Hoops Shorts: A HOOPS Novella Collection

“And where we’re standing now?” Mason continued. “This is where the altar is supposed to go. Doesn’t this whole thing seem sort of sacrilegious? Us playing hard rock music where they used to worship? Just think about some of our songs.”

I mean, sure, that was fair. Bishop did like to be sort of sacrilegious in some of his songs, I guess. There was that one that went:

I’ll fuck you so right,

you’ll beg the devil to be your light—

Hell fire to burn your sin-sides.

I shrugged. “Maybe, man. But I don’t think those old saints are hanging around to be bothered about it. And everyone coming to the concert knows what they’re getting.”

But Mason just kept looking up and around us into the dark, shadowy corners of the old, elaborately gilded place. Just seemed like a fancy old building. Same as a thousand other places we’d played. Arenas, old theaters, we’d seen it all.

Mason still looked spooked. “This place is like 600 years old. For centuries people gathered here to worship.” He swallowed, obviously still uncomfortable.

At least it seemed like he’d moved on from Vegas. I clapped him on the back. “It’s going to be great, man. We’ll rock so hard, no one will even think about the last concert.”

Mason’s eyes cut sharply to me. His voice was cutting as he said, “It doesn’t work like that. The video of Bishop smashing his guitar went viral. That shit lasts a long time in the public imagination. Nice that you want to come over here and apologize, but that doesn’t make everything magically right.”

Well, dammit, why did I have to go and remind him? I was supposed to be the lucky one. Usually conversations went my way. Was my luck finally changing, like Luna always said it would?

“Yeah, man,” I said, a little disturbed and trying to smooth it over. “I’ll make it up to you. Swear.” I pounded a fist on my chest.

Mason just rolled his eyes. He’d heard that from me before. “Whatever, man. Just don’t fuck up tonight.”

Figuring silence was the better part of valor in this case, I just nodded, bowed my head, and backed up.

Bishop was sitting on an amp. He’d finished the mic check first, since he rarely spent much time tuning his guitar. I still had mine around my neck and I plucked at the strings while I approached.

“Hey. I just wanted to apologize for what went down in Vegas.”

Bishop waved a hand, pick between his fingers. “Never have to apologize to me, man. It wasn’t that big a deal. No one got permanently damaged. Don’t beat yourself up about it. And now, look around—” He held out his arms. “We’re in the real city of sin. Nothing’s off-limits here.”

He hopped off the amp and smacked me hard on the back. “You chase the thrill. I always respected that about you.”

See, now this was why I saved Bishop for last. I knew he would never give me any shit about it.

We were kindred souls more than anyone else in the band. Bishop lacked impulse control too. He was just better at funneling it into what society called “healthy” hobbies. But the man was all about excess. Food, drink, women. At least before this recent experiment with Luna, anyway.

Made me feel like a hack. ’Cause I couldn’t keep my shit together and he could.

And at the same time, he also made me feel, well, more normal.

Even though nothing about any of our lives was normal. Not the rockstar shit, not my weird luck, not our lives constantly traveling…

And maybe he was right, anyway. It wasn’t like anybody really got hurt in Vegas. Here I was doubting my luck, but all those ricochet bullets? They’d only nicked Kostova’s guys. I knew because I’d checked. Dropping dead bodies behind us was something that not even rockstar status could protect us from. But nope, everyone in that room was seen walking on two feet the next day just with some bandages around them.

And there had been a lot of bullets flying.

So yeah, bad scene. And Trevor had been determined to paint it in the worst light. But if I stepped back and looked at it objectively… Didn’t it actually prove that my luck was just as strong as ever?

The itch that had been at the back of my mind moved to the forefront.

What had Bishop called this place? The real city of sin?

In addition to its more famous dens of iniquity… Amsterdam also allowed legalized gambling…

I bit my lip as I headed back to my spot.

There wouldn’t be time before the concert, and I meant what I said to Mason. I wouldn’t be screwing up anymore performances. But surely at some point during our two-day stay, I’d be able to slip away…

Nothing like Vegas. But surely playing some slots couldn’t get me into too much trouble, right?