Novel & Cerita Scotch On The Rocks

“It’s a Watermelon Cobbler, and I think that you’re going to like it.” “You do know I’m only 17 years old, right.” “So, you’re with me so don’t worry so much.” I took a sip of it and coughed a little bit. This is my first time with anything that had alcohol in it. I can hear him trying not to laugh about it, asshole. “What are you drinking?” “It’s a Scotch neat.” “Neat?” “Usually, people will have it on rocks, but I prefer it neat. Would you like a sip of it, but this drink might be too much for you to handle.”

Then he moves towards the liquor cabinet and grabs two tumblers from nook above it. “I can do with a drink. How about you?” he asks as he rolls his shoulders and shrugs out of this jacket. I move closer. “Hit me up. I definitely need something too.” He smiles and pours a tot of amber liquid into each glass, handing me one. I savor the rich notes of what is clearly a very good bottle of scotch, but sip at it carefully. I’m not all that fortified against hard liquor. Rocco throws the whole content of his glass back into this throat and reaches for the bottle again. Then he turns to me, a guarded look in his eyes.

"You've been going on about scotches for the last however many years. You and I are going to have a scotch. "Okay," I said slowly. "How do you want yours?" "I don't know. You order for both of us," she said. "It's not like I'm much of a fan, but it's something I've wanted to do with you." She watched me as I listened to the waiter's list of scotches. I gave him a few names for the good stuff. "Oban for both of us. Rocks for her, and another neat, but poured over ice for me," I told him. He started off, but she stopped him.

So instead of going straight to the hotel room, I drop by the hotel bar and sit at the counter, and order some drinks. “Evening, man. What can I get you?” a bartender with a happy mood comes in. I lift my head and nod at him, “Yeah, can I get some scotch?” “Clean or on the rocks?” he asks while preparing the glass. “On the rocks, bro, and make it two,” I order. “Oh, somebody’s starting really strong, tonight, any problems, man?” the bartender keeps on asking questions. “nothing, just wedding blues,” this is the excuse that I give.

Them being naked as their bodies grazed against each other. Hector cried out as he hurled the almost empty glass of scotch at the wall. The glasses he had bought was top notch so it didn’t break when it hit the wall. He couldn’t drink good scotch in the motel’s paper cups. It just wouldn’t have been the same and it seemed to cheapen the expensive beverage.

They were carefree, but deep down, they had a monster ready to take off in their body. When I kept asking for more drinks, the cheesy bartender, a seasoned professional with years of experience, greeted me with a warm smile. I wasn’t interested in him, I was interested in the various bottles lined up behind the counter, my eyes finally settling on a particular one - a premium single malt scotch. The bartender had poured a generous amount into a crystal glass, allowing the golden liquid to swirl and release its rich aroma. When I brought the glass to my nose, inhaling the complex blend of peat, oak, and fruit. I could feel my anticipation building as I took my first sip.

It was all about the image for him. “Scotch the way that I like. Show me the unopened bottles of the good stuff before you add it,” he said coldly. Yeah, he would not win any popularity contests with that pissy attitude of his. The bartender opened a box that contained five identical vials. The label on them read ‘Ashbane 3XR’ which did not ring any bells, but I would find out what it was. The Alpha bitch selected one, made sure to open it to verify that it had never been opened before, and handed it over to him. Three drops went into his scotch.

I wasn’t sure what alcohol it was, but it looked expensive. He poured two glasses a quarter of the way full and walked back over, taking his place next to me and handing me one of the glasses. “This is scotch from the 1800s. It’s well aged, sip it slowly.” He replied, while taking a very small sip of the scotch. I put the glass to my lips, inhaling the scent. It reminded me of a crisp autumn day when the leaves were falling in brilliant shades of oranges, yellows, and browns. It was difficult to describe.

"If I remember correctly, she's mine to do whatever I please with. Not yours." He looked at me for a while before raising his hands in surrender. "I get it." He got up to walk to the bar in the corner of my office. I watched as he brings a bottle of Dalmore 64 Trinitas, one of the strongest and most expensive bottle of scotch I own, and his tumbler.

“No, sir.” “Wouldn't you agree that it's better for everyone involved if I don't show up at all than fuck it up?” “I would sir.” “Then you know what you have to do.” I tilted my head back and my glass was empty again. “Yes sir.” I studied the empty glass. “One more thing.” “Sir?” “Send them bottles of fine scotch, will you? I've suddenly developed quite a taste for it.” Another hesitation. “Yes sir, but-”