A/N: Hey guys, long time no see! I know I posted the summary for this almost a year ago and it took me forever to start it, but better late than never, right? I kind of got out of the writing habit as life got busier for me, but I've been getting the itch to start writing again for months now so I finally said screw it to my responsibilities and started writing this. I can always do math later (or never.)

Hope you guys enjoy Christian's side of the story as much as I'm enjoying writing it. It's going to be ridiculous and I can't wait. Here's chapter one.

Oh, and just a warning: because this contains Christian's thoughts there is going to be more language/vulgarity than in Better Than Revenge because that's who he is as a person and I don't want to have to filter all of his thoughts because then the pages would all be blank.

So be warned that there is language in this book.

Also, this is copyrighted, all rights reserved, *insert copyright statement here that I am too lazy to search for and copy and paste onto here as of this moment* blah, blah, blah.

Enjoy!

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Better Than Me

Chapter 1

I really thought I was going to get laid tonight until I brought my date upstairs and saw my dog had shit on my bed.

Everything had been going so smoothly up until then. It was the night of the premiere of my new movie, Fighter, which was pretty cool in and of itself, but the best part about it? It was a whole night dedicated to me. The paparazzi were all over me, the red-carpet reporters mostly just wanted to talk to me but settled for my other costars when I was busy – I guess those guys needed some attention, too – and, most importantly of all, every girl there wanted to be the one I took home that night. I could pretty much pick any girl I wanted. My prize could be the hottest girl there, or maybe the one who looked like she'd be up for some really kinky shit.

Just not too kinky. I was done dealing with girls who wanted me to reenact 50 Shades of Grey with them. It didn't help that my name was Christian, but for fuck's sake, I was Christian Ryder. I was a way better catch than that tool Christian Grey. Why the hell did I have to roleplay as that guy when I could just be myself?

Sure, the guy was a billionaire, but I was no McDonald's cashier myself. I was the hottest actor of the moment, deemed Hollywood's Golden Boy by pretty much everyone. My movies consistently sold out at box office and chicks loved me. And – and here was the best part – I was real. Plus, I probably had a bigger –

"Dude, what the fuck? It smells like shit in here."

I looked towards the source of the voice, the one and only Blake Grey. We had been friends for a while, before 50 Shades of Grey became the bane of my existence, but we had since bonded over our similar struggle. The easiest way to get punched in the face by Blake was to call him Mr. Grey or ask him if any of his rooms were red. He didn't like telemarketers or bank tellers much. Or people who addressed others formally. Or most females.

Instead of saying something, I just pointed at my bed. I had been standing there so long thinking about how much this sucked and how much I didn't want to clean up Bubba's mess that I had gotten used to the stench.

"That's nasty. Bubba, you're grounded, wherever you are," Blake said, but Bubba had fled the scene of the crime long ago. "Where is he?"

I shrugged. "He ran off a bit ago. I've been standing here having an existential crisis."

Blake wasn't even phased. "You'll get past it, bro. I'm going to go find him before he shits in the guest room and on the couch and leaves me no place to crash when I get wasted here."

He walked out of the room letting out an onslaught of noises that were apparently supposed to attract Bubba but were probably just scaring him even more.

Anyways, back to me. I was at my movie premiere, things were going great, and I was about to take the hottest girl there home – not the kinky one. I saw one of those there, too, but I had a feeling that experience was not going to go well and talked myself out of it.

There was only one problem – the hottest girl there wasn't the date I brought to the premiere. My original date was a singer I had been seeing for publicity purposes after breaking it off with my ex-girlfriend a few months ago. I didn't feel like exclusively dating anyone, but my manager thought it would look bad if Cassandra moved on before I did. So long story short, I went out with this chick a few times, let the paparazzi take some pictures of us together, and all of a sudden she thought we were going to get married someday. I felt bad for her because she was clearly deranged, but I had to get away from her. She expected the night to end with a romantic love-making session and maybe a proposal after that.

So I ditched her. I know, I know. Leaving girls is wrong, karma will get you back for that one day, blah, blah, blah. I had heard it all before. I told her I had to be up early the next morning for a meeting with a casting director and that I was going home after the premiere.

In reality, I snuck out the back door with Kelly – or was it Kylie? Whatever – and took her back to my place. Sleep was the last thing on my mind.

Technically, I didn't lie. I did go home. I just didn't go home alone and didn't go home because of any meeting. My only plans for tomorrow morning were to subtly hint for Kelly/Kylie to leave if she was still there in the morning, keep sleeping after she left, work out, and eat. Now that I was done with Fighter, I could loosen up a little on the fitness regime a.k.a. eat whatever the fuck I wanted as long as I kept working out.

