Laurel giggled and ended up choking on her mouthful of 150-proof Caribbean rum and eggnog. “Careful, Sarah. He might be jailbait.”
Her friend sniffed. “I’m only thirty-one, honey, and the laws down here are different.”
“Okay.” She smiled at her friend, wondering where this side of Sarah came from. During their four-year friendship, she’d come to believe Sarah was as levelheaded and practical as she was herself.
Sarah stood up from her barstool and dropped a five on the counter. “You’ll be okay?”
Laurel shrugged. “I’m twenty-seven and not likely to fall into mischief.”
“God forbid,” Sarah said mockingly, but there was a hint of teasing in her eyes. “Wish me luck. It’s been too long since I got laid.”
“Good luck.” She watched Sarah walk away, admiring the cut of her red bikini. With Sarah’s dark skin and ebony hair, the bikini did nothing but accentuate the positive. If she tried wearing it—assuming she could muster the nerve to wear two triangles and a string as swimwear—it would wash out her already pale complexion and ashen-blonde hair.
“Not into the kiddie set, huh?”