Scotch On The Rocks Novels & Stories

the man stood, and instead of filling the other glass, he grabbed the eighteen years old bottle of scotch and drank straight from it in several long gulps. I bet he wouldn't do half of what I would do to you, I thought in my mind as I watched him gritting my teeth so hard, I was surprised I didn't hear one break. "That's a very expensive scotch, you animal," I said, still calm as ever. Ethan just lay in the shadows watching and observing, he was so still and quiet you would never notice he was there. Hell, the fool himself wasn't aware. I got a grunt in response as my so-called "guest" flung himself naked on the other patio chair.

SONG PLAYED: “Who Do You Want” by Ex habit. THE MONSTER YOU MADE. ~ALEXANDRO’S POV~ I made my way to the bar like a man with all the time in the world and none of the patience. The crystal decanter waited, filled with the kind of aged scotch that bit like betrayal and soothed like a lover’s lie. My fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle. I poured two glasses like I had a goddamn degree in it.

“Not today, my man! I need something stronger. So… I will have a finger of The Sassenach, though… Neat.” Raising a questioning eyebrow, Dustin reached for one of their finest blended scotches. “Sure, boss!” He reached for the bottle at the top of the display and carefully poured out a serving. “That’s a strange order for you. You don’t normally drink at all, let alone here. What’s up with you?” “Why does anything need to be up?” he demanded. “Victor, you’re my friend and we know each other for a long time. You’re a creature of habit, some might think you’re bordering on workaholic. And you just asked for a Sassenach… neat… What exactly is going on here?”

I smiled back and watched him as he disappeared towards the party. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * [ R Y D E R ] Scotch. Now that's the stuff. Nothing like a good old scotch to drown away your pain. I was sitting alone at the bar, minding my own business, when a voice suddenly called out to me. "Hey, where's your lady friend?"

He was still focused on his laptop, his face lit by the blue glow of the screen. "I don't want to bother you." "You're already bothering me. Might as well commit." She couldn't tell if he was joking. His voice gave nothing away. Slowly, she walked to the island and sat on the stool across from him. Far enough that there was no chance of accidentally touching. Close enough that she could see what he was drinking. "Is that whiskey?" "Scotch. Macallan 25." She had no idea what that meant, but it sounded expensive. Everything in this house was expensive.

With a single shake of his head, he left the office for his own, determined to dig it out of Christian. Christian poured himself a glass of The Dalmore Constellation 1964 scotch. He chugged the expensive liquid in one gulp. He merely blinked as it burned his throat, he placed the glass on the cabinet. His thoughts drifted yet again to the girl, he cussed himself for not asking her name. He had no idea about where she lived, he didn't get her phone number either.

she smirked, watching the bar man finally appear with a bottle of scotch in his left. “Yeah, I try. Thanks”, he said, switching attention to the bar man. He took the entire bottle of scotch and almost like a professional, cocked it open and let it rain into his small tumbler. Well it was all professional until the part where he poured scotch into a tequila glass. “Scotch? What’s the occasion? She smiled, watching him unhurriedly gulp down on his expensive drink. “Well, got a well-paying job today, but it sucks balls so this is basically m enjoying what I have before I’m given the big boot.”

“Would you care for more drinks?” “Yes, I’ll have another scotch on the rocks,” he looks at me. “Make that two,” I say morosely and ignore the mild look of surprise in the stewardess’ eyes.

"Come on in." He hurriedly rose and made his way to the bar. He waited outside on a stool as she went behind it. She began examining each bottle one by one. "We ought to probably stick to materials that he has plenty of. If we finish the last few sips of one of his expensive scotches, he would undoubtedly notice, but look here." She reached for a three-quarters full, already-opened bottle of Skyy vodka. Dad wouldn't even notice if we took a couple of pictures of this.

I heard Dawson’s voice, it was now calmer, but filled with urgency. I concentrated on filling the two glasses in front of me with golden colored scotch before I responded to his question. When I was done, I slid one of the glasses to his end and took a sip. He picked up the scotch but didn’t drink it; rather he just stared at the liquid as if it was some strange substance he hadn’t seen in his life.