The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback (Astra and Zayne) novel Chapter 63

Chapter 63

Chapter 63

ASTRA

I sat across from him in the library, trying my best to focus.

Zane was working on the Calculus problems I had given him. His head was slightly bowed, thick dark brows furrowed in concentration as his pen moved across the paper. The way his broad shoulders filled out that casual ash t-shirt made it hard to look away.

He wasn’t bad at this.

Not at all.

In fact, he was really intelligent. Once he focused, he solved most of the questions quickly and accurately. It was almost frustrating how sharp he could be when he actually tried.

A few minutes later, he slid the paper toward me without a word.

I took my red pen from my bag, my hands slightly shaky under his heavy stare. I marked the five questions carefully.

He failed only one.

I circled the mistake gently and looked up at him.

“You almost got everything right,” I said softly. “This one here… you mixed up the chain rule application. See?”

I turned the paper toward him and began explaining step by step, drawing small arrows and rewriting the correct process. My voice stayed calm and patient, even though my heart was racing the entire time.

Zane watched me closely. Too closely. His green eyes didn’t leave my face as I spoke. Every time I glanced up, he was staring, intense, and completely focused on me instead of the math.

When I finished explaining. I slid the paper back to him.

“Try it again,” I whispered.

He didn’t move to pick up the pen right away.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, still watching me like he’d just noticed something he couldn’t stop thinking about.

“You’re really good at this,” he said “Explaining things. Taking care of people.”

My cheeks warmed.

“I just… I like helping.”

Zane’s gaze dropped to my lips for a second before returning to my eyes.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I can see that.”

The air between us felt thick again.

I quickly looked back down at the textbook, trying to ignore the way my pulse kept racing every time he looked at me like

that.

We worked through the rest of the Calculus problems in relative silence. He got four out of five correct on the next set.

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When we finally finished the Calculus section, I let out a small breath and closed the book.

“That’s enough for Calculus today,” I said softly. “You did well. Really.”

Zane leaned back in his chair, watching me with that same intense stare.

I cleared my throat and reached for another book from the stack.

“We should move on to British Literature. You have a test coming up on Romantic poetry, right?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes dragged slowly from my face down to where my hands were fidgeting with the edge of the book.

“Yeah,” he finally said, voice low. “Let’s do that.”

I opened the Literature textbook and slid it toward the middle of the table so we could both see.

We started going through the assigned poems. I explained the themes, symbolism, and historical context as best as I could. Zane listened, occasionally asking short questions, but his attention never felt fully on the page.

It felt like it was on me.

Every time I glanced up to check if he understood, his green eyes were already waiting on me, making my cheeks heat up again and again.

“You’re distracted.” I murmured after the third time I caught him staring at my mouth instead of the text.

Zane’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk.

“Can you blame me?” he said quietly. “You’re sitting here looking all soft and smart, explaining poetry to me while I keep remembering how you looked with my fingers in your mouth.”

My breath hitched.

“Zane…” I whispered, glancing nervously toward the library door even though we were alone.

He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping even lower.

“Keep teaching me, Astra. I’m listening.”

But the way his eyes burned into me told a completely different story.

I swallowed hard and tried to focus on the next poem, but my hands were trembling slightly on the page.

This tutoring session was going to be much harder than I thought..

I flipped to one of the assigned poems and slid the book a little closer to him.

“Okay… let’s try this one,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron. Read it out loud and tell me what you understand from it.”

Zane leaned forward, eyes scanning the page lazily. He read it in that lazy drawl of his, each word sounding almost mocking.

“She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies:

And all that’s best of dark and bright

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Meet in her aspect and her eyes…”

He stopped halfway and leaned back with a smirk.

“It’s just some guy simping over a girl,” he said cynically. “He sees a hot woman and starts waxing poetic about how she’s perfect. Dark and bright, whatever. Basically saying she’s hot and he wants to fuck her.”

My eyes widened.

“No, that’s not…” I shook my head quickly. “It’s not just that.”

Zane raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my reaction.

I took a breath and tried to explain properly.

“It’s about harmony and contrast,” I said softly. “Byron is saying that true beauty isn’t just physical. It’s the perfect balance of light and darkness, innocence and sensuality, day and night. He’s describing a woman whose inner beauty matches ker outer beauty. The tender light’ he mentions isn’t just about her looks, it’s about her soul. How she carries both strength and gentleness at the same time.”

I glanced up at him.

“It’s romantic because he sees her as this rare, almost heavenly balance. Not just someone to sleep with.”

Zane stared at me for a long moment, his green eyes intense.

Then he smirked again, slower this time.

“So you’re saying he’s obsessed with her,” he murmured. “Wants to own every part of her, body and soul.”

My cheeks heated up.

“That’s…. not exactly what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, voice dropping.

“Kind of like how I look at you.”

The air between us thickened instantly.

I quickly looked back down at the book, heart racing.

“Let’s…. let’s move to the next stanza,” I whispered, trying to regain control of the session.

But Zane’s amused chuckle told me he had no intention of making this easy for me.

I cleared my throat and continued anyway.

“Read the second stanza, please.”

Zane leaned back lazily in his chair, eyes never leaving my face as he recited:

“One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress.

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Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.”

He finished and raised an eyebrow at me, clearly waiting for my reaction.

“What do you think it means?” I asked.

Zane smirked.

“He’s… saying even a tiny change would ruin her perfection. Like she’s so flawless that adding or removing anything would break the balance. Basically, she’s hot and he’s simping even harder now.”

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