The idiot was probably tossed or getting there. That was the only reason why Spike didn't hurl him over the bar right then and there. Rolling his eyes, he downed the rest of his tequila and raised a finger, gesturing for the bartender to bring him another round. He was going to need it, especially if he was going to be stuck drinking next to the Angel look-a-like. "Your face is his face," Spike replied, shrugging. "Doesn't matter to me who owns the fucking thing. Point is, you look an awful lot like someone I've worked with for years." It was interesting. Very interesting. Spike didn't enjoy it - or he wouldn't unless he was pummeling the guy - but he did find it rather intriguing. Angel would probably be terribly unamused by it. The thought alone made a hint of a smirk curl over his pale features.
"You're talking to someone who spent his free time murdering humans for next to a hundred years," Spike informed him, arching his scarred eyebrow upward. "I know all about the past kicking your ass." Not that he'd go into detail. The last thing he planned on telling this Booth fellow was that he dealt with it every single day. Having a soul? Yeah, it sucked. "So who'd you piss off, Tubby? Ex-girlfriend?" He gave Booth an amused sort of look. "Ex-boyfriend?"