Lake Thirteen Read Online Free Page B

table and shuffled them, spreading them out into a game of Solitaire.
    I wished someone would say something, anything, to break the horrible silence in the room. We’re all bored , I thought as I placed a red nine on a black ten, and that always winds up getting us all into trouble.
    Just the previous summer, on Sanibel Island, boredom was why we’d gone out in the boat moored to the house’s dock without permission and wound up marooned on a deserted barrier island, requiring rescue from the Coast Guard.
    Our parents hadn’t exactly been thrilled about that one, to say the least.
    I looked over at the brown couch, where Teresa was frowning in concentration at one end as she played Angry Birds on her iPad with the sound off, her tanned legs curled up underneath her. She looked up from the screen and caught me looking at her, responding with a big smile that lit up her face. She’d changed into a navy blue T-shirt and a pair of matching shorts.
    Her right eye closed in a wink and her grin got wider.
    “It’s so damned boring here,” Logan said, closing the cover on his own iPad and setting it down on the coffee table. He ran a hand through his already messy light brown hair. He blew out a breath and made a face at me, crossing his eyes, sticking out his tongue, then rolling his eyes. “Why the hell did they decide to come here in the summer? It’s a winter place. And there’s nothing for us to do .” He started bouncing his legs rapidly. He’d never been able to just sit around—he’d always been a bundle of barely contained energy looking for an outlet. Even when he was a kid he’d never been able to sit still. The Starks had banned him from caffeine and sugar, but that hadn’t helped much. That was why they’d put him into sports to begin with—to try to burn off some of that excess energy. It was the smartest thing they could have done. Logan loved playing sports, and he’d turned out to be a natural athlete—he had an uncanny command of his body and more than enough coordination to pretty much master any sport he tried.
    If I was going to be completely honest, Logan was the one I’d worried about the most—he was such a straight-boy jock stereotype, always talking about all his girlfriends back home and flirting with every girl who got in range. If any of our little group was going to have a problem with me being gay, I’d figured it was most likely going to be him.
    Like his twin, Logan had fair skin and light brown hair. Unlike Teresa, his hair was always out of control because he couldn’t be bothered to concern himself with it. He combed it whenever he got out of the shower and never gave it another thought the rest of the time. He just didn’t care. Logan was gorgeous and athletic—and girls worshipped him, if the comments and posts on his Facebook wall were any indication. All the years of playing sports and the weight training that went with it had given him the kind of body I would have gladly sold my soul to the devil to have. He was a couple of inches over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, a ridiculously narrow waist, and a defined stomach so flat and firm you could bounce quarters on it. His arms were thickly muscled, with veins bulging in his thick forearms and well-developed biceps. Years of running up and down a soccer field had given him strong, powerful legs and a round, hard butt. Like his twin, he didn’t care too much about his clothes—he seemed to always be in soccer shorts and tank tops or sweats, and about half the time his clothes clashed. Unlike Teresa, he was rarely, if ever, serious about anything. He was a bit of a clown and could always make me laugh. His handsome face was strangely elastic, and he could twist it in the most ridiculous ways. He was always making jokes, and he couldn’t stand just sitting around. He was up for anything, anytime—as long as it didn’t involve just sitting.
    He was also a really good guy with a big heart. Just before we sat down