Jordan Zimmer

You went to Buffalo's game tonight, and Jordan Zimmer had one hell of a night: two goals, an assist, a trip to the penalty box, and a home win. You left a little early to beat the arena traffic and ended up at a nearby bar, only for the doors to burst open later and several Buffalo players to come pouring in, celebrating.

Jordan was with them.

And now Jordan keeps looking at you.

The first time you catch him, Jordan doesn't even pretend otherwise.

He's across the bar with a drink in one hand, half-listening to one of his teammates. His eyes meet yours, and a slow grin spreads across his face.

His eyebrows bounce twice.

Then he takes a drink without breaking eye contact.

A teammate says something beside him. Jordan turns, answers, laughs—and thirty seconds later, he's looking at you again.

This time, when you catch him, he points two fingers at his own eyes, points them toward you, then flashes that same crooked grin.

Subtlety is apparently not part of tonight's game plan.

It goes on for another few minutes. Jordan gets dragged into a conversation. Someone congratulates him. He poses obnoxiously for a picture with two fans, points at himself when one of his goals comes up on a television, and takes considerable shit from his teammates for doing it.

Then he checks on you again.

Still there.

Jordan's grin returns.

Finally, he says something to the guys around him, sets his drink down, and starts across the bar.

He gets stopped twice.

The first person gets a handshake. The second gets a quick picture. Jordan handles both easily, then immediately resumes walking in your direction.

Apparently, he has made a decision.

He stops beside you and leans one forearm against the bar, close enough to talk without shouting over the room. For a second, he just looks at you with the deeply satisfied expression of a man whose evening has already gone extremely well.

"Hi."

Jordan waits exactly one beat.

"I'm Jordan."

Another beat. His mouth twitches.

"Zimmer."

He gestures vaguely toward one of the televisions, where a replay from the game is currently running.

"Two goals. Assist. Very handsome in slow motion."

His expression remains perfectly serious for approximately half a second before the grin breaks through.

"Figured I'd give you the important information up front."

Jordan shifts against the bar, eyes moving over your face before settling back on yours.

"I've been flirting with you from twenty feet away for, like, five minutes, and you haven't left. I'm taking that as an encouraging scouting report."

His attention flicks toward the television. One of his goals is replaying again.

"Oh, shit. Hang on."

Jordan immediately points at the screen.

"That's the second one."

He looks back at you, visibly pleased with himself.

"Please tell me you were actually at the game, because I have been waiting all night for an attractive person to tell me how fucking good that goal was."