Novel Pizza Chicago Novels & Stories

"I'm not sure I brought the proper wardrobe for the restaurants you're used to. I don't suppose you'd be down for ordering a pizza? There must be some good pizza places around here." "Actually, I don't know," he says. "It's been a while since I've had pizza." I eye him suspiciously. "How long is ‘a while'?" He shrugs. "A year or two." I gape at him. "A year? How have you survived that long without pizza?" "There are plenty of delicious places - " "Back in high school, I once saw you eat two large pizzas all by yourself. You love pizza. And now you're telling me that you haven't had pizza in a year? When you live in the pizza capital of the world?"

Her face and hands were wrinkled and her hair was colored ash grey, but the smile on her face was genuine and her eyes sparked kindness. I looked at the varieties of T***s in the display cabinet and my eyes lit up when I saw my favorites. "Can I have a Tray Of Montaditos." I asked, loosening myself out of Flynn's grip so I could get my t***s. "You don't want t***s Vasilios?" "Sure, Can I have a slice of chorizo pizza?" I never saw him as a pizza guy, but damn this boy was full of surprises. The old lady nodded and went to take a pizza for him. He was about to get his credit card, but I beat him by giving mine to the old lady.

Chapter One Never in her life has Mia experienced such a strong desire for pizza. She slumped onto the couch after kicking off her heels and let her feet be massaged by the warm carpet. Emails were building up, meetings were running late, and her boss was breathing down her neck like a tyrant. It had been one of those days. The only things she desired were a big, creamy pizza and privacy. She was ready to place her order when her phone chimed. With a frown, she opened it. Her pulse skipped a beat as she received a text from Jake, her next door neighbor—the one with the steady smile and the body that would not be ignored

Alfie almost tossed the box at her. Caera carefully opened it, and the smell made her mouth water. Nothing like pizza in Chicago; they couldn’t be too far from the city if they delivered pizza. With that thought, Caera dug into the pizza, almost eating the whole thing herself. Alfie chuckled at the look of horror on her face.

Peter calmly and sincerely spoke. Gracie’s warm smile reaches up to her eyes after hearing this, she took a breath in, to process the conversation, then slowly exhales. A knock at the door, Gracie goes to open the door, It’s the pizza! “This pizza is so good, it definitely hits the spot.” Gracie takes a bite of the pizza tasting the warm crust, red tomato sauce, and the gooey cheese, along with the meat and veggies. Peter ordered the works. Canadian bacon, sausage, onions, green peppers, spinach, mushroom, black olives, and pineapples. The pizza restaurant also offers wheat crust, so Peter requested it, just for Gracie. The two chat, eat pizza, have hard cider ales, and laugh to each other.

"In that case, I think the pizza can wait." End of Book One: Incendiary

My brooding thoughts shut my senses, not realizing they were already moving. “Nothing.” I dashed to catch up with them. Even so, I didn’t have the guts to ask. “Li?” Wilt called. “I think we’re almost there.” We were heading for the restaurant that Li found on the internet when he got used to his cell phone. He said that their vegetarian-styled pizza was a certified gold-class gourmet in the city.

I reply, biting my own lips as I try to smother another moan. "Good." His hand move down to my zipper leaving heat in its trail. "This is so good," I bite into a chess slice of pizza to distract myself from my wild thoughts. We had pull up to a fancy 24-hour pizza parlor. After ordering and much fussing over who should pay the bill, we decided to split it before finding a seat. "I know this place is so great!" she exclaimes, biting into her own slice. "They make the most amazing pizza."

“Specifically from Alessandro’s over on Grand Street.” I blinked, the name dragging a dormant memory from the back of my mind. Alessandro’s. It was an absolute hole-in-the-wall Italian joint with mismatched wooden chairs and a menu written in smudged white chalk. “Alessandro’s?” I repeated, my voice slightly incredulous. She nodded, her confidence completely unwavering. “Best pizza in the entire city. Hands down.” “Fine. Pizza it is.” I said, turning the wheel and heading toward Grand Street.

I rolled my eyes, tucking my hands into my shorts. I still bet it’s just pancakes and bacon. That’s the only thing these white folks ever eat. Despite the low golden lighting emanating from a modern chandelier hanging overhead, the sight of the food spread across the solid oak table made my eyes widen and my mouth water. The deep-dish pizza sat steaming, its thick crust cradling layers of cheese and bright tomato sauce. Next to it, Italian beef sandwiches gleamed with their rich juices, sharp giardiniera piled on top like confetti. A row of Chicago-style hot dogs, crowded with pickles, tomatoes, and mustard, looked almost too colorful to disturb. And in the middle? The bowl of Garrett’s popc