Just My Luck! A Short Drama
Copyright© 2026 by aroslav
Chapter 13: Dodging My Ex
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 13: Dodging My Ex - A down-on-his-luck accountant is murdered, resurrected, and thrust into a whirlwind of corporate intrigue, romance, and second chances in Just My Luck!, a sharp, witty drama where bad fortune might just be the best thing that ever happened. This is patterned after Chinese Short Dramas, just 23 chapters.
Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Crime Humor Workplace Paranormal Polygamy/Polyamory
I had plenty to do on Saturday. Anya was spending time with her father, so Romy took me to have my hair roots touched up. It was the first time I’d ridden in the front seat while she was driving and I quite enjoyed the sight of her bare legs moving from accelerator to brake and back. Her skirt was barely long enough to sit on. I thought it was even shorter than what she wore to the office.
“If you stare at my legs any longer, I’ll run us into a telephone pole,” she growled. “Pervert.”
“Will it help if I move my eyes up a few inches?” I asked, being deliberately provocative.
Lifting my eyes a few inches from her legs let them settle on the rise and fall of what my trained male instincts told me were unfettered breasts. I could clearly see the outline of erect nipples where the seatbelt held her cotton knit shirt close to her body.
“If you ever want to touch them again, you should have some respect!”
Wow! That was definitely unexpected. She was actually acknowledging we’d been intimate. I was a little baffled.
“Romy, you need to clarify our relationship so I know when to tease and when not to,” I said. “I feel like you and Anya know a lot more about this than I do.”
“We haven’t figured it out yet,” she said. “We don’t want to start something until you get your memory back and we know you aren’t treasuring someone else. If you aren’t free, we aren’t wasting our time.”
I almost blurted out that I’d regained my memory, but I wasn’t ready to blow my cover yet. I’d have to put up with a little ambiguity a while longer.
“I hope none of the three of us are wasting our time,” I said. “I’ve grown very close to the two of you. Last night...”
“Last night was an accident. We were all stressed and needed each other. We shouldn’t have done that,” she said.
“An accident?” I asked. “Did you slip in your room and fall into my shower? My bed? Were you drunk? On drugs? Under duress?”
“Yes, damn you, Neil! Yes, we were under duress. The life of someone dear to us was threatened.”
“Who?” I demanded.
“You, you asshole! Can’t you just accept that Anya and I care about you? Does it have to be everlasting love and devotion?” she said angrily. “Can’t we be attracted and not ready to rush to sex? Don’t we give you enough indication that we like you without being naked?”
She slammed on the brakes in a parking spot and reached for the door handle. I reached for her hand and pulled her toward me across the console. She looked at me with a sparkle in her eye.
“I don’t know how to play this game,” I said. I reached over to pet her blonde hair as we kept our eyes locked on each other. “That tells me I’ve never been in this situation before. I’ve never liked two women—maybe any woman—so much as I like you and Anya. When I see you, I’m somehow happy. When you get close and then back away, I think I’ve done something wrong. I don’t know how to read the signs. I’m forty years old and no matter what happened in my past life, I know I’ve never felt this way. Please be patient with me.”
“Neil...” She didn’t continue the statement. She just closed the distance between our faces and pressed her lips against mine. I’d call it a firm and resolute kiss more than a passionate one. “Be patient with us, too. It’s time for your hair appointment.”
After my hair appointment, Romy and I walked through the mall and I suggested I needed to pick up some more casual business clothes and shoes. When I’d been in the Miranda K office, I’d worn a stylish Italian cut suit. For our visit to the construction site, I’d worn jeans and a work shirt, incongruous with the black dress shoes I wore. I needed something appropriate for my visit to the construction office.
Romy agreed and helped me pick out appropriate clothes. I remembered the last time she’d helped me pick out clothes, but there was no repeat performance in the dressing room. As soon as I mentioned informal office wear, Romy took my hand and directed me to a shop specializing in European and Asian designer men’s clothes. She attacked the racks of clothes with determination, already knowing my sizes from our previous shopping expedition. But the first things I tried on were too big. I’d definitely lost weight since I died. I’d gone from a 38 waist to a 32. When I suggested I could just grab something at a department store, she shook her head.
“Even in casual clothes, our man needs to look like he belongs with us,” she said.
I went into the dressing room and she handed me clothes, demanding that I let her inspect each item. I think she just enjoyed shopping. She showed me how to wear a linen blazer with the sleeves pushed up. The pleated slacks just felt like quality. She directed me to a pair of loafers and then had me purchase them in two different colors. She matched socks with the slacks.
It was all a lot fussier than I would have normally cared for. None of the clothes were washable, but had to be sent to a cleaner. My normal ‘style’ was to wear black socks with everything. It was easier to have all my socks the exact same color and style so I didn’t have to waste time matching them. She assured me that I didn’t need to worry about laundry. My clothes would always be fresh and in my closet thanks to Lisa, the housekeeper. And if I ever had a question about what went together, either Romy or Anya would be there to help.
It seemed like a lot of work to be passed off to a couple of women who were already insanely busy. I decided Romy needed a bit of a reward. I’d deal with rewarding Anya when we were together.
Romy was surprised when I led her into a women’s store we’d passed earlier. I’d seen a dress I felt was perfect for her. This time, I picked out the dress and estimated the size, then pushed Romy toward the dressing room to try it on.
She emerged looking like a wet dream. It was a grey blazer dress, just long enough to be reasonable for the office, or it could be worn over slacks. It had only two buttons and a collar line that plunged deeply, like any blazer would. I was surprised that Romy had removed her light cotton blouse, so the dress showed cleavage all the way to her sternum. She looked like a wet dream.
“You really are a pervert,” she whispered as she spun around for me to see from all sides. My mouth was open and I tried not to pant.
“I expected you’d keep the blouse on,” I managed.
“For the office, sure,” she said. “But not on a date. Do you like it?”
“I love it,” I said. I snatched my breath back before I said, ‘and you.’
“Me, too. May I have it?”
She was asking me to buy it for her? Well, that’s what I intended anyway. But asking my permission? Wow!