Timmy Timmons Mga Nobela at Kwento

“You look like a headline.” “Not now, Dalia.” She raised a brow. “I heard about your little midnight stroll. Brave or stupid—I haven’t decided which.” “I need a favor,” I said. “You know the forum backend better than anyone. Can you trace a user for me?” Her grin faltered. “You’re serious.” “Dead serious.” She sighed, finishing her coffee. “Fine. Give me the username.” “‘Director.’ That’s all Cameron gave me.” Her fingers flew across the keyboard. Lines of code reflected in her glasses, the screen’s light cutting through the gray morning. “This is weird,” she muttered. “The IP address isn’t from campus.”

I simply needed to know who Timmy was for the life of me. It didn't take long. My phone started screeching like a kitten right before lunch as I received a call back, but he didn't have anything on Timmy Jones. What the living hell is going on?

They would screw you up as long as they were not happy with you! They really did not care who you were! As for Timothy’s name, everyone had heard about him. He studied at Mayberry University and was super fierce. Someone had gotten on his nerves a while ago, and he had brought a group of people to that person’s house and messed him up. Yakob was totally incomparable to Timothy, and he was scared.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I embarrass her, Timothy?” Timothy gave a soft chuckle. “No, Ma’am. It actually suits Rebecca. She is my baby girl.” I smacked his arm. “You too.” “Ma’am? How about you call me… Mom? Or you can just call me… Carol.” The spoon Timothy had been holding clattered against his plate for no apparent reason. He let out an awkward laugh and suddenly excused himself. “Sorry, Mom. Tim can be really stubborn. He ate nachos earlier—even though he’s lactose intolerant. Now his stomach’s acting up,” I said, shaking my head.