Chapter 3

“Two beers and a sangria, my beautiful sweet lady,” a voice with a European accent exclaimed behind him.

“Oh, you flatter me,” the barmaid said skittishly.

Reggie paid little attention to the man who had appeared next to him, leaning across the counter to order. But when he glanced up to check if his drinks were ready, his heart stopped beating.

There, there was Russell Lee, a British pro player. His idol.

Contrary to what one would have thought, Reggie Weston wasn’t crazy about Phil Mickelson, he didn’t relive the old glories of Jack Nicklaus, and his room wasn’t covered with Tiger Woods posters. No, he used to sleep with a poster of Russell Lee above his bed.