I’ve got this on lock.

Instead of whispering through the vents, Romeo comes down to my room to talk to me. We have the occasional rendezvous in the basement. He sends me four-page text messages. If we keep this up, I’m forecasting the loss of my kiss-ginity in the next week or so. Things are heating up (ho-ho, weather pun). I think I might have snagged the boy.

But is he the right boy? Romeo’s pretty far from my typical hipster-boy crush. He’s in a fraternity. He loves sports. He listens to, like, rock music and stuff. But he’s a nice guy. Does that make up for having different interests?

I don’t watch a ton of trashy television, but I’m a romance columnist, so I have to watch “The Bachelor.” It’s basically in the job description. In case you wisely choose not to put yourself through the weekly two-hour saga, here’s a quick synopsis of the end of almost every season ever.

Before the unrealistically handsome and suspiciously single man decides who he will marry, he takes his top two choices back home. Then he allows his parents to interrogate them incessantly, gets his parents’ opinions on his potential fiancées and ultimately avoids their advice altogether, “listening to his heart.”

Six months later, he breaks up with his “dream girl” and gets a job on “Dancing with the Stars” or hosts a TV series or something. Ka-ching.

I’m about a week away from deciding whether I’ll get my first kiss. I think it’s time to consult my parents. If I brought Romeo home “Bachelor”-style, this is what would probably go down.

Questions from Mom:

Q: If you were both on a canoe trip in the mountains and one of his friends accidentally dropped his camera in the water and broke it, would he get really mad, or would he be cool about it?

A: Mom! I don’t know! Maybe we should go canoeing in the mountains just to check?

Q: I’m just saying! That’s how I knew I wanted to marry your father. We were camping on…

A: Mom. We’re not getting married.

Q: Well, does he like you?

A: Yeah.

A: Then I trust his judgment.

I’ve got a hypothetical yes from my mom! Super. Next up: Dad.

Questions from Dad:

Q: … Yeah, I’m not doing this. This is weird.

A: Fair. I’m taking that as a yes.

Check Dad off the list.

Questions from my older brother:

Q: Are you kidding me? You haven’t kissed anyone yet? That is so seriously embarrassing.

A: Sweet, thanks, brother.

Q: Want to go mountain biking? I packed all our stuff in the car.

Another affirmative.

Questions from friends:

Q: Is he hot?

A: I mean, yeah. Kind of.

Q: Why are you even asking me all these questions, then? I’m kidding. As long as he’s a nice guy and he’s taller than you and he doesn’t listen to country music, I think you’re good.

I think we’ve come to a consensus: all of my hypothetical sources hypothetically agree that I should go for it. Seems legit. It’s time for me to go get kissed!

Now that I can feel a kiss coming on, I’m getting a little nervous. I mean, what if I’m bad at it? People always say not to worry —— you just go with your gut. You’ll know what to do when it happens. But, all you people with so much faith in me, as Rob says in “High Fidelity,” “I’ve been listening to my gut since I was 14 years old, and frankly speaking, I’ve come to the conclusion that my guts have shit for brains.”

Hopefully all will go well, though, and I’ll get myself some kissing practice in the next few weeks. You guys had better pray/wish upon a star that everything works out, because who wants to read 16 more of these columns? Definitely not me, and not my editor, I’m sure. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go meet Romeo in the elevator.