I figured a little white lie wouldn't hurt anyone, and Kelly/Kylie was clearly dying to sleep with me, or at least dying to be able to tell people that she slept with me. She wasn't a huge star or anything and could probably use all of the press she could get. I hadn't even heard of her before that night. She couldn't keep her hands off of me throughout the entire car ride home. I almost pulled over a few times because I couldn't take it anymore but figured we had a better chance of getting caught in my car than in the privacy of my own home. Somehow – and I still don't know how – I managed to push through the temptation long enough to make it back to my place.

As soon as we made it past the gates and into the garage, Kelly/Kylie went crazy, grabbing me all over and kissing wherever she could reach. I didn't think we were going to make it inside and thought she was going to try to go at it on the front lawn for a minute there.

"Why don't we take this inside?" I said, pushing her away even though that was the last thing I wanted to do. I really didn't want to screw anyone on my front lawn, though. There were little decorative gnomes all over my property – courtesy of my mother – and being watched by those things during sex would be a pretty easy way for me to lose my boner.

Pushing her away didn't really work. She was latched onto me pretty well and didn't seem ready to let go. She mumbled something against my neck in between sloppy kisses that sounded like it was supposed to be dirty and finally agreed to follow me inside.

I led her upstairs to my room, extremely distracted by where her hands were wandering, pushed the door to my room further open, and – shit. Literal shit on my bed. I should have known the open door was a bad sign with a puppy in the house.

"Oh my god, is that poop on your bed? Oh my god, it smells. Oh, my god. Christian, that is so gross. Oh, my god, ew."

"What the –" I was at a loss for words. Bubba had gone to the bathroom in plenty of places he wasn't supposed to before, but never on my bed. I looked over at her and she had a look of pure disgust on her face. "Wait, it's not mine!"

"I never said it was yours," she said, looking even more appalled. "Why are you so defensive? Oh, my god, is it actually yours?"

"No! I just said – no, look, there he is!" I pointed at my pitbull puppy, Bubba, who was standing in the doorway. He tilted his head innocently like he hadn't just shit all over my bed and could win me back over with cuteness. "See? It was him. He's cute, right?"

"You have a pitbull?" She didn't sound impressed or pleased. "I need to get out of here."

"Why do you say it like that?" Now it was me who was less than enthused by her presence. She didn't say anything but the look of disgust never left her face. If anything, it was amplified after seeing the culprit. "Yeah, I have a pitbull. He's not fully potty trained yet but he's a good little guy. And yeah, you do need to get out of there."

It was one thing to be upset over there being dog shit all over the bed we were supposed to be having sex on. That, I understood. It was kind of a turn off. But if she had a problem with Bubba she could get out. That little guy was family, while she was just the girl of the night.

"I'm out of here. Wait until I tell my friends," she said, rolling her eyes. She carefully avoided Bubba like he was the plague, but he dashed out of the room in between her legs as soon as she left and hid in one of the other rooms. I had a feeling I was going to have to comfort him even though he was the one who left a mess on my bed and left me sexless for the night.

I let out a frustrated breath and almost sat down on the bed. Luckily, I remembered why I was frustrated in the first place and popped right back up.

"Found the suspect," Blake said, walking back into my room with Bubba in his arms. "Look at this face. Is this the face of someone who would shit on your bed?"

I narrowed my eyes at Bubba. I really had to focus on being mad at him and look past his puppy charm. "Yes."

"I know. But he looks sorry, right?"

"No, he doesn't. He looks proud."

Blake peered at the bed and shrugged. "I mean, that is pretty impressive for a dog his size."

"Don't encourage him," I said incredulously.

"I'm just saying that's kind of a feat for a puppy. That's a lot of shit."

"You and Bubba can go now, unless you want to clean this up," I said. I wasn't in the mood for this shit. And I probably would've laughed at my pun if I wasn't the one who had to clean this up.

I was too rich to have to do this. Why did it have to be too late for the cleaning lady to come over and do it? Maybe I could call her anyway. Or maybe I could find a 24/7 cleaning service. Or maybe I could just wait until tomorrow. No, that would be really gross. I was going to have to do it myself.

The things I did for that dog.

Blake laughed. "That's all you, man. How'd the premiere go?"

I debated recounting my night and what almost was but decided against it. I needed to change my sheets and blankets before irreparable damage was done, and I was both mentally and physically exhausted all of a sudden. All I wanted was to go to bed, but I couldn't exactly do that yet. Instead of giving him the short version – or any version of my night – I just said, "It's a long story."