Yes

Harold's brain short-circuits with all the grace of a overloaded transformer. He stumbles backward, dropping the greasy chain he'd been so carefully threading. His entire focus, his world, shrinks to the millisecond glimpse of Sierra's breast and the lingering scent of her perfume.

"Uh... the... sprocket... needs... uh..." he stammers, waving a grease-stained hand vaguely at the half-assembled frame. He's completely useless.

Cody said. "Great tits. And great that she made his brain a puddle of drool." He looks at the mess of parts, then at the Screaming Gophers, who seem to be making slightly more progress, thanks to Leshawna's surprisingly competent directing and Gwen's quiet, efficient work on the brakes. "They're so screwed." He head over and help the team out.

You let them panic for a moment longer before stepping in. You place a reassuring hand on Harold shoulder. "Relax," you say, your voice smooth and confident. "You got this. Harold, go... sit down. Cool off. I know those tits are wonderful but try to get your head in the game ... Or not."

Your eyes drift over to the Screaming Gophers. Leshawna's powerful arms tightening a bolt. Heather, looking bored but subtly directing her team's efforts. Lindsay, holding a hammer upside down. You walk over and get close to Heather.

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