She had a dream about Jacob last night. That's not all that unusual, but this particular dream was...erotic, for lack of a better word. It's embarrassing. All she remembers is that they were in bed together—but not doing anything; they were propped up on their elbows side by side, looking at each other. He was shirtless and she was in her bra, and she was slowly running her hand down his bare back, feeling the shift and pull of the long, strong muscles in his back as they relaxed under her fingertips. He closed his eyes and smiled up at her lazily, and in the dream it was the most natural thing in the world, being so casually intimate with him. It wasn't until waking that things got awkward.
She doesn't think about Jacob that way, not really. He's warm and funny and her best friend, and she does love him, but not like she loves Edward. Dreams don't always have to mean something, and even if they do, she was probably just projecting her Edward-frustration onto Jacob. Things get mixed up like that sometimes.
A confident voice that sounds suspiciously like Jacob's echoes through her head, mocking her excuses. You're in love with me too, Bells. You just don't know it yet.
She knows that's not true, but the next time she sees him, she still has to keep herself from staring at the broad sloping lines of his back, keep herself from imagining her pale white hand contrasted against an expanse of beautiful russet skin.
But it's just a stupid dream, and it doesn't mean anything. She blushes, and looks away.