Page 14 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

“One-minute break,” Aaliyah told her, “and then they’re back at it for two more rounds.”

“It looks exhausting,” Deepa said.

“Yeah, but imagine the adrenaline rush.”

“I’d rather get my adrenaline with less blood and sweat involved, thank you.”

“I'm with you,” Jasmine murmured, but neither she nor Deepa took their eyes from the ring.

CHAPTER SIX

WHEREIN THE VICTOR WINS A KISS

The second round went faster than the first, as if both fighters had got a feel for their opponent’s style. They were both bolder in their attacks and quicker to block, and the result felt like watching a brutal and fast-paced dance. They both landed such good hits, Deepa couldn't tell who was winning. All she knew was that Roz looked powerful and in control, even when taking a punch, and watching her made Deepa feel a certain kind of way. By the time the second round was called, Deepa was sweating, her heart beating hard as if she’d been the one in the ring.

“I don't know that I could watch this on a regular basis,” she admitted.

“Is it getting you all hot and bothered?” Aaliyah teased, then paused, rounding on Deepa with one accusatory finger poking her in the chest. “It is, isn’t it! My god, who would have guessed. Miss pillow princess over here with half the men in London tied around her finger, getting hot for a white butch in boxing gloves.”

“You'll have to hope she has a more delicate touch in the bedroom,” said Jasmine.

Resolutely refusing to blush, Deepa said, “I think you're both getting ahead of yourselves by a few steps.”

“Oh, are we?” Aaliyah demanded. “Because right now, you look ready to give her a lot more than a kiss if she wins.”

That might be true. And Deepa did desperately want Roz to win. As they entered the third round, there seemed to be little question of it. The other fighter was slowing down, having overexerted herself earlier, but Roz was steady as a rock. She didn’t waste time or energy showing off or making fancy moves. Patient as an ox, she waited until her opponent tired, leaving her a split-second opening, and then she struck. Two minutes in, she got the other woman with a series of three perfect hits: the first to her shoulder, knocking her back, the next to her abdomen, doubling her over, before finally socking her firmly in the chest. The woman dropped to her knees, and the entire crowd held their breath, Deepa included, waiting to see whether she would struggle to her feet to finish out the last sixty seconds.

She only got one foot under her before her body made it clear that while the spirit might be willing, the flesh was done for the day. Keeling onto her side with a groan, she admitted defeat before Lisa could count her out. The whistle split the air and the crowd burst into applause as Roz bent over to tap her on the shoulder with her giant gloves. Rolling onto her back, feet planted against the mat, the defeated fighter raised her arms so Roz could hook their gloves together and pull her up.

“Good fight,” Roz said with a broad smile, one arm around the other woman's shoulders in camaraderie.

Clearly exhausted but in good spirits, her opponent grinned back and knocked Roz’s elbow until, laughing, Roz raised both gloves in the air and accepted her victory. Deepa whooped alongwith everyone else, her voice so loud she barely recognised herself.

When Roz stepped out of the ring, breathless and glowing with sweat, her grin was wide and proud. Deepa caught her as soon as she pulled off her gloves, taking her by both wrists and leaning in to press a kiss, lingering this time, against her sweaty cheek. Roz froze under the touch, still as a mountain, only returning to life when Deepa pulled back with a smile. Roz’s eyes flashed to hers, searching, and Deepa slid her hands down Roz’s wrists to squeeze her fingers once before letting go.

“As promised,” Deepa said, fighting to keep her tone light and reasonable instead of sounding like she wanted to jump Roz on the spot. “You won the fight and got your kiss.”

“You’re a woman of your word.”

Kells came around offering bottled water, which Roz immediately claimed. Tipping her head back, Roz opened her mouth and let the water stream in, and Deepa could do nothing but stare. When she’d drunk her fill, Roz poured the rest of the water over her head, letting it splash down her chest and shoulders before shaking her hair like a dog and setting the empty bottle aside. Deepa was sufficiently distracted by the sight of Roz’s soaked top that the spray caught her, droplets freckling her face, as much sweat as water, and she flinched back, laughing.

Roz laughed louder as she set off for the rooftop door and the stairs down to the bar.

“So?” she called over her shoulder, in a clear invitation for Deepa to join her. “What did you think?”

“I still don’t know anything about boxing, but you seemed very good.”

Roz held the door for her, gesturing her down ahead. At the back of the bar, the staff lavatory had been converted to a makeshift changing room, where the other fighter was alreadypresent with her entourage. She and Roz greeted each other like long-lost friends, bumping fists as if they’d parted a lifetime ago instead of two minutes.

“More or less violent than you expected?” Roz asked, turning away from her friends to glance at Deepa before scrubbing a towel over her soaked hair.

“About what I thought it would be,” Deepa said. “Though I thought you might get a black eye or a bloody nose out of it.”

“Not supposed to hit the face if you can help it.”

Sitting on one of the two chairs, Roz picked out the laces of her boots before pulling them off and setting them aside. Her feet had nice arches, Deepa observed, like she could have been a dancer if she’d chosen a different path. When Roz next stood up, Deepa belatedly realised that she meant to remove her shirt. Her opponent had already stripped down to toplessness without Deepa noticing, preoccupied as she was.

“Should I go?” Deepa asked, directing her gaze to the ceiling. It was water-stained and ugly, grey with coffee-coloured rings of yellow-brown.

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