A/N: I know I haven't updated in awhile and I am tres tres tres sorry for that. But you don't really care why; you just want the story. I don't blame you. The reason for the late update is purely laziness anyway. However, if more people reviewed, the more motivated I would be to post more often hint hint.

Quinn showed up at the skate park around noon, ignoring the skaters who were curiously watching her. She tugged nervously on her black wife beater and olive green cargo shorts. She felt like an idiot. What was she doing here, waiting for some guy way too old for her who may or may not show up? Besides, what if anyone from school saw her? Already she could hear the gossip flying: Quinn Fabray is so heartbroken that she's started slumming it with this skeezy 40 year old skateboarder. Quinn's cheeks flamed as she thought of a smug Rachel Berry gloating over her misery. Soon, a yellow Mustang pulled up and Quinn decided for once in her life, not to care what anyone thought of her.

"Don't you know a gentleman always opens a door for a lady?" she asked him, leaning over the open passenger window, allowing Frankie to take the opportunity to appreciate her cleavage.

"Babe, I ain't no gentleman," Frankie told her, smirking. Quinn rolled her eyes and got in. "Would it kill you to try new things?" she huffed. Frankie laughed and turned on the radio. Quinn turned it off, smiling flirtatiously at Frankie.

"Where do you want to go, babe?"

"Mexico. Europe. Anywhere but here."

"I can arrange that."

Frankie pulled the car out of the parking lot and started to turn on the freeway, past neighborhoods Quinn was familiar with and ones she wasn't.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"You'll see, babe."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I have a name, you know. It's Quinn."

"I know," said Frankie. "Hey, you want a cigarette?"

"I don't smoke," Quinn told him coolly.

"Would it kill you to try new things?" mimicked Frankie, throwing Quinn's words back at her.

"Smoking definitely will," she shot back sassily.

"Come on, I promise not to make fun of you if you cough." He lit a cigarette for her as he slowed down to let a car pass in front of him. Quinn hesitated for a moment. "And I promise not to make fun of you if you don't like it," added Frankie.

"No thanks," Quinn said firmly.

"Alright," said Frankie, backing off. He put his arm around her and Quinn felt a sense a relief, glad he didn't make fun of her. They were at a red light now and she checked the cars next to them, half hoping someone she knew would spot her and half hoping they wouldn't. An exhausted soccer mom in the next lane over did a double take as she glanced briefly into Quinn and Frankie's car. She's probably wondering if I'm his daughter or his girlfriend, thought Quinn and she moved away from Frankie. He drove on, not looking at her.

"I'm seventeen," she reminded him, trying to establish a sense of boundaries. It wasn't that she was scared of pursuing a relationship with Frankie exactly, but it wouldn't hurt to remind him of the implications of their romance.

"And I'm forty," he replied simply. "Age is just a number, Quinn. Why should it matter?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. You're just so different from anyone I've ever been with."

"Ditto."

"Really?"

"Nah. I used to date a chick kinda like you back in high school. She had blonde hair. Cheerleader."

"Oh," Quinn said, feeling a little deflated. Still, she couldn't resist asking, "What was her name?"

"Kelly. Kelly Parker. Whenever I heard this song on the radio—"he fumbled for a moment and withdrew a cassette tape from the glove department. He popped it in and a song by the Stray Cats began to play. "I always thought about her," he explained, sheepishly. Quinn smiled at Frankie's boyishness and leaned back against Frankie again, trying to sort out how she felt being an export for his former high school flame.

Well, she's sexy and seventeen

My little rock and roll queen

Acts a little bit obscene

Gotta let off a little steam

Dig that sound shake it around you're mine, mine, mine

"But now when I hear this song, I think about you," he told her. Quinn smiled and turned the stereo up. Frankie moved in for a kiss but Quinn turned her head away. Undeterred, Frankie kissed her neck instead, tickling Quinn. She laughed and turned her head even further, but she stopped when she saw Rachel Berry's ugly pastel reindeer sweater from the corner of her eye. Rachel was with Kurt, obviously on their way to a community theater production workshop, judging from the Barbara Streisand CD that was blasting. Rachel was singing along rather loudly and the cars from the other lanes sped up to avoid them. Quinn's heart raced as Rachel glimpsed briefly into Frankie's car. But Rachel didn't seem to notice that Quinn was gallivanting with a man more than twice her age so Quinn allowed herself to relax and return Frankie's kiss.

They didn't really do much that day, except drive around until Frankie pulled over at the mechanic auto shop where he worked/lived in. "It's not that I don't think you're not worth it, babe," he said, pulling into the seedy looking joint. "But gas prices these days are killing me."

"I understand, "Quinn said. Frankie got out of the car and in a gentlemanly gesture, pulled her door open.

"Thank you," she told him. He motioned for her to follow him into the loft he lived in above the auto-shop. "But just so you know, "she began but then she faltered, embarrassed by what she was about to say.

"What?" asked Frankie, already unlocking the door.

Quinn squared her shoulders and said quickly, "I'mnotgoingtohavesexwithyou."

Frankie laughed and pulled her close to him. "I just want to kiss you for a little bit," he told her.

It was sunset when a flushed Quinn was dropped off at the skate park. She didn't want her mother to see Frankie and his beat up Mustang would stick out like a sore thumb in their neighborhood which was populated with sleek Priuses and Mercedes Benz.

"I'll see you later," he told her. Quinn felt his tone was too dismissive and worried that now Frankie relieved a bit of his high school romance, he was now done with her.

She walked home, deflated and kicking herself for being so stupid. What was she thinking? Just because she thought she had power didn't mean she actually did. What would happen now? Frankie would probably brag about it to all the high school stoners who hung around him and those high school stoners would in turn pass that story around once school resumed. Or not, depending on how—

Quinn was tired of the running monologue in her head and wanted to turn to someone, but who?

Quinn fished out her cellphone and called the one person she knew she could confide in right now.

"Yo."

"Hey, Sheila," Quinn said, trying not to make her voice quiver as the weight of the words she was about to say hit her.

"What's up, Quinn?"

"I did something really stupid today."

"Wanna elaborate?"

"I hung out with Frankie today."

"And?"

"And…I feel stupid."

"Damn right you should. What are you thinking? He's such a skeezy guy. He can't get a girlfriend his own age so he has to scam on high school girls who have a thing for being jailbait."

"Exactly. Now that I'm done with feeling stupid and ashamed, how do I get over it?"

"Easy. Come shopping with us tomorrow. We're hitting all the outlet stores and thrift stores. It's Thrift Store Thursday."

Quinn smiled at the offer. "That's it? No more guilting or shaming?"

"Do I look Catholic?"

"I don't know," admitted Quinn. "Are you?"

"No. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow. We're going at like, around ten and coming back around five or so."

"Sounds good to me," said Quinn, happy for the opportunity to indulge in retail therapy. As soon as she hung up her phone, Quinn immediately wished she didn't.