I had never paid much attention to celebrity gossip or what was going on in Hollywood because that was so far from the lifestyle I lived as a poor college student, working as a barista to save up for my own house after graduation. But then, without...
"Ugh, fuckin' paparazzi," I grumbled under my breath as I pulled down the visor on my helmet so my face was completely covered.
I jumped when I heard a voice in my ear say, "It's okay. We'll lose them on the interstate. Don't worry."
"Oh my gosh. You can talk to me through the helmet?" I asked. "I didn't even know that was a thing."
"Yeah. These helmets have bluetooth so we can talk to each other or listen to music."
'Wow. That's cool. You really are Batman aren't you?" I asked and he laughed.
I held onto his waist tightly as we merged onto the interstate and it wasn't long before we saw a line of stopped cars up ahead. When we got up to them, Dylan started driving right down the middle, in between the cars.
"Umm, are you allowed to do that?" I asked, hanging on.
"Yeah. Lane splitting in California is legal," he told me, passing right by the long line of traffic until we got to our exit, while all those cars were still sitting there waiting.
"Now do you see why we had to take the motorcycle?" he asked.
I laughed and said, "Yeah. That was a good idea and it's not as bad as I thought it'd be. I thought I'd be really scared, but I actually kind of like it."
Pretty soon we pulled up to the studio lot and Dylan came to a stop outside of a little building that had an arm blocking the entrance in front of it.
"Hey Gus. It's me, Dylan," he said, flipping up the visor of his helmet, "and I've got a visitor with me today. Her name is Brenley Jensen."
I was kind of surprised and flattered that Dylan remembered my last name. I couldn't remember even telling it to him. Maybe I did on the first day we met.
"Alright," the security guard said with a smile, writing something on his clipboard. "You two have a nice day," he told us as he clicked the button to raise the arm that was blocking the entrance.
We drove through the studio lots that looked like large airport hangars with numbers on them, passing golf carts full of people riding around. Dylan pulled up into a space next to a trailer and shut off the engine and we both got off and took off our helmets. I noticed the trailer in front of us had a sign on the door that said 'Dylan Chase' with a yellow star underneath of it.
He noticed me looking at it. "You want to come inside?" he asked.
"Ummm. Yeah, sure. I've never been in a movie trailer before," I said with a smile, hooking my helmet to his bike handle before following him up the steps and through the door.
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The inside was really modern and fancy and not at all what I expected.
"Wow. This is really nice," I said in awe, looking around.
