“Of course not,” Jim denied, shoving down memories that threatened to rise. “I don’t believe in luck.”
“Ha!” His friend’s response, instant and loud, brought the attention of others their way. Mostly smiles, especially from the women as Damon turned the single outburst into a rolling laugh, the kind that was contagious. “Do you want me to get you a shovel to handle that load of shit?”
Oh, the joys of friends who have known you for years. “It’s not really that I think I have shitty luck without her.”
“Okay.” Which also meant bullshit.
Jim briefly wondered what Damon would look like as a rug.
Vengeful thoughts temporarily on hold, Jim rolled the coin between his fingers like a street performer. A low hum of conversation and music surrounded them with the constant din unique to Vegas. Slot machines sang, bells and thrills echoed, accompanied by the occasional burst of laughter or raised voices. Piped-in oxygen wafted on the air. All of it as familiar as his own backyard.
Hell, this was his backyard—one of them, anyway. The luxury suite on the thirty-sixth floor had his name on the lease, same as the penthouse apartment he owned in New York, and the spectacular new home going up on his family inheritance in the north.
The memory jerked him to a stop—
There were things he didn’t want to dwell on, and that was one of them.
So he forced a grin back on his face and went to work distracting Damon. “I just happen to have even more spectacular luck than usual when she’s in my possession. I was the one who found her all those years ago.”
“I know. I get to hear this story every damn year. An old woman foretold your future and called you the Copper King. Blah, blah, blah.” Damon shook his head sadly, as if ready to call the men in white for a visit. “She’s a figment of your imagination, Jim. You were drunk.”
“Me? If I was drunk, how come you don’t remember how we got back to the ship?” Eighteen years old, and they’d spent the summer running rampant through the Mediterranean. It was the best graduation present his parents could have given him.
Another hard slam to his gut. Another fake smile pinned to his lips.
Damon?
Laid a hand on his shoulder, as if the bastard knew exactly what was going through his brain.
Jim lifted his glass in a silent salute to his parents before shooting the liquid back, the cold burn settling in like a familiar fire. Seize the moment—it’s what they would have wanted. It was part of the reason they’d given him such freedom so many years ago.
And the summer hadn’t all been partying and fooling around…
Well, it had mostly been partying and fooling around, but there had been two other noteworthy accomplishments. The acquisition of the ancient coin he and Damon had pooled their rapidly dwindling resources to purchase, and Jim had gotten a good look at all the different architecture.
He’d come back inspired, not only from the Copper King prophecy bouncing in his head, but with the belief he could do anything he applied himself to.
Including becoming rich building others’ dreams.
Richer. He might have been born into money, but he’d more than doubled his initial stake since putting his mind to the task.
At his side, Damon swirled his whiskey, his smile broadening. “That summer will live on in infamy.” He glanced at Jim. “Whether the fortuneteller was right or not, we’ve had our moments, haven’t we? I mean all things considered, who would have guessed that a wolf and a bear could go as far as we have in the last dozen years?”
Jim raised his second drink in the air. “It’s only going to get better.”
Damon clinked their glasses together, and they both drank, the icy liquor flowing down Jim’s throat in a rush that turned to liquid flames.
Having a wolf shifter as a best friend wasn’t typical, but then neither Jim nor Damon were typical shifters. Rather than hang out with the wolf pack, Damon tended more toward the loner side of the equation. And most bears, who were better known for enjoying seclusion, didn’t understand why Jim enjoyed constantly having company around.
He liked time alone well enough, but crowds made him surprisingly happy. And women—
Because these days it always came back to the women. They were his distraction, and thus his salvation.
On the other side of the round bar, two nicely packaged ladies were eyeing them, lashes fluttering as they sipped their drinks and whispered together in low tones.
Damon noticed them noticing, a low approving rumble escaping as he motioned for the bartender. He ordered a pitcher of beer then turned back to Jim. “The blonde on the right thinks you’re exceptionally sexy, by the way. She wants to slurp you up in one go.”
Jim choked in mid-drink. “You should come with a warning sign. It’s not fair wolf hearing is that much better than humans’.”
“You’re just complaining because you can’t hear for shit.”