Right. They all knew better. Nick had been exceptionally brilliant. Earthy and at times downright crude, he'd befriended Marguerite and helped her with schoolwork even outside the confines of this group. If not for him, she would have failed her ancient Greek civ class with Dr. Julian Alexander, who had been her undergraduate advisor.
Todd closed his book, then pushed it aside. "You know, I think we should do something to say good-bye officially to the old man. After all, he was part of this group."
Blaine scoffed. "What do you suggest? Burn incense to banish his stench?"
Whitney lightly slapped at Blaine's leg. "Do stop it, Blaine. You're upsetting poor Margeaux. She actually considered Nick a friend."
"I can't imagine why."
Marguerite stiffened as she narrowed her gaze on him. "Because he was nice and caring." Unlike them. Nick wasn't pretentious or cold. He'd been real and he cared for people regardless of who they were related to or how much money they had.
Nick had been human.
"I know what we should do," Elise said, shutting her book as well. "Why don't we visit that place that Nick was always talking about? The one where his mother worked."
"Sanctuary?" Blaine looked completely disgusted. Marguerite hadn't even known a man could perfect such a lip curl. Elvis would be envious indeed. "I've heard it's down on the other side of the French Quarter. How positively gauche."
"I like the idea," Todd said as he tucked his book into his designer backpack. "I'm always up for a good slumming."
Blaine gave him a droll stare. "I've heard that about you, Todd. It's the curse of the nouveau riche."
Todd returned Blaine's stare tit for tat. "Fine then, stay here and keep our seats warm while your ass expands to the size of your ego." He stood up and captured Marguerite's attention. "I think we should bid our not quite esteemed member farewell, and what better way than to go and drink cheap alcohol in his favorite place?"
Blaine rolled his eyes. "You'll most likely contract hepatitis there."
"No, we won't," Whitney said. She looked up at Todd with fear in her bright blue eyes. "Will we?"
"No," Marguerite said firmly as she packed up her books. "Blaine's simply a coward."
He arched a brow at her. "Hardly. Being a thoroughbred on both sides, I have no inclination to waste time with riffraff."
Marguerite lifted her chin at his low blow. Every one of them knew that her mother was a Cajun from Slidell who had nowhere near the social status of her father. Even though she had gone to college on a full scholarship and had been Miss Louisiana, her mother's marriage to her father had been scandalous.
In the end, that disaster was what had led to her mother's death.
It was something only a true dog would hurl in Marguerite's face.
"Thoroughbred asshole, you mean," she said between clenched teeth as she rose to her feet. She slammed her book into her Prada backpack. "Nick was right, you are nothing but a prickly wuss who needs to have his butt kicked."
The women around her gaped at her language while Todd laughed.
Blaine turned an interesting shade of red.
"I have to say that I certainly love a little Cajun spice," Todd said as he joined her side. "Come along, Margeaux, and I'll be more than happy to keep you safe." He looked at the other two women. "Care to join us?"
Whitney looked like a child who was about to get away with staying up past her bedtime. "My parents would die if they knew I went into a dive. Count me in."
Elise nodded, too.
They looked at Blaine, who made a disgusted noise. "When all of you contract dysentery, remember who was the voice of reason."
Marguerite pulled her backpack on. "Dr. Blaine, the resident expert on Montezuma's revenge. We have it."
By the look on his face, she could tell he was dying to let fly a vicious retort, but good manners and common sense kept him from speaking. It wasn't wise to twice insult a U.S. senator's daughter when one had ambitions of gaining an internship with said senator in the fall.
And that was most likely what motivated Blaine to join them as they headed for Todd's SUV.
"Oh my goodness!" Whitney exclaimed the instant they entered the famed Sanctuary biker bar.
Marguerite's own eyes widened as she looked around the dark, grungy place that did appear to need a good and thorough cleaning. People were dressed in anything from biker leathers to T-shirts and jeans. The tables and chairs were a hodgepodge of rough design that didn't even match. The stage area was liberally painted black with odd splashes of gray, red, and white, and the billiard tables looked as if they'd survived many a bar fight in their day.
There was even straw spread out across the floor that reminded her of a barn.
The bar area to her right was occupied by rough-looking men drinking beers and yelling at one another. She could see a wooden stairway before them that led to an upstairs area, but she had no idea what was up there. Trouble came to her mind. A person could probably find a lot of trouble up there.
This place was definitely rustic.
But what held her attention most was the high concentration of handsome men working in the bar. They were everywhere. The bartenders, the waiters, the bouncers... She'd never seen anything like this. It was a testosterone smorgasbord.
Elise leaned over to whisper in her ear, "I think I might have just died and been sent to heaven. Have you ever seen so many gorgeous men in your life?"
It was all Marguerite could do to shake her head. It really was unbelievable. She was stunned that the news media hadn't caught wind of this and sent in a team to investigate what was in the water to make so many hot men in one place.
Even Whitney was gaping and ogling.
"What kind of music is that?" Blaine said, twisting his lips into a sneer as a new song started over the stereo that was piped through the length and breadth of the bar.
"I think it's called metal!" Todd shouted over the loud guitar solo.
"I call it painful myself," Whitney said. "Did Nick really hang out here?"
Marguerite nodded. Nick had loved this place. He'd spent hours telling her about it and the odd people who called this place home. "He said they had the best andouille sausage in the world."
Blaine scoffed. "Highly doubtful."
Todd indicated a table to the back with a tilt of his head. "I think we should sit and have a drink in memory of old Nick. You only live once, you know?"
"Drink out of the glasses here and you probably won't live through the night," Blaine said. He looked less than enthusiastic as they followed Todd to the table and took a seat.
Marguerite shrugged her backpack off, dug her purse out, then placed it under the table. She hung her purse on her chair, then took a seat. The place was very loud and yet she could easily see Nick in here. There was something about it that reminded her of him. Aside from the rather tacky decor, which he'd always preferred. She often suspected that he dressed tacky just to nettle people.
To her it had been one of his more endearing traits. He was the only person she'd ever known who truly hadn't cared what other people thought of him. Nick was Nick and if you didn't like it, you could leave.
"Can I get you guys something?"
She looked up to see an extremely beautiful blond woman around her own age. She was wearing a pair of skin-tight jeans and a small T-shirt with the Sanctuary logo of a motorcycle parked on a hill that was silhouetted by a full moon. Underneath the picture was the tagline Sanctuary: Home of the Howlers.
Blaine gave their waitress a hot once-over that the woman wisely ignored. "Yes, we'll all have the Westvleteren 8."