Scotch On The Rocks Novels & Stories

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.

“You’ve testified that you served my client, Mr. Trent and the deceased. What were they drinking?” “Scotch,” Derrick said quickly. Lucien’s eyebrow rose. “Which scotch?” “The twelve-year.” Lucien flipped open a binder and held up a page. “This is the receipt from that night. The only scotch billed to the VIP room was a thirty-year Macallan. No twelve-year in sight.” He let the words hang, a noose tightening. “So tell me again, Mr. Holmes. What, exactly, did you serve?” The silence was brutal. Derrick stammered, “Maybe I—I got the year wrong—”

I open my mouth, but all that comes out is a nervous cough. He's even more striking up close - tall enough that I have to tilt my chin to meet his gaze. His presence is magnetic, commanding. "Sorry," I manage, my voice barely a whisper. "What can I get you?" "Scotch. Double." His voice is deep, gravelly, with a faint Italian edge. The sound rumbles through me, low and dangerous, like distant thunder. "Ice?" I ask. He just stares at me, silent. "Okay then," I mutter under my breath as I turn to pour the drink. "No ice, got it."

“I—think I’d better go.” “Couldn’t you at least have one drink so I could show you the pose I had in mind? Please?” Ashleigh lifted a tumbler she had waiting, opened the freezer door, and dropped a few ice cubes into it. “I promise I won’t keep you long.” She broke the seal on the bottle of scotch, screwed the cap off, and held it poised over the ice. “Please?” Her smile was soft. Her eyes had that sparkle children get when they’re excited and as she moved, the beads in her hair clinked against one another. She was much more relaxed here than she’d been in my house and I really didn’t have any reason to rush home. “Well, okay. Just one.”

“Hey man,” “Don’t ever-“ “Before you say anything,” Oliver interrupted Antonio. “I’ve got a good ol’ bottle of Glenfiddich I’ve been meaning to open,” Antonio was silent, debating whether he should accept the offer. Glenfiddich did sound nice. Oliver was one of the very few who understood his taste in liquor. “You know how much of a good listener I turn into when I’ve got some good single malt Scotch whiskey being poured into my glass,” Oliver said playfully.

"Blakely you should try scotch too." Suddenly Maxim shoved a glass of scotch at her, pale yellow with specks of bubbles on it. It took Blakely some time to understand Maxim's words and grabbed the glass from his hand. "You've been drinking brandy so cool, now you should try scotch too." "O-oh.." Staring at the pale yellow liquid, Blakely looked doubtful. "Is the scotch here so special?" "Of course." Antonio put his arm around her shoulder and clinked the tip of his glass against Blakely's. “You will never regret drinking it. The best scotch in Atlanta at Maxim's Club. I thought you might as well find the best scotch in New York."

But every muscle in my body was so tense, they were all about to lock up. “Scotch it is.” He got the attention of a waitress the second he looked across the room. When she came over, he immediately ordered two glasses of scotch on the rocks, and she disappeared. A moment later, she returned and placed the drinks in front of us. “Never met a woman who likes scotch.” “I only drink it occasionally.” After Bolton and I had a huge fight. On the nights when I felt so alone it seemed like I was the only person in the whole world. Right before bed when I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t remember my dreams.

"I would like a Dt. Pepsi please." I noticed that she laid her hand on my thigh, looking for comfort, and I loved the fact that she sought my comfort. "I will take a Pepsi." Paulette ordered a Mt. Dew and Rollings ordered a Dr. Pepper. Sam ordered a Sweet Iced Tea and Christian ordered a Rum & Coke on the rocks. Rollings then added a shot of Patron Silver tequila, and, of course, I ordered a scotch. Rae looked at me. "Are you okay?"

She wasn't much of a spirit drinker, but anything would do. Roman's office was a statement of the man himself. Everything was big, strong, and masculine. "Don't forget intimidating." Blair said to the empty room. Going to his desk, she opened the bottom drawer and pulled out the bottle of scotch that Roman kept there. Taking it, she sat down on his Chesterfield lounge near the window. She opened the bottle and took a drink. Almost coughing it back up. "Holy shit, this shit burns." Blair knew it was an expensive bottle. Because Roman only liked the best.

Such a conceited jerk he was! I approached the mahogany bar, running my fingers along its smooth surface, and surveyed the assortment of beverages. From top-shelf spirits to artisanal cocktails, the choices were plentiful. Tonight, I craved the deep warmth of a smoky scotch, its amber liquid swirling gently in a crystal tumbler. I reached for the bottle, the weight of it comforting in my hands.