The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback (Astra and Zayne) novel Chapter 43

Chapter 43

Chapter 43

ZANE

The bus finally hissed to a stop in the Westbridge Academy parking lot.

I didn’t move right away. My eyes stayed locked on Astra as she stood quickly, clutching that damn clipboard like a shield. She looked flushed, slightly disheveled, and clearly still affected by the last three hours of me sitting next to her.

Perfect.

She should be.

I watched her smooth down her skirt with shaky hands before slipping straight into “President” mode, calling out instructions to the committee members, checking names off her list, making sure everyone had what they needed.

She was too damn capable.

It irritated me how naturally she took charge, how people actually listened to her. She wasn’t supposed to stand out here. She was supposed to stay small. Invisible. Mine to control.

Coach Benson’s voice boomed from the front.

“Football team! With me. Visiting locker room, now. Let’s get changed and run through final plays. Captain, lead the way.”

I stood slowly, towering over everyone as I stepped into the aisle.

My eyes never left Astra.

She was coordinating with Elizabeth, Priya, and a few other girls near the front, pointing toward the visitor stands. Jason hovered near her like a fucking lapdog, saying something that made her nod and give him a small smile.

My jaw tightened.

I wanted to drag her away from all of them.

Instead, I followed the team off the bus, shoulder-checking a freshman who moved too slowly. The cold evening air hit me as I stepped down, but it did nothing to cool the heat still burning beneath my skin.

Coach Benson clapped his hands.

“Alright, boys. Visiting locker room is this way. Gear up, tape up, and get focused. Ashton, you’re with me first. We’re going over the game plan one more time.”

I gave one last glance over my shoulder.

Astra was walking toward the visitor side with her committee, clipboard in hand, ponytail swinging. She looked small in that oversized hoodie, curvy hips swaying slightly as she moved. Professional. Focused.

Completely unaware of how badly I wanted to ruin that focus.

I turned and followed Coach and the team toward the locker room building attached to the stadium. The away-game atmosphere was the same as always, hostile home crowd already filling the stands, rival players eyeing us from their side, the distant sound of their band practicing.

We filed into the visiting locker room. It smelled like old sweat, bleach, and rivalry. Lockers lined the walls, benches in the center. The guys started stripping down, pulling on pads and jerseys, talking shit about Westbridge.

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Chapter 43

I changed quickly, muscle memory taking over as I pulled on my navy jersey with the big white “C” on the chest.

Quarterback. Captain. The face of Harrington football.

But my mind wasn’t on the game.

It was on her.

On how she’d trembled beneath my hand on the bus.

On how hard she’d tried to ignore me while her body betrayed her.

On how she’d leaned closer while I pretended to sleep, thinking I wouldn’t notice.

I slammed my locker shut harder than necessary.

Tyler raised an eyebrow. “You okay, Captain?”

“I’m fine.”

Coach called us into a huddle for final instructions. I listened enough to nod at the right moments, but my eyes kept drifting toward the small window facing the visitor stands.

I could barely see her.

Astra was directing a group of students setting up banners and organizing the student section. Even from here, I could tell she was fully in control, focused and determined to make herself useful.

My chest tightened with something ugly.

She shouldn’t be out there looking like that.

She should be where I could keep an eye on her. Keep her close.

“Zane,” Coach Benson said sharply. “You hearing me?”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I got it.”

He studied me for a second longer than I liked before eventually nodding.

“Alright. Warm-ups in ten. Let’s destroy these fuckers.”

The team started filing out toward the field.

I hung back for a moment, staring out that small window again.

Astra was laughing at something Priya said, checks pink from the cold air. Jason stood beside her carrying a box of glow sticks, way too close for my liking.

My hands clenched into fists.

She’s mine.

Not his.

Not this school’s.

Not even her own anymore.

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Chapter 43

I turned away from the window and followed my team out, the dark hunger in my chest growing stronger with every dep

This game didn’t matter.

The only thing that mattered was getting through it so I could get back to her.

And remind her exactly who she belonged to.

I shoved the thought aside as we stepped onto the field. The cold night air hit my face, sharp and clean, carrying the roar of the home crowd already filling the stands. Westbridge Academy’s stadium was loud tonight, louder than usual for an away game. Their fans were already chanting, trying to intimidate us before we even stretched.

Good.

I needed something to hit.

Coach Benson clapped his hands sharply as we gathered near the sideline.

“Warm-ups! Let’s go! Focus on your assignments. Ashton, you lead the QBs and receivers. Get loose, get sharp. We’re not leaving here with a loss.”

I nodded once and jogged out with the team.

The turf felt solid beneath my cleats. Familiar. This was where I had control. Where everything made sense. No complicated bullshit. No soft curves or trembling breaths.

Just football.

We started with light jogs, then dynamic stretches. I led the quarterbacks through footwork drills, barking orders when someone’s drop looked sloppy.

“Again,” I snapped at one of the backups. “Your feet look like they’re stuck in mud. Fix it.”

The kid nodded quickly and reset.

I rolled my shoulders, feeling the familiar burn in my muscles. My arm felt strong tonight. The ball was going to fly.

That’s when I saw them.

Westbridge’s team was warming up on the far side of the field, but their captain was already making his way toward the fifty- yard line like he owned the place.

Ryan Sinclair.

Tall, built like a linebacker who decided to play quarterback, with that cocky swagger and perfect pretty-boy smile that made girls stupid. Blond hair, sharp jaw, and an ego bigger than his arm talent. We’d hated each other since freshman year.

He spotted me and grinned, that arrogant, shit-eating grin I wanted to punch off his face.

“Ashton!” he called out, loud enough for both teams to hear.

A few of his teammates laughed.

I stopped mid-throw, ball still in my hands, and stared at him with pure disgust.

“Get the fuck away from me, Sinclair,” I growled, voice carrying across the field. “Before my fist finds its way into your face again.”

Ryan’s smirk faltered for half a second before widening.

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