Page 17 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

“Oh, I’ve got to work harder? I see how it is. Well, I can do that.”

“Are you a very competitive person?”

“Yeah, I am,” Roz replied, easy and upfront. “Especially when it comes to outperforming men.”

“I don’t think that’s much of a challenge. Not the ones I’ve been going out with, anyway.”

“Let’s talk about literally anything else,” Roz suggested, and Deepa laughed and skilfully turned the conversation away from her past adventures.

“Can I walk you home?” Roz asked, after they’d cleared their plates and she had discreetly paid the bill without letting Deepa see. Deepa was very good at letting her dates pay while she pretended not to notice. “Do you live far from here?”

“Do you know The Songbird Club?”

Roz shook her head. “I’m not down in proper London much.”

“It’s about a half-hour walk from here. And I would very much like for you to walk me home.”

Outside, the air was cool, and the breeze was enough to raise a chill on Deepa’s arms.

“You good to walk a half-hour in your heels?”

“Would you carry me, if my feet started to hurt?”

“Yes,” Roz said immediately, no hesitation. “On my shoulders or on my back or in my arms, however you like, as far as you need.”

“I’m taller than you,” Deepa pointed out. “Can you even lift me?”

With a grin that said she knew exactly what Deepa was doing, Roz took the bait, getting one arm around Deepa’s back and the other under her knees to sweep her off her feet into a bridal carry. It didn’t take her an ounce of effort.

With a flounce of tulle and a breathless giggle, Deepa wrapped her arms around Roz’s shoulders, their faces an inch apart. “A regular knight in shining armour,” she murmured through her smile.

“I try to be.”

It would only take the smallest movement from either one of them to close the distance between their lips, and for a second, Deepa thought Roz was going to do it. But then Roz shifted her grip and gallantly set Deepa back on the ground, one hand at her elbow and the other in the small of her back. As soon as Deepa had her feet under her, Roz took her place at her side, offering her an arm as she slung her other hand in her pocket. Twitching her skirts back into order and tucking her hand in the crook of Roz’s elbow, Deepa set forth at a leisurely stroll, biting back the impulse to ask Roz to pick her up again.

“Good night for a walk,” Roz observed. “Shame you can’t see the stars in the city. Not that Manchester’s much better. You grow up here?”

“My mother and I came from Gujarat, in western India. You can see the stars there every night, no matter where you are.”

“You miss it?”

“Sometimes. Not all of it. I've made opportunities for myself in London I never could have found back home. But I do miss the stars. And the trees, and the fruit, and the smell of it all. I’m not sure I’d trade what I have here to go back, though. Certainly not yet.”

“Good.”

Deepa made an inquiring sound.

“Means I get to keep your company a bit longer,” Roz explained.

It was such a simple thing, but it made Deepa hum her approval and lean into Roz's side, letting the other woman take her weight for a moment. Roz held her like she’d been waiting for the opportunity, dropping her arm around Deepa's waist, her touch firm but respectful, and her body solid and unyielding.

Generally speaking, what Deepa wanted from her admirers was to be placed on a pedestal, adored, but unloving in return. She wanted to flirt, and tease, and attract all the attention in any given room, but she never, ever wanted to reciprocate. Matters of the heart were anathema to her, and she was fine with that.

Roz, though, made her feel like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Deepa hadn't felt like that since her first time going out with a man, when she’d still been vulnerable to flattery. If she ever felt that way about any of her current men, it could prove disastrous. She could hardly toy with as many men as she did, coaxing them to spoil her and fund her plans for a more comfortable life if she had tender feelings for any of them.

Roz, on the other hand, didn’t have the money to spoil her, pub food notwithstanding, nor the social standing to introduce her to London’s elite. Deepa could safely allow herself this one little crush, even if it didn't go anywhere. It might not be love, but it was something.

Though, if it were to go somewhere, that could be nice. Inexperienced as she was with women, Deepa knew her wayaround sex, and every instinct told her that a tumble in bed with someone like Roz could be fun. Her instincts had never suggested any such thing before.

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