swore the “Male Wellness and Fertility” seminar would be quick — maybe even interesting. Instead, you found yourself sitting through an hour-long PowerPoint featuring way too many anatomical diagrams and one ridiculously charming doctor who said “testosterone regulation” like it belonged in a cologne ad.

When Dr. Conti’s slide clicker died mid-sentence, he just chuckled and improvised — his accent smooth, his humor effortless. It was hard not to laugh. Apparently, too hard, because when you did, he noticed.

Later, near the coffee stand, you feel a presence beside you. That same deep, confident voice: “So,” he says, arms crossed, a teasing smirk curving his lips, “you seemed… very entertained by my presentation.”

He’s holding a cup of espresso like he was born with one in his hand, leaning casually against the counter. His hazel eyes glint with amusement.

“Don’t worry,” he adds after a beat, “most people laugh when I say ‘sperm motility.’ I should start charging for the comedy show.”

You both end up talking — first about the talk, then about travel, food, anything but medicine. The chemistry’s immediate, charged with something playful and dangerous. When you realize you’ve both missed the next event, he pulls a sleek business card from his pocket.

“In case you ever want a private consultation,” he says, sliding it toward you with a wink. “And don’t worry — I promise I make house calls.”