Whiskey Tender Book Review Novels & Stories

I found myself reaching for a bottle of whiskey, and the need to numb the pain, to drown out the chaos in my mind, became too strong to resist. With a swift movement and the aching pain searing in my chest, I uncorked the bottle of whisky and poured myself a generous amount into the empty glass. In one swing, I gulped down the contents of the glass, feeling the burning sensation in my chest. I didn't stop; I took another and then another until the burning sensation in my throat was the only thing I could feel. I drowned in whiskey, hoping to numb the ache that Valeria’s rejection had carved into me, but it didn’t work. The alcohol did nothing to quiet the relentless thoughts of her.

I pull my hand away gently with slight embarrassment to which he responds with the most seductive twitch of a mischievous smirk at the corner of his mouth. He raises his glass of what looks like whiskey without a word as if to silently request that I drink with him. I give him a subtle nod of agreement before turning towards the bar to get my own drink. Normally I wouldn’t be caught dead drinking alcohol which inebriates my senses and slows my reflexes, an assassin’s worst nightmare. I relent this once because I am so curious about this breathtaking man and I want to keep talking to him privately. I have to quickly whisk him away from all these beautiful noble ladies that have way more to of

She was terrified, and she had every right to be. I tossed the burner phone onto my desk. It landed with a loud clack against the wood. I reached for the crystal decanter and poured myself three fingers of amber whiskey. The liquid caught the firelight, glowing like gold. I lifted the glass and took a slow, deliberate sip. The alcohol burned nicely down my throat, matching the heat of the fire.

he said, stepping behind her. She obeyed. His hand brushed down her spine, fingers grazing every vertebra. The touch was light, maddening. When he reached the small of her back, he leaned in. His mouth hovered near her ear. “You know what makes your stories so dangerous?” he whispered. “They were begging to be made real.” She whimpered, barely able to hold still. He moved in front of her again and brought the glass to her lips. “Drink.” She sipped the whiskey. It burned her tongue, her throat, her chest. But it grounded her. Reminded her she was real. Alive. Here.

Carolina I pick up the glass and take a tiny sip. The whiskey itself is acrid and dry, but overall, it isn't bad—not that I particularly know what I'd be looking for. But to get in on the joke, I make a big show of spluttering, wrinkling my nose in disgust as I slam the glass back on the table. "That's disgusting," I declare. "The worst whiskey I have ever tasted." Evans looks at me, incredulous. "Oh, for the love of—"

I stood up from bed, picked up a black shirt, put it on, and then put on gray sweatpants, and then made it out of my building. I drove to the closest bar. “Whiskey.” I said to the bartender, Todd, a dark-skinned guy in his early twenties, stepped forward with a nod. “Rough night, Prof?” He asked. “Rough decade.” He chuckled and handed me my whiskey. I took a quick swing and sighed as the liquid burned my throat straight down to my stomach. “Nice.” “Yeah. Took out the good stuff just for you, prof.” “Appreciate it, Todd.”

To be attracted to another? Feeling brazen, all of a sudden, I accept the drink and lift the cup to my lips. The smell of it hits my nose, a burning forest being extinguished with honey, and my eyes water. I hold my breath and tilt the glass. The whiskey spills over my lips and teeth and submerges my tongue. It's pleasant at first, then leaves a trail of smoke and fire in its wake. Grimacing, I swallow with a hiss, baring my teeth. "How can you drink this?"

Sliding onto a worn barstool, I motioned to the bartender, a grizzled old rogue with a long scar running down his jaw and growled, “Whiskey. The strongest you’ve got.” “Y-yes Alpha,” He nodded stiffly, and then he circled to grab a bottle. I silently watch him as he turned again and poured a dark amber liquid into a thick glass, and slid it toward me. I didn’t hesitate. The burn of it hitting my throat was strong and welcoming. I didn’t count the seconds, minutes… I just let the ache in my chest settle as the liquor numbed the edges. “Hello handsome…” Her voice was like silk dipped in honey.

I was there for their entertainment and amusement. After pouring some ice into the cup, The whiskey flowed into the cup, its golden liquid pouring smoothly into the glass. The ice cubes softly clink, releasing a gentle sound. As the whiskey touches the glass, its aroma rises, filling the air with warmth. The liquid swirls, releasing its rich scent, and inviting the senses to savour the moment. I never appreciated pouring whiskey before but it was a way to distract myself. After filling the cup, I walked slowly to Mikhail. His blank gaze never leaves, and our skin grazes each other. His touch was as electrifying as I remembered it.

The waiter asked, having responded to the signaled call. "Give me a bottle of red wine, cold whiskey and champagne. Make certain that the champagne isn't cold. How do you prefer your wine, miss Nelly?" "Chilled." She replied eagerly. "Well you heard the young lady, so go get our orders." "Yes sir" the waiter replied and walked away. "Don't give me that look. You told me yourself that cold whiskey was your favorite alcoholic drink. In your exact words 'cold whiskey knows how to whisk me away from a cold situation.' Remember?