What is the meaning of "stalling?

Sam doesn’t notice. She’s too busy tucking her hair behind her ears to give the apartment another vaguely critical once-over. I’ve decorated the place with an emphasis on shabby chic. Everything is mismatched, from the blue walls to the flea-market lamps to the white shag carpeting I purchased ironically but ended up loving. It is, I realize, the apartment of someone trying to disguise how much money they really have, and I can’t tell if Sam is impressed or annoyed by that.
“Do you work?” she asks.
“Yes. I’m, uh—”
I’m stalling, which I always do before telling someone my flighty, fanciful job. Especially someone like Sam, who carries an aura of lifelong poverty. It’s evident in the runs in her fishnets, her duct-taped boots, her hard eyes. Desperation hums off her like radio waves, shivery and intense.