He paid no attention to the annoyed look aimed his way. People, demons, vampires, and other supernatural types had given him worse, especially non-clients who didn't appreciate the warning to keep their distance from his clients. Those usually came with a few creative threats involving ripping limbs off or hexing necessary parts of his anatomy. A brooding FBI agent paled in comparison. "Congratulations. It looks like it's working out for you." Because he sure as hell wasn't looking for him.
"There's nothing in the definition of gambler that differentiates between betting through a bookie and laying down a few dollars on a game of pool or whatever is on TV," Lindsey said offhandedly, more involved in the game than he was in the conversation. Someone else's problems didn't concern him and he really wasn't there to help. He couldn't give less of a damn.
"Get laid, Angel-lite. It's bad enough that there's one of you brooding in the infinite number of dimensions that exist, two of you doing it is just depressing," he said bluntly, finally turning to look at him. "So do what you need to. Get drunk, find a cute little blond and make her scream your name. Just don't start psychoanalyzing the many ways the world has made you sad. Got it? Great."