Page 26 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

When Deepa lifted one hand from the bath, Roz caught it and pressed a kiss to her painted fingertips. “A girl like you deserves to have someone pay her way without expecting anything in return.”

“If only.”

Roz’s lips were warm against her fingers, and Deepa missed the touch as soon as it was gone.

“If the world were so simple, I could just magic myself up stacks of gold and diamonds, and not have to rely on anyone paying my way at all.”

“That’d take some doing. Do you do your own work on those dresses? The charms, and the like?”

“No, I’m a bit useless with magic, to be honest.” Deepa called up a little illumination spell, sending a few spheres of soft, yellow light to float up to the ceiling like a cluster of paper lanterns. “That's about the extent of it,” she admitted. “If I could do anything more impressive, I’d be making use of it.”

“Seems you’re plenty talented in other areas. I've never had much of a knack for magic, either. Not in the traditional sense, at any rate.”

“In the untraditional sense?”

Roz smiled, dropping her gaze somewhere in the vicinity of the bathmat. “A bit of dreamwalking, I suppose you’d call it. Hasn’t got much use in the waking world, but it’s not nothing. It’s peaceful, like. I could show you sometime, if you wanted.”

Deepa hummed, soft and pleased at the offer, before slipping underwater. The bubbles felt like kisses against her cheeks as she submerged, wetting her hair to the roots before returning tothe air. The bubbles came up with her like she’d been crowned in honeycombs. Reaching over, Roz scooped them off before running one hand down the smooth, slick fall of Deepa’s hair. Using her forearm, Deepa lifted it away from the back of her neck. Her hair felt like an aquatic animal when it was wet, infinitely graceful in the water, and ungainly and difficult to manage out of it.

“Hand me the pink bottle?” she requested.

Roz plucked it from the row of bottles near the faucet, but didn't immediately hand it over. “Can I?” she asked, her thumb poised by the cap, waiting to flick it off.

When Deepa nodded her permission, Roz smiled to herself before squeezing a dollop of glittering pink liquid into her palm, eyeballing the quantity in comparison to the length and volume of Deepa’s hair, and then adding a little extra. Deepa turned ninety degrees to sit with her back to Roz, her chin tipped up and her eyes closed. Cupping her hands over the crown of Deepa’s head to shepherd the shampoo from one body to the next, Roz let it pour out before moving both hands down Deepa’s hair.

“I’m told I’m good with my hands,” Roz murmured, “but let me know if it’s too rough.”

Deepa had seen Roz throw a punch, had seen her elbow-deep in a toolkit for household maintenance, but she couldn't imagine her with a rough touch. Roz treated Deepa like she was something precious, made of rose petals or butterfly wings or gold filigree. The thought of her being too rough was laughable. Deepa felt worshipped, like she was something holy.

Roz gathered the swirls of Deepa’s hair from the water before returning to her crown, where the shampoo was sinking through the heavy layers. At first, Roz worked from the heels of her hands to the fingertips, massaging the shampoo into a lather. It smelled of sweet strawberries, nectarines, and coconut, and Deepa didn't have to open her eyes to know it foamed into aperfectly soft, baby pink shot through with sparkles. Rather than try to pile Deepa’s enormous length of hair atop her head to lather it manually, Roz let the shampoo run down and through it, setting her blunt nails to Deepa’s scalp.

Deepa bit back a moan as Roz got started, her nails scratching lightly against Deepa’s skin, sending little tingles over her skull and down her spine in shockwaves. It felt heavenly, in no small part because it was done with the sole purpose of bringing Deepa pleasure. Roz got nothing out of it, certainly, kneeling on the thin bathmat with her shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, bathwater and bubble bath dampening her front.

“Eyes shut,” Roz said softly. “Duck down and rinse.”

Deepa obeyed, returning to her original position to sink underwater for a second time. There, she held her breath as Roz reached into the bath to massage her scalp again, chasing away the lather. Deepa resurfaced before she ran out of air, coming up just enough to take another breath. She made a little island in the bath, the mountains of bubbles pushed to the edges, her hair streaming around her like an ink spill.

Glancing over, she caught Roz’s eye and nearly lost her breath all over again. No one had ever looked at her like that before, simultaneously hungry and gentle. Roz’s hair curled in the steam, escaping its careful style to tumble over her forehead and frame her eyes. The curls made her look ten years younger.

Carefully, without looking away, Deepa inched to the other end of the bath, her feet by the faucet, to lay back and soak her hair while leaving her face out. Roz rinsed her hair like Deepa was one of her engines, intricate and expensive, affording care to the smallest of details.

Laying there, half floating, the water the same temperature as her body, Deepa could almost believe she was dreaming. But the butterflies in her stomach and her hummingbird heart were tooaflutter to let her drowse off. Soothing as they were, every one of Roz’s touches made Deepa’s nerves sing.

One by one, the bubbles dissipated, revealing Deepa’s body an inch at a time. She could have soaked there until the water cooled and she was naked under Roz's gaze, waiting to see what Roz would do then. But her fingers and toes were already wrinkling up like little prunes, and there was only so long she could comfortably lay in a bath before her neck started hurting from the angle. More importantly, she didn’t want to waste the rest of her evening with Roz.

“Time?” she murmured.

“Ten to eleven.”

As soon as she wrapped one hand over the edge of the tub, Roz sat back on her heels, reaching for her towel. When Deepa stood, tepid water sloshing around her calves, Roz immediately wrapped her in the fluffy cloth and helped her out. Despite Roz’s actions, Deepa could tell that if she’d been content to stand there naked, Roz wouldn't have been shy about admiring her body.

The attention filled her with warmth, sparkling like a fresh bottle of champagne. Deepa was used to doling out her body in bite-sized pieces, either to string men along or reward them for their generosity. The men she baited were simple, in that respect, like dogs begging for a cut of steak. And she enjoyed their attention, but it was always a guarded enjoyment. The pressure to play the right part and look the right way to keep their interest was crushing. Any flaw on her part, any hint of vulnerability, and they would abandon her to find juicier meat elsewhere.

She felt no such pressure with Roz. Maybe it was because Roz knew what it meant to navigate the world as a woman, even if they had chosen drastically different approaches. Maybe it was because Roz couldn't afford to buy her diamonds and pearls, so the only thing Deepa risked losing was her company.

Deepa had always valued riches over anyone’s company. She preferred money to friendship, and diamonds to love. She’d thought herself ruthless and cold-hearted in that respect, and made her peace with it.

Roz made her feel…

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