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... o his palm.
The opening bell had long since faded into the breeze, replaced by the distant thwacks of golf balls being struck and the occasional ripple of polite applause from various parts of the course.
His name had been called and the tournament had officially begun.
He stood beside Connor Wells, who looked every bit the star even dressed in muted athletic wear — charcoal-gray slacks, a soft navy polo that hugged his form, and a visor that shaded a gaze sharp enough to ...
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