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Somehow that makes it easier to breathe.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DELANEY
By the time I reach for my second piece of pizza, I’ve decided apartment hunting burns enough calories to justify it.
Girl math.
As soon as I lift it from the box, a thick ribbon of mozzarella follows. And follows. And follows.
I raise the slice higher. The cheese pull stretches nearly a foot before Bishop lets out a low whistle. “Impressive.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“Wasn’t talking about you.”
“Rude.” I twist the slice until the cheese finally breaks, then take a bite. Mmm. Worth the effort.
The crust is buttery and crisp along the edges; the sauce is tangy with just enough sweetness; and the pepperoni has spice but not too much. The mushrooms are buried beneath a ridiculous amount of hot mozzarella.
He shakes his head and reaches for another slice.
“Okay,” I mumble around the bite. “This might be the best thing about Chicago so far.”
Bishop looks offended. “Better than your coffee shop?”
I pause mid-chew. “Okay. Second best.”
“Knew it.”
“Midnight Press has books.”
“How do you know this place doesn’t?”
I stare at him. “Have you ever seen a pizza place with a bookstore?”
He considers it for a second. “No, but now there’s an idea.”
“Oh, God.”
“Think about it. Pizza. Books. We franchise the shit out of it.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’d ruin it by putting protein powder in the pizza dough.”
He points his cheese stick at me. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”
“And we’re done.” I shut him down before he can turn my imaginary bookstore-pizzeria into some kind of athlete-fueling nightmare.
I set my half-eaten piece down while I try to decide if I have it in me to finish it. The pizza box sits open between us on the coffee table, along with cheese sticks we definitely didn’t need, beer for him and a Diet Dr Pepper for me.
Chicago might be trying to bankrupt me with rent, but the pizza almost makes up for it. Almost.
Bishop grabs another cheese stick and stretches out beside me, one arm across the back of the sectional.
