Seize it (mob Tom x reader)

Chapter 4: belive me

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"Do you guys own the place or something?" I asked.

"Or something," Tom said. I knew I wouldn't get any farther, and frankly I didn't care enough to press, so I just turned to Harrison and April.

"You owe me a drink, Haz," I said. "I told April you were buying tonight."

"Haz?" he repeated, a grin on his face. "Where'd you hear that from?" I jabbed my thumb in Tom's direction even though he was already at the bar away from us. Harrison just laughed and nodded. "As you wish. What're you drinking?"

"Tequila lemonade?"

"You got it."

April joined him to get the drinks while I sat alone on a couch in the area of the club they left me in. The music was loud and there were sweaty bodies everywhere dancing and grinding against each other. I watched people, as usual. Everyone was dressed for a night out- tight dresses and button-up shirts. As my eyes scanned the room, I swore I saw the same three men in a corner booth that I had seen when April and I were out to eat with Harrison and Tom a few weeks ago. I figured I must've been imagining it, and when they looked in my direction I looked away.

Tom made his way over to me before Harrison and April did. He handed me a drink, and I raised my eyebrows at him. "Harrison told me to give it to you," he said motioning for me to take it.

"Oh did he?" I said. "And how do I know you didn't drug it?" He seemed to tense the minute the words left my mouth, but I convinced myself I was wrong.

"And what would I get out of drugging your drink?" he asked. "How would that benefit me at all?"

"Look, I don't know what sick twisted motives you have," I said. "I'm still not entirely convinced you're not a psychopathical rapist."

"Okay," Tom said slowly. "We don't have time to unpack all of that." I scoffed. "First, I'm pretty sure psychopathical isn't a word. Second, I'm way more interested in fucking girls who want to fuck me back, which-" He motioned around the room. "-aren't hard for me to find."

"You know," I said, "if you don't want me to think you're an asshole, it might help if you stopped fitting the stereotype of one."

"Oh, I don't care if you think I'm an asshole, sweets," he said, sipping from his drink. I scoffed and finally took a large gulp of my drink.

"I'm going to ask you something." I figured it was better to tell him rather than ask for permission. He seemed interested, his eyebrows raising in curiosity. "Why don't you and Harrison ever go to clubs alone?"

"How do you know we don't go to clubs alone?" Tom asked taking a seat, scooting closer to me, but not to the point that we would be touching.

"April told me it's a "thing," I said. "She told me it's a bro thing." Tom scoffed and took another drink from his glass.

"When you've had as many bad nights out as we have, you sort of develop a system," he said.

"Oh?" I said. "What kind of bad nights?"

He chuckled dryly. "Sweetheart, you don't even want to know." I rolled my eyes.

"You're so dramatic," I said. Tom just chuckled, and I took a long drink from my glass and scanned the crowd. Harrison and April were already dancing together, which made me sigh and bring the drink up to my lips again.

As much as I liked to argue with April and tell her I was content alone, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy when I watched her. Maybe companionship would be nice. Also my box of chocolate could not replace the real thing, and I hadn't picked up a decent guy in ages. I gave up on Tinder as soon as the sexy 26-year-old ended up being a 43-year-old hooked on cocaine. The 40-something-year-old I could handle. The lying and drugs were not my thing. Plus, I hadn't been out clubbing in a while -not able to afford the lifestyle- so I didn't exactly frequent any spaces popular for hook-ups.