Whiskey Tender Book Review Novels & Stories

Final. I pushed myself to my feet, legs stiff, and staggered toward the kitchen. The bottle of whiskey on the counter stared back at me. I hadn’t touched it in months. Ethan made me want to be better. Ethan made me believe I could be something other than Benson’s creation. Now I unhesitatingly reached for the bottle. The first gulp seared open my throat. The second numbed it. The third numbed everything. I slumped into a chair and cradled the bottle loosely between my fingers, staring at nothing. The room felt slanted. Off-balance. Wrong. Like the air was no longer the same texture.

No possibility of a man with bruised knuckles sliding a drink toward me and changing my entire life. I wanted a bar where nothing could happen. I sat at the counter and ordered whiskey because whiskey was what my father drank and I was too tired to make an original choice. The first one burned. The second one didn’t. The third one tasted like nothing at all and I stared at the wood grain and tried to remember the last time I’d felt like a person instead of a crime scene that people kept walking through with opinions about the evidence.

Tommy says and they clink their glasses against mine. The whiskey tastes good, burning a trail down my throat, and I briefly close my eyes and savor it. Tommy and Joey don't seem to understand the meaning of the word "savor" though and they pound their whiskey back like a shot. They engage me in meaningless conversation to pass the time and Tommy keeps the whiskey flowing. Before I know it, I'm laughing and sharing jokes, and my thoughts of revenge have moved to the back of my mind.

I shut the door with my foot, dropped the groceries on the counter, and went straight to the shelf in the corner where I kept the only bottle of elderflower whiskey that had survived the last full moon’s madness. My hands shook as I uncorked it. I didn’t bother with a glass before I took a swig. The first sip burned. The second was fire in my lungs. The third… dulled the edges. My quarters were silent except for the quiet clink of the bottle against my teeth and the occasional creak of wood settling. I didn’t light the candles. Darkness suited me just fine. At least it couldn’t reflect what I looked like right now— disheveled, hurt, pathetic.

The dog ran towards me, barking happily, and when he noticed that I was not in the slightest spirit, he ran all over the property, playing alone. Flynn was reclining in the chair, watching a large and brighter star than all the others in the sky. He didn't even blink when I sat next to him, in silence. A moment later, he stretched out his hand and handed me the bottle, in which I took a deep sip of the hot drink. The alcohol came down my throat and wrapped my nose with a burning sensation. I needed to be a very dead person inside to be able to drink whiskey straight from the bottle and without making an ugly face, because I almost gnashed my teeth with the burning that took my stomach when t

Some books rested in neat rows, others were stacked haphazardly, as if frequently pulled out. The desk, grand and imposing, is cluttered with an open book with delicate, curling pages, another facedown as if abandoned in haste; a bottle of whiskey, its amber liquid catching the sunlight, sat beside a heavy crystal tumbler, the glass half-full. I did not take Adonis for the reading type, guess I misjudged. He grabbed the half full glass and downed it. “You seemed so keen on leaving the last time, so why have you come back?”

B took another long gulp of whiskey. As he set the decanter down, not entirely sure he was ready to give up on the tip he was very much due, his light caught on an open book, a single unlit candle, and a box of matches. The book was splayed out in the center of the desk. A pair of small brass glasses with round lenses sat on top of the pages. B let himself fall into the deeply creased leather chair. WY had probably spent hours in this chair, pouring over his next big contract. B lit the candle and picked up the glasses. A passage in the book had been underlined with pencil.

FREDDY'S POV The whiskey ran down my throat like wildfire. I relished it. It was exactly what I needed right now. That burns against my own feelings. I sat, hunched over a half-full glass of whiskey, the half-full bottle just next to me. I swirled the amber liquid, following the movement with my eyes as though the answer to everything lay somewhere in it. Around me, laughter rang out.

She pushed that down deep, sipping from stored bags in the fridge. Rain hammered the windows that Tuesday night. Lydia sat at her desk, sorting through a box of new books. One caught her eye: Spirits of the Wild: Bindings and Releases. The cover was cracked leather, smelling like dirt and old forests. She flipped it open, her fingers brushing over faded words in some ancient tongue. "Just a peek," she told herself. Curiosity burned in her chest. She read the spell aloud, soft and quick, like testing a locked door. The air changed. It got heavy, like before a storm. Candles on the shelves flickered wild, shadows dancing on the walls. A rumble started low, from the book itself. Lydia's hands s

Whiskey + friends + secrets = big trouble coming, I literally saw her smirk. I walked down the dark hall to Jaxon’s room. The door creaked like it was laughing at me. I dropped to my knees, stuck my hand under the bed, and felt around. Bingo! An old school book with the middle cut out like a bad spy movie. Honestly I was dumb founded though, I had only watched these in movies and then read them in books. All these colleges from and movies from the earlier generations, life with boys, maybe It wasn't that bad, any way in side was a bottle of whiskey, golden and sloshing. My wolf perked up more, like “Ooh, what’s that?” I told it to calm down. “ Calm down girl I hate how you just get so curios