Read Online Linger by Maggie Stiefvater - Free Book Online Page A

my hip, and I realized, all at once, that she had turned up the music insanely loud. Shebumped my hip again, in time with the song, and then spun into the center of the kitchen, wiggling her arms over her head in some sort of demented Snoopy dance. Her outfit, a black dress over striped leggings, paired with her dual ponytails, only added to the ludicrous effect.
    â€œRachel,” I said, and she looked at me but kept dancing. “This is why you are single.”
    â€œNo man can handle this,” Rachel assured me, gesturing to herself with her chin. She spun and came face-to-face with Sam, standing in the doorway from the hall. The thumping bass must’ve drowned out the sound of the front door. At the sight of him, my stomach slid down to my feet, a weird combination of relief, nerves, and anticipation all in one, a feeling that never seemed to go away.
    Still facing Sam, Rachel did a strange dance move with her index fingers extended; it looked like it had possibly been invented in the fifties, when people weren’t allowed to touch each other. “Hi, The Boy!” she shouted over the music. “We’re making Italian food!”
    Still holding a piece of chicken, I turned and made a loud noise in protest. Rachel said, “My colleague informs me that I spoke too strongly. I am watching Grace make Italian food!”
    Sam smiled at me, his always sad-looking smile maybe a little tighter than usual, and said, “…”
    I struggled to turn down the radio with my hand that wasn’t covered with breading. “What?”
    â€œI said, ‘What are you making?’” Sam repeated. “And then, ‘Hi, Rachel.’ And ‘May I come into the kitchen, Rachel?’”
    Rachel swept grandly out of his way, and Sam came to leanon the counter next to me. His yellow wolf’s eyes were narrowed, and he seemed to have forgotten that he was still wearing his coat.
    â€œChicken parmesan,” I said.
    He blinked. “What?”
    â€œIt’s what I’m making. What were you up to?”
    Sam said, stumbling, “I — was — at the store. Reading.” With a quick glance toward Rachel, he sucked in his lips and said, “Can’t talk. My lips are still cold from being outside. When will it be spring?”
    â€œForget spring,” said Rachel, “when will it be dinner ?”
    I waved unbreaded chicken at her, and Sam looked around at the counter behind him. “Can I help?” he asked.
    â€œMostly I need to finish breading these eight million chicken breasts,” I said. My head was starting to pound, and I really was beginning to hate the mere sight of uncooked chicken. “I never realized what happened to two pounds of chicken when you pounded it flat.”
    Sam gently shouldered past me to the sink to wash his hands, his cheek leaning against mine as he reached behind me for the dish towel to dry his hands. “I’ll bread the rest while you fry them. Does that work?”
    â€œI’ll cook the water for the pasta,” Rachel volunteered. “I’m excellent at boiling things.”
    â€œThe big pot’s in the pantry,” I said.
    As Rachel disappeared into the small pantry and began crashing through the pots and lids, Sam leaned over to me so that his lips pressed against my ear. He whispered, “I saw one of Beck’s new wolves today. Shifted.”
    It took a moment for my brain to shuffle through the meaning of his words: new wolves . Was Olivia human? Did Sam have to try to find the other wolves? What happened now?
    I turned sharply toward him. He was still close enough to me that it put us nose to nose; his was still cold from being outside. I saw the worry in his eyes.
    â€œHey, none of that while I’m here,” Rachel said. “I like The Boy, but I don’t want to watch you kiss him. Kissing in front of the loveless is an act of cruelty. Aren’t you supposed to be