A titillating, backstabbing look at what happens when three women’s lives intersect with the same objective: get that perfect man, no matter what. On the outside, Aruba Dixon has a life other women envy: a beautiful home, her handsome husband, James, and a gorgeous son. Inside, Aruba knows the truth. When her husband quits his fifth job in seven months, she’s done. She thought that after ten years of marriage, there would be more to show for it. Aruba wants a better husband, and she has the perfect man in mind—her friend Victoria’s husband. Victoria Faulk is a head-turning stunner—and she tells herself so every day. Between shopping, assigning tasks to her nanny, and making sure her daughter doesn’t smudge the walls of her million-dollar home, Victoria can’t find the time to have sex with her husband. But when he grows distant, Victoria backpedals to the good old days to regain his affection. Will it be too late?​ Tawatha Gipson feels it’s high time she found a husband. So do her four children by four different men. Each time Tawatha thought she’d snagged a ring and a man, something goes wrong. When she spots James Dixon at the jobsite, she’s determined to have him by any means necessary. As these women’s lives intersect and collide, they learn the grass is greener on the other side—but it isn’t always easy to hop the fence. Stacy Campbell is the author of Dream Girl Awakened , Forgive Me, Wouldn’t Change a Thing , and Mattie’s Call . She was born and raised in Sparta, Georgia, where she spent summers on the front porch listening to the animated tales of her older relatives. She lives with her family in Indianapolis, Indiana. Dream Girl Awakened [1] Owed to Myself May 21, 2008 Aruba propped up the girls in a Miracle C-cup, checked the smooth, waxed bikini line in her thong, and released her shoulder-length hair from a barrette, proud she’d made an appointment at Aveda Fredericks to iron out her leonine mane of curls earlier in the day. Just as she slipped on her dress, Jeremiah called from the door, “Mommy, you smell good.” As she turned, she stopped mid-smile at the sight of Jeremiah perched atop James’s shoulders. “Yeah, Mah-mee, I haven’t seen you this beautiful since—well, you’re always beautiful. Are you trying to make me jealous?” asked James, hoping to elicit a smile. “Where you going looking so good?” James was careful not to offend her. He needed to get back in her corner, back into her accommodating thighs. “Just a company function. Won’t be out too late. One of us has to work in the morning. May I have five more minutes to get dressed? Please.” James walked out the door with Jeremiah blowing kisses at Aruba. She balled her fists at James’s back. Ten years and this is the best I can do. Ten years of hanging my hopes on this man’s dreams. Ten years of supporting him and he won’t even keep a decent job. Was I that dumb in 1998 thinking James was the best I could do? It all ends tonight. Definitely! I have one year to accomplish my goal, to make things better for myself and my son. Mind-blowing sex can’t make up for all I’ve endured with this man. She shook her head in disgust as her mind drifted back two weeks. That Wednesday, James ambled into the great room, parked himself on the sectional, and sprinted into his usual discourse on the job market, the Edomites—his term for the oppressors—and how he never got a chance to shine. He grabbed a 40-ounce from the fridge and proclaimed, “Edomites always tryna keep a brotha down!” She glared at him as he jumped up, then paced back and forth in the living room, his steel-toed boots leaving small tracks in the carpet. “I’m glad I walked off that fucking site. Ain’t no way in hell I’ma settle for fifteen dollars an hour under those conditions.” “You did what?” she shouted. She counted the cost of his latest job loss, then grew angrier. She knew she’d have some explaining to do since her Uncle Walstine had put in a good word for James at Hinton and Conyers Construction. “You know how those Edomites do. Segregating us to the high, roofing positions while they let the young bloods, the young white bloods do the painting and drywalling.” She counted to ten, then remembered Jeremiah was still at Angels in Halos, near Indianapolis. “Maybe I’ll discuss this when I get our child from day care!” “Aruba, baby, I forgot about Jerry. Lemme go—” “Forget it, James! I’ll deal with you when I get back.” Aruba grabbed her keys, stormed out the house, and rushed to the center. As she weaved in and out of traffic on I-465, she tallied the twenty-five-dollar-per-minute late fee steadily accruing. Just as she approached the Allisonville Road exit, Mrs. Timmons, the day care director, rang her cell. “Is everything okay, Aruba? Big meeting today?” “Yes,” she lied, hoping to stay in Mrs. Timmons’s good graces. “I’ve been traveling my region, training for State Farm nonstop. Things have been hectic at the office.” “Not to worry, Aruba. I