She has no shame, just storms right into the locker room while he's pulling up his blue jeans and slams his locker door shut.

"I didn't steal Finnocence away from the knee-socked gnome so he could crawl back to wonder Barbie. If you can't keep your girlfriend happy…" she trails off, her eyes traveling away from his face, taking in his bare chest still wet from the first warm shower he's had in months. "Hmmm," she hums, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. "Maybe you aren't the problem."

She steps closer, pushing his jeans over his hips and he's so tired of being teased, of being turned on just to be turned down that he doesn't stop her. She backs him up to the wooden bench in the middle of the isle, her fingers curling around the waistband of his boxers and when he's naked she instructs him to lie down.

"You better be good," she teases; at least he thinks she's teasing, before lifting her skirt and lowering her panties.

She straddles his hips, wraps her hand around his cock, guiding it to her center, and then lowers herself onto him. She's warm and wet and he groans at the sensation, thrusting his hips up to meet hers. She doesn't kiss him, doesn't whisper sweet nothings in his ear, and he thinks this is exactly what he needs to get over Quinn.