Page 54 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

With one hand, she held Deepa’s wrist like a steadying rock underneath her, keeping her in place. When she needed Deepa in a new position, she turned her like a painter positioning her model. Her calluses rasped delicately against the thin skin of Deepa’s inner wrist, where Deepa could feel her own pulse pounding. Roz’s skin was warm and dry, and Deepa made a study of the fine lines of her knuckles, the shapes of her fingernails, pared short and kept meticulously clean, the way the bones in the backs of her hands danced under her summer tan, and the dark mole like a single freckle at the base of her thumb.

No man had ever touched Deepa like that. She’d never allowed it nor wanted it. There was a studious reverence in everything Roz did with Deepa, like she was trying to commit her every facet to memory. Deepa had never wanted suchscrutiny from men, but Roz made her want to lay herself bare like a butterfly pinned to a board and invite countless hours of worshipful study. Because when Roz looked at her so intently, it meant she was allowed to look back.

Still, there was at least the pretence that they were there to box. So, when Roz had secured the last of the wrap around Deepa’s hand, fixing the loose end firmly to her wrist, Deepa didn’t grab Roz by her undershirt and drag her into a hungry kiss. Instead, she flexed her hands, testing the wrap and getting used to the way it squeezed, like she was still carrying Roz’s embrace even though they were no longer touching.

When Roz spoke, her voice was huskier than usual. “Let me walk you through the stances before we get the gloves on. Now, you want a lower centre of gravity so I can't knock you over. Keep everything loose, everything limber. Don’t lock your knees. And…spread your legs.”

“You say that to all the girls,” Deepa said, pretending the words didn't affect her as hotly as they did. Widening her stance, she bent her knees and brought her fists up in a rough approximation of a fighter. “Like this?”

“Gorgeous. You’re a knockout.”

“I don’t know; I think you could take me.”

“Do you want me to?”

Playfully, Deepa reached out like she meant to tap Roz with her knuckles, only for Roz to easily dodge, swatting her hand away. With a smile, Deepa darted closer, bobbing lightly on the balls of her feet as she pretended to be a boxer, looking for Roz’s weakness.

“How much of boxing is putting on a good show?” she asked, jabbing again as teasingly as a kitten with its claws extended. “Is there an art to it, or is it all about brute strength?”

“There’s an art,” Roz agreed, continuing to dodge and feint as if Deepa were a real opponent capable of landing a hit. It feltmore like warming up for a dance than anything approaching fighting. “But make no mistake, it is very much about hitting the other person.”

“Put my gloves on and show me how to throw a punch, then,” Deepa challenged.

But Roz shook her head. “I’ll show you how to make a fist, first.”

“Does that take a special technique?” Deepa balled up both hands and pretended to go for her again.

The next time Deepa extended her arm in a pretend blow, Roz caught her fist in an open palm and pulled Deepa to her, easily folding her in both arms and pinning her elbows to her sides. Breathlessly, Deepa went still except for her thrilling heartbeat, allowing herself to be contained.

“You've got your thumb on the inside,” Roz informed her, tapping Deepa’s knuckles without releasing her. “That's how it gets broken. You want your thumb outside your fingers, like this.” Opening Deepa’s hand like manually unfurling the petals of a flower, Roz gently repositioned her, lingering over Deepa’s closed fist when she was done. “You've got long nails, so you want to be careful of that, too.”

“Isn't this what the gloves are for?” Deepa asked, trying to find her voice through the steamy wave of arousal hitting her at Roz’s prolonged touch. “To protect my hands as much as my opponent?”

“Sure, but it’s good to know the right form going in. Same way it's good to know all the tools in your kit before you get to work on your first engine.”

“I don’t know if that’s much applicable to me.”

Roz just grinned. “A week ago, you wouldn't have guessed boxing would be applicable, either.”

“Or sapphism,” Deepa agreed, pressing against Roz's front. “And now look at me.”

“I haven’t been able tostop.” Roz’s voice was practically a growl, the arm she had around Deepa’s middle squeezing against her ribs, like she wanted to press Deepa all the way into her and never let her go.

“Good. I don’t want you to.”

“All eyes on you, all the time, right?” Roz’s tone carried a hint of melancholy urging Deepa to pay attention.

“Right now, it’s only your eyes I care about.”

Turning in Roz’s grasp so they stood facing each other, their bodies pressed together all the way down, Deepa dared Roz to suggest that she wanted anything other than what she had right in front of her.

“Are you going to teach me how to throw a punch?” Deepa asked, one hand high on Roz’s chest, where her skin was bare above her undershirt.

“Yeah,” Roz breathed, looking up at her with her hands on Deepa’s waist.

“You’re going to teach me how to win a fight?”

“I’ll do my best.”

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